Last weekend was the Tucson Festival of Books. My daughter and I flew out of Seattle after a serious windstorm and prior to a snow storm. We didn’t come back home until after the snow had vanished. In other words, unlike last year, we clearly dodged the weather bullet this time around. As for the festival itself? It was amazing.
After participating in every TFOB since its inception, including the remote one in 2020, going there is very much like going home. One of the things I’ve really missed in the past few years, starting with Covid, is the ability to interact with my readers. That’s something the festival gives me in spades. And, as someone in my eighties with certain physical issues, it was gratifying to be treated as a cherished antique.
Some of you may remember a misadventure at a previous book festival in Florida where the stage was a good eighteen inches off the ground with no ramp or steps in between. With the audience already seated, it literally took three men and a boy to heave me up onto the stage. So in Tucson, I was incredibly gratified to have steps with sturdy hand-rails leading up to and off the stages. I also appreciated having chairs with arms for the banquet, panels, and signings. As that old song from the Fifties says, little things really do mean a lot!
TFOB, located on the University of Arizona Campus (BEAR DOWN!) is now and always has been free. It runs on generous sponsors (Lots of them!), the people who pay for booths, and volunteers—literally hundreds of them. (I seem to be using the word literally a lot in this post, but so be it!) The money that comes in goes to support any number of reading-related charities, including an organization called Literacy Connects whose volunteer coaches teach reading skills to adults.
Some of you may remember a post years ago where I spoke of meeting a woman named Marcia who, at age 49, had turned to Literacy Connects to learn how to read because she wanted to be able to read stories to her grandkids. Growing up as a dyslexic in a Hispanic family where English was definitely a second language, Marcia attended school year after year without ever learning to read. That reality impacted every aspect of her adult life, including limiting the kinds of jobs she was able to land.
Years ago, she attended a book signing at a Barnes and Noble in Tucson, walking into the room with the wariness of someone who’s just been dropped in enemy territory. Once there, however, she told me her story, including the fact that she and her Literacy Connects coach were using MY books as textbooks in her journey of learning to read.
Since then, I’ve encountered Marcia at TFOBs where she’s updated me on her progress. She’s caught up on the Bradys now and is working her way through the Beaumonts. Someone asked her once why she didn’t just listen to the audio versions. “No,” she said, “I want to read every word!”
This time when I saw her she said, “You’re never going to believe this.” “Believe what?” I asked. “I’ve started a book club, and we’re all reading your Walker Family books.” “Does your book club have a name?” I asked. “No,”she answered. “We just call it the book club.” Naturally I gave it a name—I had to. It’s now called the Late Comer’s Book Club!”
So yes, going to TFOB really was like going home. That’s the “can” part of the title. Now for the “can’t.”
When my family departed South Dakota in 1949, there were only five of us—my parents, my two older sisters, and me. We left the farm on the 28th of January when the temperature was twenty-eight below zero. We headed out pulling an overweight trailer that was loaded down with 300 quarts of my mother’s previous summer’s-worth of canning. We made that trek on the advance cusp of a fierce blizzard that shut down portions of the Midwest for months on end. (I refrained from using another literally but just barely!). We spent five days snowbound in Enid, Oklahoma, before finally arrive in Bisbee, Arizona, in mid February.
For the next several weeks, we stayed in the Shady Dell Trailer Park (It’s still there.) while my folks negotiated buying the house at 16 Yuma Trail. Our actual move-in occurred in the middle of March. I was young enough that I didn’t have to work on the move-in process. Instead, I remember walking over to the wrought-iron fence on the east side of the yard, hanging on the uprights, staring up at an incredibly blue sky, and feeling the sun all over my body. That’s the day I fell in love with Arizona, and believe it or not, that fence is still there.
At the time, Bisbee had two separate water systems. One was for drinking. The other one, for outside-use only, was free. It consisted of mineral rich water that was pumped out of the mines, and it made the whole town look like an oasis—including the yard of our house at 16 Yuma Trail. We had trees, including an immense mulberry tree which was great for climbing. During barefoot summers, the soles of our feet were stained purple with berries from that tree. We also had numerous fruit trees—peach, apricot, and fig. (My mother spent the last of the summer months canning like crazy.) We also had plenty of lush green grass which had to be mowed with a push mower, not easy on a steeply slanted lawn.
The house is where I grew up is still standing, but times have changed, and now what was once a wonderful home has morphed into an eyesore. The trees are mostly gone. There’s a renegade cottonwood that I never met before and a pine tree that my dad dragged home years ago in a five gallon bucket. It was tiny then. Now it towers over the house.
The problem is, for the past number of years, the place has belonged to someone who’s most likely a hoarder. Every inch of the yard, the sidewalk out front, and probably the house itself are all full of junk. This past week 16 Yuma Trail made the local news. After years of sending warnings, the City of Bisbee finally had enough. They sent a cleanup crew—for the outside of the house at least—and have now placed a lien against the house to cover the cost of the cleanup.
