In my mind, we “spent our summers” in Puget Sound. In reality, it was a few small trips and one big summer.

Before that summer, we lived on the edge of a one mile canyon filled with succulents. My brother and I used to slide down the ice plants on makeshift “sleds” while our Mother gardened. One day, as we climbed back into the yard, we heard bees humming over the flower beds as our Mother silently read a letter.

San Diego didn’t feel like home. Our Father was gone most of the time. It was the late 60’s and the Vietnam war was ongoing. I remember Mom crying as she scrubbed the tub one morning. When I asked her why, she replied “one of the damned ‘flower power’ slip proof stickers is peeling up,” then admitted she was missing our Father. Little things blew up into big things and sometimes we took major life events in stride.

We weren’t from anywhere. We were from moving vans and packing stickers, going coast to coast and overseas, always making new friends but really knowing no one. We were a military family that moved often, yet every place felt like home when we were together.

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