A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Grocery Store

I was driving to the grocery store shortly after moving when I passed a place I hadn't seen in nearly 50 years. It was the little trailer park where my grandparents on my mother's side used to spend their winters. I honestly don't think I'd seen that entrance since 1976, and there it was, looking exactly the same.

Of all the places we could have ended up when we moved, somehow we ended up just down the street from a place I hadn't thought about in decades. The funny thing is, I now drive past it almost every day, and every single time, I find myself thinking about my grandparents.

I guess I should back up a little.

I actually lived in in Arizona once before, from halfway through first grade until halfway through fifth grade. That was it. Just one of those four-year blocks of my childhood, but somehow it always felt like so much more.

My parents must have felt the same way, because over 30 years ago, they decided to move back and retire here. They settled in a completely different part of town, though, so when we came to visit, we rarely ventured into the neighborhoods I remembered from childhood. Occasionally, we'd drive by one of our old houses or my elementary school, but that was about it.

Before our family moved out west, our roots were firmly planted in midwest. Both of my parents grew up there, I was born there, and all four of my grandparents had spent their entire lives there.

My dad grew up in a small town, and my mom grew up in an even smaller farming community. Her family lived on a farm, in a farmhouse built by one of my grandmother's ancestors. My grandfather spent most of his life farming that land and his parents' land. I'm sure it was a hard life for both of my grandparents, with long days, plenty of work, and probably not much time left over for themselves.

So when my family moved to Arizona, it was a pretty big deal. We were the first on either side of the family to move away, and we weren't just moving a couple of towns over. We were moving clear across the country. For a family whose roots had been in the midwest for generations, Arizona might as well have been the moon.

That first winter, both sets of grandparents came out to Arizona to visit us. They were retired by then, and while seeing their grandchildren was the reason for the trip, I'm sure escaping an midwest winter didn't hurt.

My mother's parents eventually settled into a little snowbirders' paradise, a trailer park where they spent their winters. I remember going to visit them while we lived there, all of us lined up on the little couch in their trailer. I think we went just about every week, but strangely enough, that's one of the few things I remember. That, and my grandmother's giant three-wheeled bicycle that she rode around the park. Nearly 50 years later, I couldn't tell you what we talked about during those visits, but I remember the transportation.

My grandparents loved spending their winters there. Even after we moved back to the Midwest four years later, they continued returning to Arizona every winter until they were no longer able to. They had friends, played pinochle, and enjoyed themselves, but beyond that, I really don't know much about their lives there.

Which brings me back to that trailer park entrance.

Every time I drive by, I wonder what it was about that place that made them want to return year after year. I know they loved the sunshine and escaping the cold winters, but lately I've started wondering if there was something more to it.

The crazy thing is, they were probably younger than I am now when they first started coming here. Of course, in my childhood mind, they were ancient. They were grandparents, after all. As far as I was concerned, they'd always been old. Now I'm 60, and I have a slightly different opinion about what qualifies as ancient.

I imagine that after spending their entire lives on a farm in the midwest, Arizona must have seemed like another planet. The mountains, the desert, the sunshine, and winters without snow to shovel must have felt like heaven. I remember my Grandma always saying the air in Arizona was softer. I didn't understand what she meant back then, but I certainly do now. But I wonder if it was more than just the air that felt different.

For most of their lives, my grandparents had responsibilities that probably left little time to think about what they wanted for themselves. There was a farm to tend, children to raise, meals to prepare, and work that didn't stop just because you were tired. Their days were shaped by what needed to be done, and I'm guessing there wasn't much room for anything else.

Then suddenly, here they were in Arizona. No farm waiting for them in the morning. No children to raise. No generations of family history defining who they were. Just sunshine, new friends, and time that belonged entirely to them. I wonder what that must have felt like.

Maybe for the first time in their adult lives, they had the freedom to decide how they wanted to spend their days. Maybe my grandfather, who I'd always known as a farmer, discovered he liked spending afternoons playing cards with friends. Maybe my grandmother, who had spent so many years taking care of everyone else, found herself with time to do things simply because she enjoyed them. For all I know, she was the social butterfly of the trailer park. Maybe that giant three-wheeled bicycle was how she made her grand entrance.

I love thinking about that possibility. That somewhere in a little trailer park in Arizona, my grandparents were getting to experience a different version of their lives. Not necessarily changing who they were, but discovering parts of themselves that hadn't had much opportunity to come out before.

Of course, none of this occurred to me when I was little. They were my grandparents. They lived on a farm, came to Arizona for the winter, and occasionally we visited them. That was pretty much the extent of my understanding of their lives. It never crossed my mind that they might be having adventures of their own while I was sitting on that little couch, waiting for the grown-ups to finish talking.

Now, almost 50 years later, I find myself in a surprisingly similar place. I've moved across the country, my daughter is grown, and the life that filled my days for so many years has changed. I'm figuring out what I want this next chapter to look like, trying new things, meeting new people, and discovering that there are still parts of myself I haven't gotten to know yet.

Maybe that's why I keep thinking about my grandparents.

I used to think of them as people whose lives were mostly behind them. Now I wonder if those winters in Arizona were some of the years they looked forward to most. Maybe they felt the same excitement I feel about having the chance to do something different. Maybe they surprised themselves with who they became when they had a little more freedom to choose.

I wish I could ask them. I wish I could sit down with my grandmother and ask what she loved most about those winters. I wish I could ask my grandfather whether he ever missed the farm while he was here, or whether he enjoyed having a few months when there was nothing that absolutely had to be done.

Mostly, I wish I'd understood that they were still figuring out their lives, just as I'm figuring out mine.

What gets me is that I was there. I sat on that little couch and watched my grandmother ride her enormous bicycle around the park. I had a glimpse into a part of their lives that may have meant more to them than I ever realized, but I was too young to appreciate what I was seeing.

Now, almost 50 years later, a simple trip to the grocery store has me wishing I could sit down with them again and hear their stories. I'd love to go back to that little trailer, squeeze onto the couch, and listen to them talk about their lives in Arizona. Only this time, instead of waiting impatiently for the grown-ups to finish talking, I'd probably be the one asking all the questions.

The funny thing is, this time I'd be one of the grown-ups.

And I have so many questions.

Plot twist… I came back to Arizona to begin a new chapter of my own life, never expecting to discover that my grandparents might have done the very same thing nearly 50 years before me.