Grantsville

I grew up in Grantsville.  By most measures, it's not an impressive place.  Home to about 6,000 people when I grew up there, it doesn't have too many businesses or things that are flashy about it.  Not a sophisticated place like Portland or Chicago, it's just a humble little town.  There's only one grocery store, a hardware store, a video rental place.  There are still places for horses and plenty of sagebrush.

The street I last lived on.

The old drug store

When I would tell people I was from Grantsville, I would quickly explain that it was a great place to grow up but that I would never want to live there again.  I began to think it would have been better to have been from somewhere bigger or more impressive.

I was wrong.


During this trip home, I learned something about Grantsville and about myself.  My brother spoke at Grandpa Dave's funeral and he said something that really hit me.  He said, "no one grew up like I did."  He was so right.

I grew up one block away from both sets of my grandparents and most of my extended family lived less than 15 minutes away.  We spent several evenings every week visiting with family and there was often a Sunday dinner with all of the cousins.  I knew all of my family and our lives were all intertwined. 
Grantsville is a town where people know each other and always lend a helping hand.

Grandpa Dave would saddle up the horses and have them ready so that we could ride in the local rodeos.  Decked out in cowboys hats and boots and a set of spurs, I had little blondie curls that bounced as I rode around the corral.  Grandpa was always there.  I learned on this trip that he had to have someone watch Lawrence's Texaco so that he could be there.  But that's how our life was, our family attended everything and supported us in all of our endeavors.

After kindergarten and through much of my elementary school years, I would spend afternoons with Grandma Barbara in the Grantsville City Library.  I would push the old stool around and read Bearanstein Bears and Dolch books.  Grandma would give me a dime so that I could run over to the Bluebird for penny candy.

I would often hop on my bike, ribbons streaming from my handlebars and ride down Main Street to Lawrence's Texaco to see Grandpa.  He'd help us cross the big road and then I'd sit up on a ripped red vinyl stool and sip a grape soda with Grandpa that came out of an old machine that didn't even work but that he kept around for us.  I can still remember the smell of that place. 

Grantsville is home to the Old Folks Sociable.  For 128 years, the community has gathered annual to celebrate Grantsville.  There's a program, dinner, dancing.  There are displays that commemorate the people and places in Grantsville.  Every year for almost 130 this has been happening.

This was my childhood.  This was Grantsville.  It may not be impressive or sophisticated but it was wonderful.  It was filled with family and people who cared about us.  I knew my family and interacted with them daily. 


Now that I've moved away, I can see that no one grows up like that anymore (not even Heber).  I'm proud to have grown up there.  In fact, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.