The online article included a link to a photo. Presumably, it was taken prior to the cleanup. The front of the house is the part where my mother and younger brother jumpstarted a long-delayed remodel by chiseling down the now-missing outside wall that separated the house from the two sun rooms and front porch that been there previously. FYI, the row of four windows on the righthand side are where my sister Janie’s and my shared bedroom was.
Clearly I can no longer go home to 16 Yuma Trail. The building still exists, but the only way to access the loving home we had there once is through my heart and soul, and those memories will always be happy ones. As for the Tucson Festival of Books? This past weekend 145,000 people, including yours truly, went home to that.
See there? You really can and can’t go home again.
I’m living proof.
As always, a wonderful blog. I was born and raised in Dallas and have had 9 homes, counting pre and post marriage. Not lately, as I don’t drive that much anymore, but there was a time when I would make a pilgrimage around town and visit many of the old homesteads. Oh no, this blog has just given me an idea that I ready shouldn’t have. Maybe I can get someone to drive me, you think?
Blessing to you and Bill.
What an amazing trip back in time and a perfect transition to the present!
Thank you for the memories and updates.
May God continue to bless and keep you!
My IT Gal forgot today was Friday. That’s my kind of trick, so here it is, a few hours late. That’s what working from home can so to you. Sorry about that.
Sorry for the delay. My IT-gal forgot it was Friday. That’s my kind of trick, but that’s what happens when you work from home. I notice that the link to the house is missing. All you have to do is Google 16 Yuma Trail. It should come right up.
It looks like the link isn’t here. If you want to see the house in Bisbee, just Google 16 Yuma Trail
I love your blog and look forward to it every week. This article truly hit home for me being 77 years old myself. I have a group of cousins who are trying to keep the homestead still standing as the city encroaches its boundaries. So many changes in the last 100 years on this property. I’ve been blessed to be local for the majority of the years, but as time goes on I’m afraid we will lose our battle. Like you say though, it will always and forever hold a place in my heart and soul. Thanks again for jiggling so many personal memories of my childhood also.
So now I’m chewing my cabbage more than twice.
It’s nice when you CAN go home again!
unfortunately, too-often someone has changed the things you remember so fondly.
According to Google Earth, the hoarder was still there when they last took footage of that block. Man, what a collection of crap! Oh, and they have a few old printers for free! After sitting out in the weather, I wonder if ANY of their stuff is still any good. (I know, it doesn’t rain much there, but it wouldn’t take much rain to ruin any of the stuff that WAS good….)
As always, I enjoy your weekly musings!
Fred
I was born and lived my first 12 years in Tucson. Several years ago, the last time I was there, I went by the last house that we lived in. That was in 1959. It was on Prince Road. At the time it was a 2 lane road. It has been widened to 4 lanes. Half of the front yard is gone. And the house was painted a hot pink. That’s not as bad as being a hoarder house but…….Hot pink, really? I should get on Google earth and see if it is still pink.
I just went to google map and looked up 16 Yuma Trail. Wow, that was wonderful to see the house you grew up in. The picture showed if full of junk like you said but the wrought iron fence and the old pine tree are still there. I could feel the love warm memories you felt. They’re still there.
I’ve read and loved all of your books and am enjoying reading your blog since I recently found it.
I’m about your age and am amazed at your energy, allowing you to continue to write and travel!
I wonder, during the freezing trek from South Dakota to Arizona, didn’t your mother’s canned goods freeze and break the jars, making a mess when everything warmed up?
I wondered about that, too!
Nope those canned good all made it unscathed, and the house on Yuma Trail had a dirt-floor basement with shelves where they were stored. Eventually, my father and my maternal grandfather, Grandpa Anderson, created a downstairs apartment out of most of the space, but the back part—dirt an shelves—remained.
It has been awhile since I’ve gone back to Bisbee. We lived at 501 Tener Av in Warren. The house is still there and looks pretty good.
The small town in Pennsylvania where I grew up was a factory town. You had to clean the porch bannister and floor everyday in the summer. My mom was a great housewife and kept everything clean. I went back for a visit a few years ago, I am 89. It now has no factories and clean air. Definitely nothing to attract a young person. It is a retirement community.
The area where I live now is known for the Mafia bust in the 1950’s
I’m usually one of the early readers of your blog. But today errands had to be run and I’m now just getting to my afternoon email readings.
I’m glad you have a good time at the TFOB. I’m also glad you use the word literally properly and not like a lot of people nowadays.
It may be true sometimes that, “You can/can’t go home again” but I still live at the same address as where I grew up. Although my parents and the old house we grew up in are long gone, it still evokes memories when I write the address. It was only just a few years ago that I let the old landline go that still had the old number. Although it no longer was using the old way phone numbers were done, it was basically still the same.
