Last year, my husband and I decided to accept his Berkeley-based hydrology firm’s offer to move us to Truckee to set up a satellite office. The opportunity provoked fantasies – starring our baby girl Maya, a mini Picabo Street – of experiencing real seasons again, swimming in lakes and rivers in the summer and skiing through the woods in the winter.
As the big move loomed, I found myself lingering at my favorite urban spots, such as the Thai brunch where you pay with fake Thai baht at outdoor stalls and sit elbow to elbow at long picnic tables slurping down noodle soup, and the Little Farm where Maya had formed a one-sided relationship with a couple of cows.
Over the past 10 years the Bay Area had offered us endless possibilities for fun. Of course we hadn’t taken much advantage of the smorgasbord of opportunities since Maya’s arrival, and besides, heading to the coast or a museum or out for a raucous night of dancing included a disproportionate amount of time sitting in traffic. The infamous Bay Area traffic, along with the throngs of people, were a big push for us to move to a more tranquil setting.
I spent one last day at Muir Beach with Maya, a rare hot day in May when she stripped down and splashed around in Redwood Creek as it met the Ocean. As I filled my lungs with the moist salty air, I realized that the places we were most drawn to as a growing family closely resembled the natural playgrounds of Truckee. We were ready.
After a year of dreaming, worrying and hoping, I feel lucky and grateful to have landed in a beautiful, calming, and inspiring setting. On summer mornings I sit, in my pajamas, on our deck in the warm sun sipping a big cup of coffee watching Maya run around our flat grassy backyard bordered by a meadow of muted greens, reds, and browns. As she climbed up and down the steps to the deck, her chatter mixed with birdsong instead of with the hum of the highway and BART.
I keep expecting our landlord to knock on the door and tell us he didn’t know what he was thinking to leave this place and that we’ll have to move out of this house which is twice as big as our Berkeley bungalow and includes a hot tub surrounded by towering pine trees.
Can we create a network of friends here for Maya and for ourselves? Something about the quiet mountains stretching all around our sunny meadow silences my fears. Living in a large urban area distorted my ideas about kids playing outside by themselves. I had thought it was no longer a possibility, but watching the neighborhood kids on bikes and skateboards out my new kitchen window assures me that Maya will find her way here. You just get out there and play. And that’s what we will do.
~ Brooke Chabot, a Truckee resident, is a teacher and freelance writer.
