Opinion : A significant anniversary for America – and for me

Feb. 1, 2003, the day Columbia exploded, was also a very personally historic day for me.

    Often when something of historical significance happens, people will ask, “Where were you?”

    I can tell you exactly where I was on this date eight years ago, Feb. 1, 2003.

    That was the day the Columbia space shuttle exploded over Texas.

    I was backing out of the garage in Washington, Iowa. It was 8 or 9 am. I heard the people on the radio talking about the space shuttle tragedy; at first I thought they were remembering the Challenger, which exploded during lift-off in late January of 1986.

   But soon I realized they were talking in the present tense. And saying “Columbia” and “Texas.”

    I kept the radio on as I drove from that house which we were renting to northern Benton County, where my grandfather had lived.

   Along with the rest of the country, I learned about falling pieces of insulation, heat shields and the deaths of seven astronauts.

    It was a significant day in American history.

    But it was a very big day for me, too.

    I was driving to look at a piece of land my father had offered me, the northern most five acres of what used to be my grandfather's farm.

    For years I had been thinking I should be living at my grandfather’s farm. It just fel like home. My grandfather had lived their most of his life; my father was born there.

     Not only was Feb. 1, 2003, a time of grief for America, it was also a time of grief for me.

    I had spent much of 2002 fearing that would be the year my grandfather died. Then one Saturday morning in September, the phone rang. My mom was dying. Among all of the things that go through a person’s mind at a time like this was: How could I have missed the signs? Why did I spend the year pondering my grandfather when my mother was going to die?

    The only time I remember laughing during the week of the funeral was when I was carrying the baby outside and I heard my grandfather talking to some guys about some woman he had been seeing.

     Three weeks later, he was dead, too. A car accident not far from his house.

     I spent the next several months in a haze; sad, mad at the world, and knowing that I was in no condition to make any significant life choices. So I sort of drifted through the end of 2002.

     It was January, 2003, when I was standing at the Washington County Recorder’s Office, waiting to talk to someone about statistics for a story. As I waited, I thought, “Someday I will move to grandpa’s place and build a house there.” Then I thought, “Now is the time.”

     A few days later, my dad called. He offered me part of grandpa’s land that he had inherited. A couple days after that, an old colleague called. He had a job opening in Vinton. A couple days later, another relative called. She had found a house we could rent.

     All of this happened between the Friday before the Super Bowl, and President’s Day. Sometimes, life makes it clear what you should do next. 

     ir all began for me on Feb. 1. I loaded the kids into the car and we began to drive the 93 miles or so from Washington to rural Brandon.

    The weather was better than today’s. There was just a small amount of snow on the ground. We found the field, where I remembered planting watermelon with my grandpa years earlier.

   We began walking around, evaluating the place, pondering whether or not it would work for a building site.

   And when I got to the top of the hill about 300 feet from the road, it happened.

   For the first time since that dreadful September day, I felt the fog lift. The first clear thought that I had since then was: "This is where I belong."

   That was eight years ago today. I am sitting now not more than few yards from where I stood that tragic morning. Most of the trees are still surrounding me, although we had to cut down a few that were dying.
    And still, it’s as clear then that this is where I belong.      

    We got back in the car. All the way home, the radio was continuing to tell us about Columbia. All the way home I began making a mental list of what I needed to do.

    Feb. 1, 2003, was of course, only a beginning. There were more moves to make, a surprising number of legal and banking hoops to jump through, and lots of ideas considered, revised and scrapped along the way.

    But still – regardless of the weather or any other thing happening around me – I still stand among the trees and realize that I am home. I have felt that in a lot of different ways at a lot of different stages in life since then.

    So when they say on the news that Feb. 1 is a day of historical significance, I agree. In more ways than one.