As a student in the ASU MLSt program I had the pleasure of taking a course in Writing the Journey. As a desert dweller most of my life it took leaving Arizona for me to appreciate its beauty. This post is longer than most as I share with you my journey from home to Maryland where I studied accounting and my return to the place I call home.
Desert Skies
I really missed the stars, I thought while tossing the blanket into the bed of my dad’s 1972 Chevy truck, which was parked in the front yard of the home where I grew up. Barely containing my excitement as I scamper over the tailgate, this is the first night in years I am able to stargaze in the desert. Shimmering diamonds pale in comparison to a million twinkling stars. Tucson, designated a low light pollution zone to accommodate Kitt Peak National Observatory to our southwest, lends itself to dark skies which enhances stargazing. My years spent on the east coast taught me to cherish the beauty of the desert, which beckoned for my return almost from the moment I departed for college at the University of Maryland (U of MD). Three days earlier I packed my tiny Toyota Tercel with everything that did not fit on the moving truck and began the drive west towards home. Washington, D.C. grew smaller in the rearview mirror as my dad, infant daughter, and I set out on our three-day adventure, which was grueling with a screaming two-month-old who wanted absolutely nothing to do with a car seat.
As we journeyed, what I looked forward to most was reacquainting myself with the mountains and stars. Living in the forested suburbs of D.C. while I matriculated at U of MD, made me feel claustrophobic. Tall clusters of trees made it impossible to see more than a few blocks in any direction, which was the opposite of Arizona where you can gaze into the distance to see majestic mountains and desert landscapes. I felt a sense of security and warmth arriving home as the desert and mountains stretching into the horizon embraced me like the familiar arms of family.
Seven years earlier I was standing on the steps of Centerville hall, affectionately known as the nunnery, contemplating how I was going to get the seventy-five-pound steamer trunk up the looming staircase leading to the entrance of my new “home”, four white brick walls with institutional gray accents and old furnishing with a single small window overlooking the cafeteria in the quad. Welcome “home”, if I could get the trunk upstairs, I thought. This was certainly pre-American with Disabilities Act. With no ramp at my disposal I relied upon the kindness of strangers to help me cart my belongings to the room where I started my life as a mighty Terrapin. My acceptance letter came in the mail in late July, less than eight weeks before the start of the semester, leaving me little time to prepare for college. I have been accepted to the University of Maryland, now how am I going to tell my parents, actually how do I explain this to my dad!
I fondly recall my first trip to College Park as I stood in the middle of my bedroom contemplating what to pack, preparing to return to Maryland, as a freshman in the school of business. A year earlier, I attended The Leadership Education and Development (LEAD) Program on the Maryland campus to experience a mini-MBA introduction to business education. As a wide-eyed sixteen-year-old who had never traveled beyond the southwest, its landscape generously dotted with prickly pear cacti and statuesque saguaros which average 30 feet tall, I was clueless about the east coast. Approaching Washington National from the air, I marveled at the lush green trees that stretched as far as my eyes could see, a first for me, witnessing a forest of trees surrounding our Nation’s capital. My heart raced, I looked out the window at the Potomac river running parallel to the runway. Dear God please let the pilot land this thing on solid ground. The ride from the airport to campus was enchanting as we circumnavigated the crisscrossed roadways of D.C., originally envisioned by Pierre L’Enfant. Roadways more complex than any in Arizona, where most cities are designed using a grid system with streets running north, east, west, and south. The driver piloted the bus through the confusing traffic circles like a champ. How do you know when to get out? I pondered as the bus dodged cars darting in and out of the roundabout, certainly a feat that would take half my seven years in Maryland to master.
As we entered the main gates of the campus a giant M fashioned from beautiful red marigolds sat perched in the middle of yet another roundabout welcoming all onto the grounds of the university. An interesting note about the M, the flowers were replaced twice each year with seasonally appropriate foliage. My favorites were the tulips planted each fall, which I impatiently waited for to bloom in anticipation of their breathtaking beauty and uniformity. The school’s architecture was impressively grand, which was a selling point for me. Enamored with the campus, I secretly planned to move to Maryland the second the expansive campus mall lined by historic buildings at the heart of campus appeared as we traversed the campus. My clandestine plan to study at U of MD was set in motion the summer of 1983.
