Plant a Tree and Stay Awhile

Friday, October 30, 2009

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Plant a Tree and Stay Awhile

By J’AMY PACHECO

I suppose it could be said that I have commitment issues.

My husband and I dated for a full decade before deciding to take the plunge into matrimony. By the time we started a family, years later, we were definitely the oldest parents in kindergarten.

We moved to the High Desert in 1989, but never really expected to stay. I’d grown up in the region and left as a strong-willed 18-year-old, vowing never to return to the land of extreme heat, brown landscape and black widow spiders. When I did, I expected it to be temporary.

But then our daughter arrived, and we started putting down roots. Shallow and tenuous roots, but roots nonetheless. As she made friends, we made friends. We developed relationships with families we met through school—families with whom we swapped babysitting, went camping, celebrated birthdays, spent holidays, had play dates, joined scout troops and soccer teams, and sweated over grades.

Still, we remained hesitant about making the ultimate commitment to the region—buying a home. So we didn’t.

By the time we decided we should, real estate prices went through the roof, and we felt it would be foolish to make a move. So we waited for the inevitable crash.

And then we bought a house.

My husband works on the west side of Los Angeles, and my work takes me all over the Inland Empire. One of my greatest fears is that the Big One—the giant earthquake California is expected to suffer one of these days—will take place when my husband and I are on the south side of the San Andreas Fault, while our daughter is at school on the north side.

So this latest plunge is taking us out of the desert, over the San Andreas Fault and into a city where we know not a soul.

I’ve never moved to a place where I didn’t already have family or friends, and I admit I find the thought of it scary. I know exactly one person who lives in the same city—a legal professional I run into at work functions every now and then. Other than that, we’re on our own.

As scary as it is for me, it’s worse for my 13-year-old daughter. She went all the way through elementary school with some of the same children, and still attends middle school with a group of them.

The idea of telling them “good-bye” when she leaves for Christmas vacation is breaking her heart. She waffles between being somewhat excited, and painfully morose. When she learned our offer had been accepted, for example, she locked herself in the bathroom to cry. A few days later, she told me I had five years with her before she moved back to the desert.

When I mentioned that five years would be about the time she’d be headed to college, she said she’d put it off for a year to move back. I didn’t have the heart to point out that the people she would come back to hang out with would be away…at college.

Sigh.

That’s the bad part about moving 50 miles away—having to start over. But I’ll no longer have to fear the Cajon Pass—4,200 feet of snow, fog, fire, train wrecks and the Queen Mother of all earthquake faults, the San Andreas.

We’ll be able to drive 30 minutes or less to see a play, shop at a multi-story mall, hear a concert, ride Space Mountain or eat at an oceanfront restaurant. We’ll be able to stay to see Disneyland’s fireworks without worrying about the long drive home.

We’ll be surrounded by lots of parks, and canyons with names we ordinarily hear only when the Southland is on fire. (Note to self: buy a fireproof file box.)

Since we have to pack up to relocate, I’m looking forward to finding all of the stuff I lost in the last move—stuff like shelf supports and Christmas books that I know are still stored in mismarked boxes in the garage.

We’ll have to adapt not only new people, new schools and a new community, but we’ll have to learn how to clean a pool.

Moving away is bittersweet, but at this point in our lives, it’s the right thing to do. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty good about finally making this commitment.

Since she was a toddler, my daughter has longed to have a weeping willow in her front yard. I’m going to see if I can find one that will adapt to our new home.

Hopefully it will grow, and my daughter will come around. With any luck, we’ll all put down some roots—and thrive.