A little piece of Grandview in New York City

Submitted by Elder and Sister Dalebout


Thirty-seven years ago, our little family of five moved into our home at 1559 W. 1170 N. on Grandview Hill. I remember David Dalton saying that Grandview Hill was a special place to live and that really special people moved here. We have certainly been blessed to live here and associate with very special people.

There are a couple of "first impression" memories that come to mind. Not long after we moved into our home, we went to a stake dance. It was a dance for everyone, youth, as well as older people. As we walked into the cultural hall, it was alive with people who were dancing and having a great time. The thing that impressed us was that young people were dancing with older people. Randy Stokes was a teenager at that time, and he was dancing with an older person. We had such a good impression of the stake. Also, at one of our ward parties, we remember seeing Monita Robison dancing across the stage in a tutu. (I, Evelyn, had taken a class at BYU from Clarence Robison and had heard him talk about his wife.) It was really interesting to see Monita be such a "cut up."

Our street (1170 North) was alive with children. At one point, the streets of 1170 North and 1650 West housed 80 children. As our children were growing up, it was so impressive to see how all those children played together. In the summer, there were up to forty kids playing kick ball or other street games on the street of 1170 North. High school kids were playing with kids of all ages, down to five years of age. Many of them would congregate on our front porch and watch the games. Grandview Hill was a great place to raise children.

The Wood family lived across the street from us. They had four great boys. Three of those boys married girls from our ward. Ethan Wood married Stacey Dennis, who lived across the street from him. Travis Wood married Rachel Laursen, who lived a couple of blocks away. Ryan Wood married our daughter, Jenny. And, we weren't the only family who had children marry children within the ward. Bill and Vicki Frances grew up together and married each other also.

We remember when the benches in the chapel were filled with 12 Liechtys, 12 Lunds, 10 Bensons, 10 Vellingas, 10 Francis' and many other families with just a few less than that. Our primaries were packed with children; our young men and young women program was also impressive. And, when those children grew up, there were tons of missionaries. Grandview Hill has a heritage of wonderful families, who produced really great people.

We are now serving a mission in the New York New York North Mission. It seems that when you are in the church, your world becomes very small. A few weeks ago, we attended our ward (Inwood 1st Ward). David Liechty and his wife and daughter have moved into our ward. David was a friend of our son, Scott. Suzy Liechty (David's mother) was also there to help David and his family move. Our daughter, Jennifer, and her baby were visiting us. So, Jenny, Suzy and I were sitting together. In Relief Society, a new member of the ward stood up and told us her name was Lisa Vellinga. We all looked at each other and said: "She has to be related to our Vellinga Family on Grandview Hill." After the meeting, we went over to talk to her and we found out that she is Jed Vellinga's wife. Jed grew up in our ward in Grandview, and is the son of Clarence and Annette Vellinga. So, here we are in the Inwood 1st Ward in New York City, and we have Liechtys, Vellingas and Dalebouts together!

Grandview has been our home for 37 years. We love it there and love the people who live there. We hope to be there the rest of our lives. So, even though we will miss the grand celebration, we wish you all the best. We love you.

Harvest on the hill

Submitted by Melody Newey

The first time I saw the home at 1375 North 1750 West my heart almost flew from my chest. "That's my house!" I thought, as I stopped the car in the middle of the street and gawked at the For Sale sign in the front yard. I was traveling north toward University Mall after taking my daughter, Lauren, to piano lessons at Cindy Smith's home.

It was 1996. My children, Lauren, Luke, Sara and I were living in a lovely smaller home near Kiwanis Park in east Provo and we adored our neighborhood and neighbors. But I had been feeling a need to move to a new home (with two bathrooms instead of just one!) and make a fresh start. I was recently divorced and swamped with responsibilities of single parenthood, nursing school and a part-time job. I was in no position to purchase a home, but my desire to find a way to buy what was known as "The Burton Home" was almost unmanageable. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The massive walnut trees, the iris, day lilies, statice and grapes lining the south boundary were breathtaking. Virginia creeper and English ivy covered the exterior north wall and crept up a corner of the house near the entry. Pear, cherry, apple and apricot trees surrounded the structure and the entire property was flanked by evergreens. The home itself, with those diamond-shape wooden grids in the windows looked like a perfectly peaceful cottage. When we eventually moved in I heard some of the neighborhood kids refer to it as the Snow White House.

The short version of the rest of the story goes like this: The For Sale sign disappeared and I assumed the home had been sold. I actually cried about that when it happened, but moved ahead with life. What else could I do, really? I kept checking the newspaper for other homes. Lauren kept on practicing piano and I kept driving her to and from Cindy's home every week. About a eight months later the For Sale sign re-appeared. By then I had finished school and was working full time.

Within the first few weeks of my new job I was talking with co-workers about a delightful older home I was purchasing in the Grandview area. One of the women in the group spoke up as I described the place. Her eyes lit up and she said, "My parents built that house!" Zoetta Johnston (her maiden name) had spent her early childhood in the home! She told me it began as a single level, below ground structure. Later, as the Johnston family grew and as they could afford it, they added the upper level. She talked about the cherry orchards, irrigation turns and about the unique bricks the house was built with, "Made right here in town at the old Provo Foundry." She remembered how proud her mother was of the self-designed rock wall and mantle over the fireplace in the living room. She remembered the giant coal burning furnace and laughed when I told her the coal scuttle was still there. It was a wonderful connection. And wonderful to learn from Zoetta some of the history of our home.

