Roots and Branches: Returning to the Place that Grew Me
Introduction: Home Through New Eyes
“Maycomb was a tired old town… there was nowhere to go and nothing to buy.” —Lee (1960)
A few weeks ago my sister and I were driving to the high school for our youngest sibling’s graduation. The route stirred something big in us.
We laughed about free‑pizza coupons, Arctic Circle cones, and the way we once believed the whole world fit inside that happy triangle of Pizza Hut, Arctic Circle, and the library. Now, as a mom, I’m amazed at the trust our parents placed in two wobbly girls on a tandem bike. I asked my sister for years if she was pedaling—she finally confessed she wasn’t. Still, we cruised safely through town, collecting tiny adventures.
We had a dreamy childhood, and maybe that’s why I panic when my own boys wobble, fall, or feel off‑kilter. My parents wove a wide safety net; I wonder daily if I can match it.
Coming home hasn’t always fit. For years it pinched like squeezing into a dress two sizes too small. But strolling memory‑lane with my sons—showing them the places that built me—has softened everything.
Like the trees in my parents’ garden, I’m learning that roots and branches matter equally. This post is a walk through those roots and the growth they still nourish.
Disclaimer: This is My Story
Everything I’m sharing is from my own perspective, which means it’s colored by both distortion and insight. Like Tara Westover wrote in Educated, “Everything I had worked for, all my years of study, had been to purchase for myself this one privilege: to see and experience more truths than those I had been given.”
I hope that in reading this, you’ll feel free to reflect on your own story with compassion—not to compare, but to connect. My upbringing was deeply good and loving. I am forever grateful to my parents, siblings, and small-town community for shaping me. They changed me—for better and worse—but mostly for the better.
My only goal is to speak with truth and gentleness, to myself and to you.
Section 1: Number Seven
Section 2: Small Pond, Big Ocean
I loved growing up in Wyoming. There is so much magic in a little town. There's honestly freedom. Especially following successful siblings through school, you learn how to work hard, push yourself, and find success. I became a big fish in a small, wonderful pond.
In high school I got to try soccer, speech and debate, student government, etc. Meanwhile, mom found ways for us to work and serve around town. My sister and I biked around babysitting, lawn work, etc. We were big fish. It was awesome. Our pond was kind, strengthening, and emboldening. Part of me felt invincible; part of me whispered, "What if the ocean laughs at a pond fish?"
My parents fostered curiosity about the world. We got to watch our siblings venture out and explore the world as they went to college. I also loved books, my teachers (except that Mr. Weidner, who really wasn't my teacher, so...), traveling with family across the western USA.
All of these passions, explorations, curiosities, and confidence inspired my leap into what seemed to be a big ocean. As I prepared to apply to college, I was sure that I could get in anywhere. Believe me, I'm sure that lovely perspective was mine and mine alone. It was a brutal awakening to experience the doubts of mentors around me. It was constructive, not necessarily deconstructive commentary, but it still shook me.
It was things like, "You can apply there, but you probably won't get in..." that really cut deep. It was a friend's raised eye brow, a siblings' joke about small fish, it was hard to mount the subtle criticism and move forward. My interviewer called it, "A miracle," when I got into the University of Pennsylvania. The strength and breadth of my roots is what helped me to feel comfortable moving across the country to a big city to earn my undergraduate degree. It was those roots and that grounding that made me want to stretch and grow.
Section 3: Ready to Go
That being said, my senior year was a bit of a struggle. I decided to try cheerleading with my two younger sisters—which was a dream—but my coaches were disappointed I didn’t play tennis. Juggling cheer and speech and debate also led to tension with my debate partner. I did my best to reschedule practices and stay committed, but she felt frustrated and eventually quit.
She didn’t leave quietly. I still have her email—pages of harsh criticism, including, “Every time I see you, I think of someone who’s mean and not pretty. That may seem harsh, but it’s the truth.” She ended it with, “So, as Scripture says, I’ll wipe the dirt off my feet and move on to bigger and greater things.”
My heart dropped. I tried to reach out—left a little care package of things we loved—but nothing changed. She was my best friend. I know I wasn’t blameless, but I wish we’d had a chance to talk it through. Other friends made the year meaningful, but it was still a painful blow.
By the end of the year, I felt done—like I had outgrown the place. It’s a bit silly, but it helped me feel ready to go.
To cope, I started imagining myself far away, trading small-town drama for deep, intellectual conversations. I clung to Taylor Swift’s Mean as my anthem—proof that my “someday” was coming.
And in a way, it did. But leaving helped me see something else too: the deep strength and value of my roots.
Section 4: Bringing H Home
Something shifted when I started bringing my children home. It felt like, instead of trying on a too small shoe, I was showing them my childhood -- the incredible things that made me, me. We got to explore my childhood home, play at the parks that I did when I was small, and we're even taking swimming lessons where I used to. It's very special. It's vulnerable, beautiful work.
My parents moved out of our childhood home to help one of my brothers. At first, it was unfathomable. Slowly, my parents fixed up an old house left to them by my grandmother. Then, they helped my brother, his wife, and their little one settle in. Now, we just don't visit as much. So, when we do, the memories come flooding back. Taking my son, was pretty special.
Seeing my childhood through my sons' eyes helps me to recognize the incredible magic that my parents created as they built our home. I showed him how to lick the nectar from the flowers that I feasted on, little dew drops of sweetness. I helped him climb up to the treehouse that we all built together. It was scary, but memories of make believe echoed in the cracks it made as the wind rocked it. To be honest, it isn't the treehouses, secret passageways, quotes covering the fence, etc., it was the feeling they gave us of safety and freedom.
That is something that Al and I are trying to replicate -- with a little less wind and snow and more tropical breezes, of course. That being said, we hope to instill the love, intention, faith, play, and connection that my parents did, even if it is a little warmer and passion fruit flavored.
Section 5: Your Roots, Your Branches, Your Growth
There is a balance in gratitude and growth. As I continue to build and rebuild my career, I continue to fight the guilt that was created as I grew up. Not only did my incredible mother epitomize the stay at home goal, but she sometimes expressed strong opinions about mothers who chose different paths, and those moments stuck with me.
I will be forever grateful for her efforts and example. Gratitude. I'm still trying to silence the inner critic that was created through her prejudice. Growth. That is what I am discovering as I find comfort in re-writing my motherhood script.
Today our rhythms look different. I’m up at 5:30 a.m. to teach while Al rouses the boys, drops H off at school, and walks E through the neighborhood -- pocketing mangoes from friendly trees.
When I come home, we eat lunch, E and I play a little, working on development, and then he goes down for a nap. Al will then take off to work or we get to hang out a bit. We both like to pick H up from school for an early dinner before our evening adventures.
We both work together to nurture, provide, and built. it isn't a replica of my upbringing, but it holds the same core: connection, purpose, joy.
Bonus: Things to Do in Green River, WY With Kids
Here are some great adventure spots in the Green River, Wyoming area:
Sweetwater County Library
Green River Recreation Center
Riverside Park
Splash Park
Gigi's Playland
McDonald's
Municipal Horse Corral
Stratton Meyers Park
Fishing at the Flaming Gorge
River floats
Walking/Biking path by the river
Rock Springs Recreation Center
White Mountain Library