That stifling hot and humid month of July 1983 flew by in a blur. It was the longest I had ever been away from my parents, under their watchful eyes. Our group of thirty rising high school seniors were treated like VIP’s by the LEAD staff. We visited the U.S. Capital, the White House, and spent three days in New York City when time square was still filthy and electrifying, at least it was for a sixteen-year-old from Tucson. Seeing the live production of 42nd Street on Broadway sealed the deal, I have to get back to this part of the country, forget Tucson. The east coast was a different world than Arizona. Never before had I seen so many people in one place. Like a colony of ants moving with purpose, people crowded sidewalks scampering to work, I presume. Most exciting for me, watching from the gallery as the opening bell was rung at the New York Stock Exchange. Each experience more magical and memorable than the one before. Enamored by my first stay in a three-star Marriot hotel in New Jersey, across the river from New York City, I knew returning home in a few days would be tough.
Sadly, I left behind my new friends and the campus that had become so familiar during the month that zoomed by like a Japanese bullet train. As the obedient youngest child of my parents, being away from home gave me a sense of freedom for the first time. I nearly lost my sense of order and composure towards the end of the month away. I tested boundaries and drove the resident assistants crazy as I just beat curfew several nights and participated in messy food fights (the cafeteria food served best as a weapon not sustenance) firing food out of the sixth-floor dorm room into the quad at some of the students in the program our last night (not my proudest moment). I spent nights chasing fireflies (which I had never seen before) exploring every nook and cranny of the expansive campus before curfew, growing more unconstrained as each week passed, feeling confident and free. To my dismay, the feeling of independence drained away as I boarded the return flight home, blubbering for most of the journey. I have to go back and live by dad’s strict rules for one more year. My spirits brightened however, as the smell of hot fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green peas wafted from our home upon opening the door. My favorite meal, lovingly prepared by mom, welcomed me back home. I really missed her.
August 30, 1984, my father and I pulled the steamer trunk, filled with of all my worldly belongings, from the bed of our 1971 Chevy wagon and dragged it to the skycap who checked my luggage for the flight back to Washington, D.C. Salty tears welled up in my eyes as I embarked on the journey to college one week before my eighteenth birthday. Journeying alone again, this time to commence studying for my bachelors’ degree in accountancy.
“You know there is a perfectly good university here in Tucson! I don’t understand why you want to spend all that money to go to school in Maryland where we know absolutely no one.” Argued my father as we approached the airport, still upset that I failed to divulge the details of my plan to matriculate in College Park, instead of the University of Arizona (U of A), which is just ten miles from home. Therein lies the rub, it was just too close to home. It did not help my case with dad that I had registered at U of A and had already selected my classes. The fact is, I had gotten a taste of freedom the summer before in College Park, which was more than two thousand miles from the spot where I stood in that moment with my dad. Staying did not feel like an option. My instincts told me there was something bigger waiting for me on the other side of the country, which is why I secretly applied to U of MD in addition to U of A.
I explained once again that I had to leave home to experience the “real” world. Maryland’s highly acclaimed accounting program was going to prepare me for an excellent career and provided options that I did not believe were available to me in Tucson. The sense of urgency was real and the pull away from my parents strong. I wanted and needed to leave the nest, which began to feel oppressive to me my senior year of high school. In my mind, Maryland was the exact opposite of Arizona. It afforded me four seasons (real snow) while Arizona had two (hot and hotter). Maryland was the center of my universe, while situated just six miles away from the Nation’s capital (the center of the world in my opinion). Fond memories of celebrating in Georgetown on my 18th birthday creep into my mind, the city had a lower legal drinking age than Maryland, so it was a place I visited often, less for drinking, more for dancing which fills me with energy and joy.
I few days before leaving for school, I piled everything I could into the trunk with all the items on my freshman packing list plus a few items that would connect me to home, trying to steady myself as fear of the unknown crept into my soul. This was no summer program, it is real. The thought of leaving home caused my stomach to tighten as I packed knickknacks, my teddy bear Fred who kept secrets and listened without judgement, he also caught and held onto many tears. I made sure to bring along southwest snacks as a reminder of home. That steamer trunk was stuffed full, barely coming in under the seventy-five-pound weight limit.
“Call me when you get there,” commanded my dad.
“Yes, sir I will. Thank you, daddy. Tell mommy I love her.” I whispered while turning to walk into the airport. I was scared and excited simultaneously. Also, I was absolutely clueless about the struggle and challenges that I would face to complete my degree. I did not imagine that there would be days when I would choose between eating and paying the rent. Riding the bus or buying a loaf of bread.
