COMMENTARY: Growing up and growing old in Grangeville

The question, “Where are you from?” always fills me with a sense of nostalgia.  I’m excited to share my hometown with others. Have you heard the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child?”  Well, Grangeville, Idaho, was the village I grew up in.

In the 1960s and ’70s, children could roam freely and safely in Grangeville. And roam we did.  To school, to playgrounds, in and out of neighbors’ yards. Summertime was spent in packs, peddling bicycles to the city swimming pool.  Or we rode horseback to the foothills.  We picked wild huckleberries, fished, floated or swam in the rivers. When in town, we always knew when to head home for lunch. Kids knew when to head home. At noon and 5 p.m. each, a piercing whistle blew that could be heard all over town — time to be home. At 10 p.m., a curfew siren interrupted the quiet night — time to be home.

Grangeville’s well-bundled kids would schlep skis, poles, boots, gloves and rope tow grips to the grade school each winter. A yellow bus hauled us to Snowhaven ski area. In town, children piled onto sleds and let gravity pull us at uncontrolled speed down the hill — with NO adult supervision.

Small town downtown

My family owned Ray Holes Saddles on Main Street. When visitors entered the saddle shop, the pungent smell of leather: leather boots, moccasins and saddle making greeted them. Cowboy hats, dusters and a full range of gear for riding and packing filled every shelf. Classic country and Western music played all day long. One of the most popular T-shirts we sold declared, “Welcome to Idaho, set your clocks back 50 years.”

 Decades before cellphones, our villagers were able to instantly relay news, both good and bad. I drove from the high school to the saddle shop (only 12 blocks away) one day. When I arrived, Dad knew I’d taken a corner too fast and cut off Phil Wimer. Another day, I rushed downtown to tell him I’d made the varsity basketball team. He already knew — no secrets in this village.

 Grangeville’s Main Street is also Idaho Highway 13 and was “stoplight free” during my childhood.  We had a customer from Chicago who would escape the city each year and spend weeks in Idaho County. He brought his teenage son to Grangeville one year to experience something unique and rare.  When traffic stopped as they approached the street corner, his son asked his father what was happening. “The drivers see you want to cross the street, so they all stopped!”  Father and son came into the Saddle Shop to share their experience, and I realized my village looked out for each other. (Except for heavily loaded logging trucks that we knew needed to keep on trucking through crosswalks!)

Uniquely Grangeville

We never knew which local character would be in town that day.   Sometimes, it was Gertrude Maxwell, former Elk City outfitter and guide who once had to pack a dead man out of the mountains.  Gertrude loved pink. She drove a Pepto Bismol-pink Jeep Wagoneer and was always looking for hot pink XL western shirts, pants, cowboy boots and hats.

Bearded Buckskin Billy would arrive wearing his home-tanned and sewn bear fur cap, moccasins and fringed leather jacket and pants.  Multilingual with numerous college degrees, Buckskin had built a remote compound above a bend in the Salmon River. He delighted in attracting an audience and regaled them with tales of life as “The Last of the Mountain Men.”

Each summer, a fellow known as Florida Johnson arrived with a baby alligator.  Like the Pied Piper, children surrounded Florida Johnson and his reptile.

While the heyday of drive-in theaters in the U.S. peaked at 4,000 in the late 1950s, there are only 300 today, including Grangeville’s Sunset Auto Vue. Carloads of movie lovers still park to view the gigantic screen and share this rare communal experience.  Our family loved the drive-in. One night my mom tried to get out of our car at intermission only to discover she still had her seat belt on!

Each Fourth of July weekend since 1912, Grangeville hosts Border Days. For three days, the town teems with kids’ sports, races, parades, rodeos, food trucks, art and music, reunions, carnivals, fireworks, races and Idaho’s oldest rodeo.  Thousands of people fill Main Street each morning for the “World’s Largest Egg Toss.”  If you haven’t experienced Border Days, put it on your bucket list.

 The year my mother, Ellamae Holes, was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was living in Montana. Her treatment required frequent 160-mile round trips to Lewiston. Mom could drive herself to Lewiston, but the cancer medication made her pretty loopy on the way home. The village knew my father had a business to run, so locals started coming into the Saddle Shop and signing up for driving duty. Mom loved the drive-time conversations that helped her kick cancer.

Growing older

In the last few years, my parents’ memories and health have faded.  Whenever I came home to visit, I realized our village was helping them grow older with dignity. The help included a combination of patience, kindness and support.  Sitting at their favorite restaurant table, people would stop by to say hi and reminisce. Mom and Dad might not remember their visitors’ names, but they know these relationships matter ... that they matter. Neighbors, friends, former saddle shop customers, local waitresses and even strangers enabled Mom and Dad to stay independent and connected. Our family does not take this genuine neighborly kindness for granted.

The question, “Where are you from?” always fills me with nostalgia. Yes, it takes a village to raise a child — and it turns out — it’s a great place to grow older, too.

As a college instructor, trainer, and speaker, Jeri Mae (Holes) Rowley shares her unique brand of western wit and wisdom at jerimaerowley.com. She lives in Helena, Mont.