As I spent more time here I felt a connection with another woman who lived in the house for many years raising her family of--what was it--seven or eight children? She was a gardener, like me. Leah Ashby once told me about Mrs. Burton. Leah said, "I have never seen a woman with more suntanned forearms--from all that mowing and gardening." I haven't met Mrs. Burton but she must have loved the earth because she began what became a sort of Eden for me and my children. It was a place of new beginnings, a beautiful place rich with green, growing, nourishing things. The fruit, the nuts and flowers--the very land itself--fed me. Body and soul. And in turn, I was able to do the same for my growing family.

I always felt it was providence that brought us here.

My children were nine, thirteen and fifteen years old when we moved here in July of 1997. Since then, all three have become happy, healthy, married adults creating "Edens" of their own.

Last week I was transplanting a few things in the cool morning hours beneath the shade of walnut trees. I couldn't help feeling grateful again for this place. I couldn't help writing about it.

Harvest on The Hill
by Melody Newey

We joke about soil and rocks
in this place where we live.
But really it's about bread,
the Bread of Life.

We build houses on foundations of
orchards and farmland--
so much work, so many dreams
cultivated, harvested for
a hundred years or more.

We build our lives on this bedrock,
this firm foundation;
And the house on the rock still stands.

You and I were planted here--
by our parents or grandparents
or because chance, circumstance or
providence moved us to this fertile ground
from where we were before.

Yes, the soil matters.
But it's the soul of this place,
the rock on which we stand,
our daily bread that nourishes us,
fills our homes with light and delight.

You and I are growing here--
while the land, the rain and sunshine
keep us for our Keeper,
make of us a worthy harvest,
His harvest on the hill.

If a picture says a thousand words...

...then not much else is needed to explain what a kick I get out of some of the surprising sights and scenes one may stumble upon about our Grandview neighborhood. I suspect I'm not the only one who derives a bit of pleasure and amusement from the unexpected. From runaway roosters to meandering turtles--and, well, an occasional llama parade--I'm sure many of you have stories to tell, of both the simple and the sublime. We'd love to hear them (please direct submissions to the email address on the sidebar). Submissions may be gently edited for space and content.

Finding our way home

We were drawn to the Grandview area from the start. Newly married, we rented a worn one-bedroom apartment on Columbia Lane, just south of the Baptist church. Because it was often on the way to somewhere, we frequently found ourselves driving through the Grandview South neighborhood. I remember watching the Hodges’ house go up and wishing I could have a house there someday.

Within a year, Shane was called to serve at BYU, where we spent a good deal of time with Orrin and Sandy (Robison) Olsen and Mark & Jaye Lynn Robison. They were good friends and mentors to us at the time, and still are. Shortly before Luke was born, we moved to northeast Provo, but it never quite felt like home. It wasn’t long before we were led back to Grandview. Shane was hired to teach at Grandview Elementary and eventually we found ourselves purchasing our first home (a fixer-upper rumored to have once been a fruit-packing shed) on 1320 North. The (then) Grandview 5th ward members were so welcoming. They knew all our names and had us listed in the ward directory before we even closed on the house.

A few months after we’d moved back, I walked into Relief Society to see the chairs placed in a circle around a pretend campfire. It was July 24^th and, as part of the lesson, several sisters had been asked to share pioneer stories. About halfway through the meeting, Charlotte Loveless stood and told a story that was familiar to me. It was about a baby boy born on the muddy banks of the Chariton River. I approached Charlotte afterward and asked how she knew the story of the birth of my maternal great grandfather. She laughed and told me it was also the story of her great grandfather. We affectionately referred to one another as “cousin” ever since.

Some time later, my paternal grandmother gave me a beautiful pedigree chart done in calligraphy. I had the chart matted and framed and, pleased with the way it turned out, showed it off to my neighbor, Maria Lund. Maria admired the fine calligraphy, then scrutinized the names more closely, asking, “Where did you get these names?” I told her they were my father’s family. As it turns out, our respective families were practically family. As youth, my father and his siblings had often stayed the night at Maria’s house after driving to town for stake dances. Maria’s brother lived with my dad’s family and worked their ranch for a time.

The connections--perhaps reconnections--continue, even to this day, as our Elder Rowley finds himself hoping to help harvest seeds sown in the small town of Selby, England some 15 years ago by an Elder Dalebout, who grew up just a couple of blocks away. You are more than neighbors. You're family. So much so that when we outgrew our first house and the time came to move, we looked no further than across the street. We’re coming upon 20 years here now. You’ve shared in so many of our joys and our sorrows. We’ve shared in some of yours as well.

Whether for vineyards or orchards, the grafting metaphor is ripe with significance. And when I think of the Grandview community, I can’t help but feel that grafting is simply a way to place something where it was always meant to be.