Growth, Scars, and Stretch Marks
The scar on the hill ran deep and long. It was one big slice that ran east and west and splintered off into many mini cuts reaching north and south, each ending with a home or new construction. As I drove down curvy “graveyard hill” I was struck by the sight of the marked-up hill. It was across a ravine, farmland, and a measly desert river. This scenery was my background as I drove in and out of town for the 20 years I spent growing up in Southern Utah.
I moved back to the area several years ago after being away for 17 years, but I rarely drove this route anymore. There were newer and quicker roads into town now, but there was not a prettier way. I heard people talk and complain about the scarring of our beautiful hills and landscape. Builders had moved further and further out from the small town (that had turned into a small city) and it was now full of strip malls, car washes, and soda shops. What was once several smaller towns connected by bumpy roads — some unpaved with fields stretching between them — had now grown into a continuous row of towns separated by signs dotting the side of the road identifying that you had crossed a border. I had just passed a sign reading, “Welcome to Santa Clara,” which was the town I attended all of my years of elementary school.
I glanced to the hill again and noticed a new development going in further south in an isolated area where teenagers used to migrate with firewood and coolers; the hills would be dotted with small bonfires and filled with distant sounds of boomboxes and laughter. This development was new and the land had been leveled and appeared as steps chiseled into the hillside. There was a spiderweb of mountain bike trails that now weaved in and out of the rocks, gullies, and desert landscape that had been there longer than the first Mormon families that settled here. The steps and trails reminded me of the many stretch marks that appeared on my abdomen with each of my five pregnancies.
Scars and stretch marks. I couldn’t think of a better way to describe the changes that had happened to our corner of the state. I remember how horrified I was at the sight of the web of lines that appeared overnight during my first pregnancy. My baby made a major and painful position change when I was eight months pregnant and left me with many souvenirs. I shed some tears as I realized they would be with me for the rest of my life and I mourned the smooth young skin that had been forever marked. But as my babies came into the world and the snaky lines increased, the sadness changed. My body had grown and stretched to nurture and deliver these babies that I loved so much and I had a strange affection and appreciation for these badges of honor now.
I had heard and read complaints over the years about all the new people moving into this town that was loved by so many whose families had been here for generations. Growth can be hard. As a mother in my family of seven, I could attest to the struggle that can come with each new addition to the family, be it a new baby or a significant other, or even a pet. But I can’t say I regret any of those struggles or changes we made over the years. As we have grown, my love, contentment, and supportive circle have expanded with each change.
Our beautiful town has also experienced growing pains and struggles as it has stretched to fit the many flocking here. Many have sought the beauty, friendliness, and safety that the Southern Utahns have enjoyed. I think of the documentary I saw a few years ago about a doctor from Stanford University that moved here to head up the new cancer center in town. The added value of this new community member and cancer center is undeniable.
Two of my favorite restaurants in town are Korean and Vietnamese. One is owned and run by a man from New York City who sought a safer place to raise his teenage son, the other by a Korean woman who I often have to ask to repeat herself because her beautiful accent can be hard for me to understand. For our family, these places have given us a gathering place, memories, delicious food, and even friends in the faces of the owners that are there every single time we go. We would gladly sacrifice some civic and environmental growing pains for these blessings in our lives. The family-owned Indie bookstore in a historical home downtown had become a place of quiet refuge for myself and one of my adult daughters. Each room had a theme and the smell of old wood, new books, a little dust, and a lot of personality. I felt honored that this family had chosen our little spot in the world to call home.
Do I miss the old drive-in theater, the solitude I could find while going out on a hike, and roads when they weren’t congested with traffic? I do. I also miss my young skin, the lack of grey in my hair, and the freedom to take off for the weekend with my husband without worrying about my kids at home…but I wouldn’t trade any of it. I love to hear the diversity of accents and other languages when I go out now. I love the increase in the variety of food, and shops, and the growing array of colors, vocabulary, and culture that has settled in.
Growth is hard. Growth can be painful. Growth can cause us to feel a longing for the past. But it also brings education, personal growth, an increase in love, friendship, and opportunities. I am excited to see what is yet to come.
