I’ve driven to my Man’s home-town of Condon on many different occasions and via an assortment of roads during our 22 years of marriage. I could probably even get away with saying I grew up there; but for the fact that the town is so small people might think I’m married to my cousin. Last month’s trip was different from previous trips on many levels. For one, it was the end of an era for our family as my Husband became a member of the fraternity that most people don’t look forward to joining; having lost the second of both parents. The long and winding trek back home to Condon for my Mother-in-Law's Memorial Service was also sweet as hundreds gathered to testify about her life, her loving spirit and her tendency to over-fill the pantry with way too many cans of tuna fish that were “best before 1999.”
I was reminded over and over again of my Mother-in-Law’s steadfast focus on the one thing that overshadowed all other matters in her life; sitting at the feet of Jesus. I was also reminded by friends and family that there truly isn’t any nice, neat way to get to Condon, Oregon. You can come at it from all manner of directions on the map but none are very straight or easy. On this trip home, however, I may have found my favorite path.
We arrived in Condon via the Madras-to-Antelope-to-Fossil route which can only be described as Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride meets The Matterhorn! The kids’ faces were green for two hours after our arrival but, thankfully, they slept it off because the Dramamine had finally kicked in.
And since I try to live my life by the “don’t-be-stupid-twice” principle we made our way back to Powell Butte a few days later via the Fossil-to-Mitchell-to-Prineville turnpike, which is much more like It’s a Small World. The Route 26 Expresso shop in Mitchell serves up a soothing Mexican Mocha and even the farmers seemed to be queued-up by an invisible conductor to gently plow under the rich earth just as I drove by.
Every time we visit my Man's quaint home-town I'm struck by how much it reaches into my soul and stirs up all my Laura Ingalls Wilder blood. I see his childhood roots with fresh eyes and fall in love all over again with the small town that raised him. And I do mean small. So tiny, in fact, that Main Street is just four blocks long, which requires the annual Fourth of July parade to turn around and make another pass each year, just so the on-lookers can justify making the long drive from their respective ranches.
The weekend of The Memorial was no different. From the moment our truck crested that last hill, and left the hours of never-ending fields and ranches behind, I was captivated again; drawn in by the sudden explosion of green trees and grain silos that jump up and appear - seemingly out of no where; like a mirage in this desert of barren, dormant earth. Soon though, the whole landscape will turn a vibrant green, as the young wheat grass pushes forth for miles around. But it won't last long because, as spring gives way to summer, the golden heads of wheat will mature and dry, leaving the town to stand alone again as a lush, green oasis.
His family home sits just above Main Street. A two-story, modest and perfectly square box, built by the hands of his Father and chock-full of almost forty years-worth of precious family treasures. But treasure-hunting wasn't the main reason for our pilgrimage home this weekend. No, this trip was meant for remembering my Mother-in-Law, Patricia McLane. Her burial was simple and sweet; conducted by Prineville’s Father Rob Greiner who also grew up in Condon. Her chicks and grand-chicks circled-up and gave thanks for her life, then prayed for their own and embraced the challenge to go forth and step into a legacy that would make her proud.
It was during this trip that I realized there will always be many pressing things to capture my time and attention. But oh how much I can learn from one precious Mother-in-Law, in one very small town, who chose to live as if the only thing that counted is faith expressing itself through love.
There are many roads that lead back to my second home, Condon, Oregon. And while that town may take up a small amount of space on the map, it has grown to fill up a gigantic amount of space in my heart.
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