Seventeen years ago this summer, I moved to Salem.  I said I was coming for a job, which was true. I said I had always had an interest in teaching at an Indian school, which was true.  What I didn’t say, even to myself, was that I was running away from home.  A good girl wouldn’t do that.   During the next few years, my path took some interesting twists and turns, but, looking back, I am amazed at all the support and encouragement I got for being bold at last.  I remember once I was questioning Elizabeth concerning some adventure she was about to undertake, wondering about the kinds of eventualities and dangers that mothers are always plagued with considering.  Elizabeth replied, “Well, I hope I never don’t do something because I don’t have the courage.”  (My girls have never suffered from the developmental delays that I did.)

A surprising truth that I came to gradually is that I love living here.  Of course, that is easy to say on an amazing summer day, but I pretty much love this climate year round. Lots of rain making lots of green and lots of beautiful lakes and rivers.  A bit of snow some years.  And nice people.  Really nice people.

What I remember most about that first day I drove into Salem were the beautiful baskets of flowers hanging from the lamp posts downtown.  Nice people. Nice climate. Nice flowers.  Nice place to run away to and then just stay.