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.