Reminiscing over the Mountain

Driving alone over the Sierra Nevada's put me in a pensive mood.  The craggy mountains covered with spring snow shown in the morning sunlight.  My quiet hybrid car seemed to float effortlessly up the steep grade and I was able to watch the scenery gliding by as I reflected on the previous hour.  That morning, two weeks ago, I had dropped my grandkids off at their school before heading for home.  I had arrived in time, before the bell rang, and the kids told me to just drop them off, so I pulled into the small parking lot next to the office and stopped by the gate, as the kids bounced out of the car with their backpacks.  The oldest one ran through the nearby gate, but the younger ran around the office to his side of the school.  I felt nervous just letting him go, so I followed with my car watching him go through the gate and then disappearing in the group of children waiting to go into the 2nd grade classroom.  I was fairly confident he  entered into his classroom safely, but still I felt anxious.  I wanted to hand-deliver him to his teacher.

This "getting to school" scene was quite a contrast from when my brother and I went to school.  I don't remember much about going to kindergarten or first grade; hopefully my mother accompanied me.  I do remember one of the first times I had walked home from school in the second grade.  We had just moved from 34th Avenue to a new home closer to the beach.  It must have been in September at the beginning of the school year when I was maybe 7, and I remember our classmates were just getting acquainted.   I talked to a girl whom I learned lived close to my block, so I walked home with her.  We chatted and walked for six or seven blocks and then I thought I needed to turn down to the next street where I thought I lived.  I walked the long city block to the corner and then realized nothing looked familiar and I felt lost.  I was scared and almost wanted to cry, but I looked up the street, and there was my house.  I'm not sure I told my mother.

Another time, I walked home from school to the same house, I heard a bunch of older boys running down the hill above my block.  They were singing and making a lot of noise, and when they saw me watching them, they must have made comments or something, because I became very frightened.  I ran into the basement side door and was so scared I left a puddle on the concrete.  Thank goodness the waterhose was nearby so I could clean up the evidence, because it would have been so embarrassing.

Walking to school and back was not always something scary.  It mostly became a routine part of the day.  We just found friends to walk with and chatted, making the time shorter.  It never would have entered my thinking to get a ride to school.  We walked in the wind, rain, fog, and occasionally in the sun.  I remember squinting to keep the sun out of my eyes--no sunglasses or hats.  In the rain, I remember having umbrellas that blew inside/out in the wind.  By the end of the school year, my shoes were worn out, and I would walk flapping the lose sole of my shoes on the pavement like a duck.  I didn't think I was poor because my soles were worn--it was just a phenomenem which happend in May or June.  Next year I'd get a new pair of shoes. 

When my own kids started school, I just very calmly thought that they should walk--it gave them discipline and exercise.  Of course, I accompanied them at first, but they usually wanted to walk with their friends.  But now I see a difference.  Most parents have to get to school and drop their children off early, maybe to before-school care.  Long lines of automobiles queue up to take turns delivering their offspring.  I do see groups of older kids walking after school in my neighborhood and an occasional bicycle rider.  Sometimes, the grandparents will walk the little ones to their classes, but mostly I see adults driving cars full of kids rushing to get to school on time.

Then my reverie ended.  I pulled over to take a few photos of the beautiful alpine scene, and when I started back on the road, my driving became more difficult.  There was an endless number of trailer trucks making their way down the other side of the mountain.  The highway was also filled with highway maintenance workers and equipment repairing the roads, making it necessary to drive slowly.  I had to concentrate on driving safely.

Our lives have become so busy and complicated, I thought, from the days when I was in grammar school.  We are so aware of keeping safe in an uncertain world.