One of the fun things about being on Facebook is the opportunity to keep up with/find old friends. And by old, I mean people from the middle school days and farther back. Fun fun.This photo was pilfered from the Facebook account of "Old" Joe Dory. That will distinguish him from his son, "Little" Joe Dory. They both fly planes, so it's easy to confuse them.
Anyway, I've known Joe my whole life. And for as long as I can remember, he has loved to fly. He has this fun little yellow plane that he just tools around in. Today, he posted this shot of our hometown on his Facebook page. I'm from rural Nevada. I'm not exactly sure where he found a spot flat enough to land, but this is from a hilltop overlooking Austin, which sits at 6,500 feet elevation in a little canyon. It isn't much, just a speck on Highway 50 with probably no more than 300 people on any given day. My great-great-great grandfather was an Italian immigrant chasing gold who saw a better life in being a merchant selling stuff to miners. He landed in Austin, via San Francisco and Virginia City, met my great-great-great grandmother and they set about populating Nevada. My branch of his decedents stayed in Austin. The rest are around the state and beyond and the Maestretti family has a big reunion for the whole extended clan every year.
These hills used to be covered in pinon pine (you are staring at a picture of the middle of the Toyiabe National Forest. Don't laugh.), but a fire in 1980 destroyed a lot of the trees immediately around the town. And in Nevada, trees don't just pop back up.
Anyway, lately I've been a little homesick. I attribute this to Facebook since even Austin itself has a Facebook page where someone has been posting pictures of all the fun little town things like Gridley Days and the Fourth of July events. It's a nice way to see how people at home are doing, but it tugs at the heartstrings a bit. Living in New York with three small kids doesn't make going West a very easy or affordable task anymore. I haven't been home since 2007, and really, since 2002, I haven't been home but for once a year. I miss the sunsets and the smell of sage after the rain. Horseback riding in the mountains and pine nuts in the fall. I miss my grandma's shady yard and her apricot tree. Well, I miss everything about my grandma, but that's another story. A dip in the tiny town swimming pool. My family, the living ones and the four generations buried down at the cemetery -- one of my top 10 favorite spots in the world. Sigh.
So I guess I'll just thank Joe for this nice picture to remind me of where I'm from and that, yes, even Nevada can be beautiful. And since I'm stealing his pictures anyway, I'll post another one to prove that a) Joe likes to fly, b) he'll do it in any weather, and c) I miss the mountains at home and this is a nice shot of them.
3 comments:
In my experience consistent or persistent contact with home does indeed make people more homesick. That is a great reason missionaries are only allowed weekly letters and bi-annual phone calls. My last year of Peace Corps was the first year many volunteers had mobile phones, making phonecalls and/or texts from home a regular event (by comparison, I e-mailed my family every few months, talked on the phone twice in 3 years, and wrote weekly letters). It led to a significant up-tick in people quitting early or just being generally unhappy; they spent so much time and energy thinking about things and people at home that they failed to make meaningful connections with their immediate surroundings and colleagues.
One of those both a blessing and a curse situations with modern technology.
Nice pics!
I really miss it too. At least I am still in the Great Basin, if only the edge. I need to get my wife and kid out there one of these days . . . so they can understand me a little better. I tried last year, but a cruise by on I-80 just doesn't cut it.
yeah, Seth, since I-80 is 90 miles north in the UGLY part of NV. Did you read that Washington Post story about 9 years ago or so declaring BM the armpit of America? It was funny, even if the author plagarized Mark Twain. And BM had an armpit festival every year now. Long way of saying I-80 is NOT 50, kid, you know that...
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