My arrival in DC the second time around was without the pomp and circumstance of the prior year. Panicking, I struggled to find a station wagon taxi large enough to transport my things to the hotel. I only knew one person in Maryland, Dr. Judy S. Brown, Assistant Dean of the College of Business. I certainly could not ask her to help me drag my things to a hotel. Thankfully, one station wagon taxi pulled up to save the day. I arrived before the dorms opened so I checked into a motel on U.S. Route 1 where I preceded to sob for three solid days as I lay with my head buried under the sheets in the dingy room just a few blocks from campus. What did I do? It certainly was not the Marriott but it provided refuge until the dorm move-in day. The reality of what I had just done settled in and the dread of moving into a dorm with complete strangers took hold. I ate one meal during those three days being careful to conserve money, which was in short supply already (I was so nervous my appetite disappeared for three days anyway). Needing to find work and reorient myself with the campus, I ventured out, found a job slinging pizza in the student union, which only lasted two weeks because they were horrible to employees. Thankfully, third week of school Dr. Brown hired me to work as the assistant bookkeeper and office assistant in the business office of the college (she saved my life).
I had no choice but to succeed in school. Failure was not an option. I disappointed my family when I left, so something good had to come from my obstinance. Betrayal is what my father felt as I left behind the home he and my mother created for me and my siblings. Mother was secretly happy for me but very concerned for my safety.
On move-in day I arranged for a taxi to transport me to the dorms where I dragged my trunk up to room 5120 in Centerville Hall with the assistance of my new roommate’s family. I quickly learned the room was available because this was a dorm for women only that had the strictest curfews of all the dorms on campus, hence the nunnery moniker. Memories of the year before flooded my thoughts. There would be no food fights this time around. Centerville Hall looked like a stately prison perched at the top of the hill on the edge of campus with a steep set of stairs leading to its doors. At least it was close to the equestrian center situated at the bottom of the hill below the dorm. The smell of the horses floating up into our windows reminded me of home. We had three quarter horses in our backyard in Tucson. I would often venture over to visit and feed the horses on campus to center and soothe myself when I felt homesick and lonely. Eventually I joined the equestrian club so I could ride, paying my club membership by mucking stalls. Centerville hall is where I began my higher education and evolution, figuratively and literally. I made friends in that dorm and found roommates with whom I quickly moved off campus into my first apartment, second semester of my freshman year.
Seven lean and challenging years in Maryland passed quickly, there were many days I had no food to eat. One particularly lean summer, I survived by eating the free crackers and V-8 juice provided by my employer in the break room. I lived in four apartments in various Maryland suburbs (they all looked the same, lots of trees) and shared a home with friends as I completed my degree, working to pay for food, education, and transportation. During that time, I learned to navigate the vast subway system in D.C. (blue, yellow, orange, red, and green lines) as well as the streets which were simultaneously situated diagonally, perpendicularly and parallel to one another, with traffic circle dispersed generously throughout the city in a seemingly chaotic manners, unlike the roadways of Tucson. Oh the joy of easy to learn and navigate grid systems. A confusing fact about D.C. is it is a square tilted on its axis to sit on a point, with four quadrants, NW, NE, SW, and SE, it was important to remember which quadrant you were intending to visit, failure to do so initially caused me great angst as I learned to drive downtown to explore the monuments and museums. The D.C. mall stretching between the capital and the Lincoln memorial was one of my favorite haunts. I loved sitting on the lawn of the capital watching busy people going about their day and visiting the Smithsonian museums.
In addition to my education on campus and in the city, the experience in Maryland allowed me to forge life-long friendships, to marry and divorce, to become a mother, and most importantly earn my degree in accountancy. After seven years of being away from home, Maryland started to feel foreign.
My phone rang in September 1991, “I am coming to get you and our grandbaby,” exclaimed my dad. “You are too far away from home. We are your family and you should be at home with us.”
“Well, come and get us!” I answered, relieved knowing deep in my heart it was time to go home. My first divorce, college graduation, and the birth of my daughter each occurred in 1991. My father was excited to board a plane to Maryland to gather me up with my two-month old, we were homeward bound, finally. Together we packed my steamer trunk with shiny new possessions (some old ones too) and loaded it onto a moving truck before setting out in my stuffed to the roof Toyota (which looked like a circus clown car). After three long days with a crying baby in tow we arrived in Arizona as the sun was setting in the west – what a beautiful sight. How could I not recognize the beauty of the desert? Such majesty. The sunset on the horizon has unique colors that I cannot name. I really miss the sunset. Home finally. I smelled food prepared by my mom as we walked into the house. It was the same dinner she prepared when I returned from Maryland the first time. My daughter and I walked into the house and relaxed into the familiar. After eating dinner and putting my daughter to sleep I grabbed my blanket and headed outside.
The natural desert beauty was lost on me until I became an adult. Now I know the most impressive selling point of Tucson (besides family) is its saguaros, prickly pear, cholla, jumping, and barrel cacti dotting the terrain, like trees dot the landscape in Maryland. I am a desert rat who loves my hometown. My round-trip from Arizona to Maryland and back taught me to appreciate family, home, and the beautiful stars in the desert sky.