Sarah Nigbor

It’s funny the things you remember from your childhood. I often wonder why certain memories stand out so much, even the seemingly mundane ones, when others that were probably much more exciting don’t register. Others stand out for obvious reasons of course.

My earliest memories are from the house I grew up in on Saddle Club Road, the home that belonged to my grandparents, where my mother and I lived for most of my first 12 years. The little white ranch-style house isn’t grand or special to a passerby; in fact, it’s tiny and cramped. But it was my safe place for years, even after Mom and I moved out. Route 1, Box 291, River Falls. I memorized my address proudly recited it to the teacher in kindergarten.

One of my earliest memories is standing in the hallway looking at myself in the hall closet mirror. Gazing at my reflection, this was the first time that I realized that I was my own person. I still remember reaching out my little finger to touch the little finger mimicking my movements and knowing that that was me. I think I was about 2 or 3. I’ve always wondered why that moment is stuck in my head. It was a big thought for a little girl to ponder.

Another vivid memory is sticking my tiny feet into Grandpa’s big work boots and clomping across the kitchen floor. I thought that was such great fun and the adults seemed to get a kick out of it too. I was in awe that someone could have such big feet!

My mom and I moved out for a brief time when she married my stepdad, a marriage that was short-lived and ugly. We lived with him on a farm north of River Falls where he was a hired hand, but we didn’t live there long. He was not a nice man, and I remember, even at the tender age of 4, knowing that we shouldn’t stay there. It was the biggest feeling of relief the day we loaded up my mom’s little Mustang and moved back to Grandma and Grandpa’s. I will never forget the feeling of immediate safety I felt when we pulled into the driveway of the little white house, and I saw them standing outside waiting for us. I was home. We were safe.

The beautiful black and white fence bordering the yard is no longer there, but it will always be one of my favorite childhood memories. Every few years, Grandpa would paint it to keep it looking sharp. The year that he let me help him paint it I was thrilled. Not only because he trusted me to do good work, but because it was something I could be proud of. I felt like Tom Sawyer whitewashing the fence under the shade trees, except I actually wanted to do it. I believe that was the summer I came to value a job well done.

When I graduated college from UW-River Falls, our family celebration was held in the little white house. It was a cold December evening, and the house was stuffed with so many people, the windows fogged up and people were going outside to get fresh air. Friends and neighbors poured through the doors and my mom forced me to pose for photos with each person. They were so proud of me.

Fast forward 12 years and my grandma and I were sitting at the kitchen table as she helped me write my grandfather’s obituary. The little house was so much emptier without him in his recliner, playing with my 1-year-old daughter and making her laugh. Carolina kept looking around like she was waiting for him to appear. Mom’s good coffee was flowing and that made the day more bearable, sitting in the tiny kitchen with our sorrow.

Last week these memories were swirling in my head as the moving company carried furniture out of the house. My mom moved back in with my grandmother after Grandpa died. They lived there together for almost nine more years before Grandma joined Grandpa at the Big Dance Hall in the Sky. Now Mom is leaving the little white house and it will stand quiet and empty for the first time since my grandparents moved there in 1975 from their farm near Nugget Lake.

As our family decides the future of the little house, I will hug the memories closely. For 44 years that place has been home, even if I haven’t lived there in a long time. I always knew I could go home. Now it may only be in my dreams.