I love your Friday blogs for many reasons, one is that they almost always take me down memory lane.
I’m really looking forward to your new books.
My grandfather built the log home I grew up on in SW Washington in the 1910’s out of old growth fir after emigrating here in 1903 as part of a Finnish community of a small town though 7 miles out of town. My mother was youngest of 7. My grandfather died in the 20’s so she was a young girl then. She ran the farm after that with my grandmother and some others as needed. Married my father in 1951 and I was born a year later than 2 brothers. Grew up in that house without electricity, minimal indoor plumbing (kitchen and porch or washing mainly by hand and later gas powered wringer washer). Outhouse, wood stoves and gravity flow spring water. Had cows/bulls. chickens, turkeys and horses. Hayed, milked cows, gathered eggs, orchard, garden, logged, and many other things. Ate well but no refrigerator or phone. My dad was killed in a work accident after saving others in 1963. Mom persisted there. Most people didn’t seem aware of how We lived as We didn’t have a need to complain. We all mostly moved out but mom lived there until she passed suddenly 36 years ago. I lived nearby and helped as she didn’t drive. The home place pasted to my brother but he sold or lost it eventually due to drugs, etc. About 2 years ago the house was torn down due to severe neglect but the ruined logs that could be salvaged were saved but think that part may be a lost cause due to other circumstances. Was hoping something good may come from it but may not.
I have almost all the pictures that I managed to get but a lot were lost. Did get my grandmother’s spinning wheel but it hasn’t been used since her. I was 1 when she died in the home with my mother taking care of her for years due to a stroke. My family has Sisu which is a special word to the Finnish.
Sorry about the rambling but I understand how it feels to see what others can do to destroy your visual memory of the old but real ones.
I went home also after our parents died and we had sold our childhood home. I don’t remember why but I stopped by a few years after we sold it, and the then owners asked me to come inside. When I got back to my house, I called my sister and told her that, if they ever invited her in, to decline. House just wasn’t kept up like our mom kept it up. Your blog brought back that memory.
Bisbee is a great place to live. It has a good climate. That is why my dad retired from the army and moved back to Bisbee. He was born in Spokane. My mom was born Sheboygan Wisconsin. My dad was stationed at Ft Hauchua in the fifties, and we lived in Bisbee. So we moved back. I love it here.
Oh, Judy, as usual I love reading your blogs. In 2016 when my mom died, my sister Judy and I drove around Peoria, Illinois loooking at some of the places where we had lived. Every neighborhood was changed so much that we barely recognized anything. The grade schools I attended were gone and the high school we went to had been demolished. It was sad. Of course, at our ages, me 82 and her 79, most of our good friends have passed, also. Neither one of us has any desire to return again except to visit our sister who still lives there. Another sister and our brother live far away. I love reading your blog and I love reading the responses from your other fans. Being your fan and your friend is such an important part of my life. Thank you.
It was a joy seeing you at TFOB last week! I’m so glad you made it! Thanks for braving the weather and heading south. I hope all the sticky notes left for Bill’s care were followed to the T!
You & your writing are literally great.
You & your writing are literally great.
Wow! So glad you had a successful, enjoyable time at the Festival, JA. You still are amazing, even though a cherished antique.
Best to you and Bill. ??
At our parents home, we had a big side and back yard that I was the dedicated to the push lawn mower. Once my mom sold awhile after our dad died, the next owners built a whole 2 story home in the back yard. Much of the side yard became the driveway.
I friend sent me your note. I could relate to your sentiments about going home. In my case, I had many. My dad was miltary and we moved on average of every two year. That in itself was an wonderful education. Also, dad and I were readers. We had a table between us with at least a stack of five books each.
I read all of the Beaumont Series when I was working at Boeing in Everret. Been retired almost 20 years and now listneing to them in order (as much as Library auto schedules allow). Then will start to remaining series. Thank you for so much fun and entertainment.
I’m so glad the festival went well and brought you such joy. Thank you for sharing your stories and memories. Your blogs literally make my week 😉
Of course, I had to Google Earth #16 Yuma Trail. I sure bet the neighbors were happy when the city cleaned up that yard. I can’t imagine what the inside must look like. It nice to know that someone who made so much of herself came from somewhat “humble” beginnings. I know the house I grew up in was as humble as yours!
My friend and I wanted to see your house. We live in Tucson so we, for our girls trip one year, spent a couple of nights at the Copper Queen. (That year it was a quick trip unlike others where we went to Zion or Nashville.) It was a bit rough but still fun. The GPS to your address sent us on the most ridiculous journey – nowhere near your house. So we looked it up and got there ourselves. It was while the house was overcome with “stuff”. It was fun seeing where you lived and picturing it lovely as you said it was. Thank you for the memories. And now we have a shared memory (sort of) 🙂