The Fox Story

Maybe it's that awful song that accidentally got popular, because, well, internet.  But I keep thinking of this fox I saw on one of the last days we were in Utah.

In my old neighborhood, I had this gully right by my house that I would run through a lot.  It was a park that had a playground and grass on one end, but the entire rest of it, close to 10 acres was natural trees and a lovely path and it was very out of place in the middle of this suburban jungle, so I loved it.

Our first week in that Cottonwood Heights neighborhood is when I found the park.  It was early in the morning as I came around a corner and there on the trail was this beautiful fox.  Big red tail, pointy, sharp ears and it stopped when it heard me and looked my way.  I stopped too and for a brief moment, we locked gazes, both caught a little off guard.  Then it turned and ran towards the brush.  I saw this little fox 5 or 6 times during that first summer there.  It was always around that same spot.

It became a habit to slow down and walk when I reached a certain point so I wasn't so noisy coming around that area.  I wanted to see her again, especially if it was that same early hour. Catch her off guard again.  But as it got colder, I saw her less and less.  In springtime, I was quite pregnant with baby #4 and I didn't make it down to the ravine ever as often as I wanted.  In summer,  I HAD baby #4, so it wasn't until October that I came back to running and back to my park.

Of course I still slowed down in that spot and still hoped I would see the fox, but I never did the rest of the year.  It was another spring, and still no sightings.  Summer passed with beautiful, already hot at 7 am mornings, and still I never saw my fox.  Then fall, with the news that we were moving.  I went for a handful of runs that last week in our neighborhood.  The mountains were more glorious than ever.  I stopped more often and snapped pictures with my phone, happy that I never really took for granted the spectacular view of those grand watch guards of our little valley.

One morning, I was making my way down into the park, my mind on this landscape and community that I loved so much, leaving connections I had made, friends I loved seeing, family I relied on, family I needed, family I loved so much--getting choked up about leaving it all.  Having to start over.  These thoughts were on my mind that morning.  

Then, I looked up and saw her.  Standing a little bit off the trail, a few yards in front of me was my fox.  Beautiful, full tail, propped ears, alert at my presence.  I stopped dead.  My heart skipped a little and then she was gone.  I ran ahead, and looked where she had darted into the bushes.  I saw her again.  She was running parallel to the path I was on.  I kept stopping because so did she.  She was hidden by trees and bushes sometimes, but then I saw that big tail moments later.  I had a thought to pull out my phone and snap a picture, but it seemed inappropriate somehow.  In this age of Instagram and status updates, I felt it would be a betrayal if I shared this rare moment with everyone else in my feed.  So I was quiet.  We "ran together" for about 25 yards and then she was gone.  I craned my neck in the direction I saw her go, trying to get one last glimpse.

That little fox was my message that day.  It's like she showed up to say goodbye.  To tell me to really let go of all the apprehensions I had about making this cross country move.  It was going to be ok.

Trust me, she said through the trees.  Trust God.  He knows.

Saying Goodbye

With this big move, this 2300 mile journey our family is about to embrace, there has been a lot on my mind.  Of course there is the logistics of getting a family of six across the country and keeping your sanity, marriage and bank account intact.  There's that.  But there is also the goodbyes and chapter endings.  There is leaving this beautiful state that I love so much. 

 Leaving these beautiful people, that I love so much.

For the last few years we've lived at the base of these grand, mountains.  The Wasatch Front stood outside our front window, ever greeting us good morning and showing us the moods of the seasons.  A happy, green summer, a hopeful spotted spring, a warm, colorful autumn, ushering in a mostly abrupt and unforgiving white winter.  That cold, lovely snow.  

Whatever the season, they were always there.  Unchanging and solid.  I've grown to love and respect these massive footstools of God.  I've hiked and ran among wild flowers and witnessed views that have literally (although terribly cliche) taken my breath away.  I've smelled cool earth as I've approached a mountain stream along a trail.  I've watched the peaks from my warm house as a storm rolls in over the range.  I've watched with dread, on scorching summer days, mountain sides on fire as a community prays over people and property in harms way.  I've lived in these grand hills.  I've lived at 6000 feet, where snow in May and October are totally normal and expected and the winters are brutal and unrelenting.  Snow and cold and frozen everything.  You curse the mountains and wonder why you made your home there.  Then, at 6000 feet, there is six weeks of perfect.  At 6000 feet, for six weeks in summer, there is a palpable perfection to this glorious and magnificent country.  The sun sets and it keeps you outside, on your porch, as the night becomes deeper.  You gaze up at the stars and there is a quiet stillness of only crickets singing about the night.  It's kind of magic.

