Grandma Henke

Growing up I didn’t know we had a neighborhood. I thought we just had neighbors. Draper was a small town and most homes in the southeast corner where we lived were separated by acres of farm land. The street I grew up on was probably two to three blocks from where it stopped at 13800 South at the top and curved at the bottom to continue on to Draper Park School in the middle of town. I suppose the three or so blocks of that street was what I considered my territory and it only had five homes on it most of my childhood. I suppose the entire half of Draper was my neighborhood because those are the people we went to church with and we knew them all well. There wasn’t a lot of traffic and half of it was farm equipment. What I do know for sure is that it was a wonderful place to grow up and I would love to live in a little town like it now, but they are rare these days.

The three places we lived while Lynn was in the army were interesting. In Augusta, Georgia we lived in a trailer court and it wasn’t a desirable neighborhood although we were happy to have a fun couple in the trailer next door. Our doors were so close we could easily stand in our doorways and hold a conversation without raising our voices.

In New Jersey we lived in an old home about three blocks from the Atlantic Ocean in Long Branch. It would have been a dream summer had it not been for the fact that it was during the time of racial conflict and my personal fear of the local mafia influence. I didn’t have a car while Lynn was at work and didn’t dare put the baby in a stroller and go the three blocks to the beach on my own but when he was home we had a blast. We never did get to know any of the neighbors but I don’t even know if any of the neighbors knew each other. You rarely saw people out in their yards.

In Yuma, Arizona we lived on base at Yuma Proving Grounds. It was a great neighborhood and a fun year and a half. Lynn’s job there was like going to a regular job and the only thing that made us realize we were in the army was the fact that all the men wore uniforms. We were across the street from the pool and the doctor was close by, the yards were maintained for us which was wonderful, and all of the homes on our large block enclosed a playground in the sand for the children. We trusted everyone, traded babysitting, and enjoyed many good friendships.

Blanding, Utah, is in the southwest corner of the state and surrounded by canyons and State Parks. The next closest city was Monticello and it was a good forty-five minute drive away. We loved Blanding. It was another small town that felt like it was all the “neighborhood”. Our home was on a culdesac (now there is a word that isn’t in spell check) and it was perfect for our four, small children. One year we created a beautiful garden on the front corner of our lot with huge rocks from the neighbor’s farm. We also brought home a lot of cow manure to fertilize this little garden. Before I had time to plant flowers it spontaneously started sprouting plants that we could tell were some kind of squash. They grew and grew and grew and GREW. It turned out they were banana squash. Online it says they grow up to 2 feet long and 6 inches in diameter. Ours, that were grown from the droppings of cows who had eaten squash the previous winter were up to 5 feet long and 24 inches in diameter. They vines grew so fast they were halfway across the road when we came back from a 5 day trip. Our neighbors were as fascinated as we were at this magnificent garden so they were careful to drive around the vines and squash and helped redirect them back onto our yard. We entered the biggest one in the county fair and it took Best of Show in the vegetables. Our children used to sit on them in the front yard and pretend they were horses … the youngest of the children needed help getting on them. Good neighbors that we were, we provided everyone we knew with the fruits of our labors. It was a great neighborhood for our growing family.

Now we live in Ivins, Utah, where we moved in 1978. It will be thirty years this fall. We have watched it grow from a small little farming community to one of multi subdivisions and huge expensive homes. Our little neighborhood core has stayed pretty much the same over the years … Where we were once called, “the subdivision” because we were the only one in town we are now called, “the old subdivision”. I look out my window now and there is a new generation of children walking down the road, playing ball in the streets, and arguing as they walk home from the bus stop every night. Some of our neighbors have grown old with us and others are new young families. We used to be the young parents and now we are the grandparents. It’s strange to see the changes take place but it’s also comforting and fits like a good old pair of shoes you never want to throw away.

Neighborhoods are important. We choose them carefully because we know the impact they will have on our children and our future. Ours is a diverse neighborhood with a mixture of religions, ages, and incomes. I like it that way. I like living in the old subdivision.