These mountains are what I'm saying goodbye to.  Their constant, steady presence in my life.  I was born in their shadows and raised in their heights.  These mountains, always around.  Something I could look out my window and always see, be a part of, curse or bless, depending on the season.  They're always there.  My constant.  I always know which direction I'm heading, the familiar peaks my compass.

But, change friend.  Change is the only thing that's constant and it's time to leave my beloved mountains.  Of course I'll always have them in my heart.

Just like the faces of friends and family that have also been my constant, my compass, my blessings (or curse, depending on the season) and steady, presence in my life in such an up close and personal way.

While I'm grateful for the Internet and Steve Jobs who gave us magnificent devices to keep us updated and in touch, this is the end of a magnificent era for my family and life.  The chapter ends, but you'll want to keep turning the page.  We are set up for more adventures and more living and more blessings of a beautiful life, just like we've enjoyed here.

My soul is bursting but my mind is kind of empty with the words needed to convey how happy and heavy my Utah girl heart is about saying goodbye.  To my people and my mountains.  All I can say is thank you.  Thank you for the memories.  Thank you for the love.  Thank you for the influence and constancy.  Thank you for giving me a rich and meaningful experience here in my mountain home.

While I look forward to our next chapter with hope, adventure, and excitement, a piece of me will stay behind.  No matter where our journey takes us, you'll always be home.

Now send a prayer our way.  We're about to take three 3 year olds and a baby to the edge of the Atlantic. In roughly 4 days.  Wish us luck!

As Of Late

In last week's episode, our heroes were living in the beautiful mountain valley of Heber, Ut. They have now moved and are residing in the suburban neighborhood of Cottonwood Heights.


Yup. It's done. We have officially switched zip codes. A few things I miss about Heber:

• living close to my family
• Day's Market
• familiar running routes
• neighbors and friends I hope to keep in touch with
• the quiet beauty of the landscape (sigh)

But, I am finding the bright side of our new locale:

• literally 5 min away from stores I used to plan a Saturday around to shop at
• closer to Chris' side of the family (Grma Linda said: "It's my turn!")
• more time with dad since he isn't commuting an hour each way
  
• and I'll keep you posted with more...

There are a lot of stairs in our new place. So teaching the babies how to use them has been a focus and priority. (I know, gasp at the fact my 18 month olds don't know how to navigate stairs yet. We're working on it!) We do have lots of lovely trees around the place and a garden plot I've yet to tackle. We felt so fortunate to have so much help getting our little family of 5 to a new address. It was a project! So a big giant lump of gratitude goes out to everyone that helped us. Seriously.


Quick shot of the backyard via the GIANT playroom above the garage. Is that a clothes line you ask? Yes. Due to the complications of moving into a new place, we were without a dryer for 48 hours. In most households this might not be a big deal. But in ours, it is. So I asked Chris to rig up a clothes line. My romantic, read too many books about the 1930's side imagined my sun kissed face gingerly pinning up my kid's pjs and my husband's work shirts (read: t-shirts) while the wind gently blew, drying our clothes. But the first batch on the line happened to be a bunch of cleaning rags. These are true rags. Tattered, falling apart, etc. So as soon as they were up, I immediately wanted them down. It definitely didn't look like the clothes line I imagined. We looked like squatters in someone's backyard, trying to wash out some of our hobo wear. The dryer's fixed, but crib sheets gently blowing in the wind still appeals to me. So the line is still up.


I'm sure many (maybe one) of you were wondering if I ran my virtual 5k! You better believe it!

I set out all by myself on a sunny Friday morning and raced my silly heart out. I usually like to take pictures at all my races. So this one was no exception. Even if I took it myself, looking like a goon, holding up my watch so you can see my time. 28:33 in case you were wondering. I do believe it is my fastest 5K yet. (Don't worry about the stuff behind me, we were still unpacking.)



My little bear figuring out mom's giant running watch. I see this sweet expression all day. He is concentrating. You can tell because his little tongue is out.

So, that is the latest my friends! The next big thing we are all looking forward to around here is Ragnar! Woot to the double woot! 188 miles. It's a family affair this year. Can't wait.