There's a saying in my neighborhood that you don't find Farmington, that Farmington finds you. I feel like I was led to Farmington. I had spent the years between the ages of 8 to 17 here. It was an emotional, turbulent time for me and I looked forward with much anticipation to the day when I would have a choice to move away. I moved out when I was 17 years old, just having finished high school and I had no intention of ever returning, except for the occasional family visit.
I fled to San Jose, California to spend some time with my dad, and it was in the San Jose area that I met my husband. After a year in the Bay Area, we moved to Sacramento so we could buy a home. A few years later when we had our first child, we felt like we couldn’t afford California anymore. We looked at two places, Utah where my family was located and Washington state, where my husband's family now lived. We were kind of leaning towards Washington, but my husband's job interviews didn’t go well. My husband had not finished his college education, and never intended to, so his career choices were slim. We also knew Washington state would be a little more expensive than Utah, so we turned our attentions to Utah. We knew my step-dad would be able to help us build a home there as well. So we packed up things and moved to Utah. We lived with my parents for two years, while we bought some land and built a home. My husband was very financially saavy, and wanted to buy a piece of property as an investment. The best outlook was Davis County, so we focused our search there. He was also cheap, and the cheapest piece was either a hillside in Bountiful or a gradual hillside piece in Farmington. The unknown excavation costs scared my husband to death, so we chose the lesser of the two evils, Farmington.
I was a little leery about coming back to Utah, but I had chosen to become a stay at home mother, and knew my husband would be carrying the financial load of our family all by himself, so I kept my reservations to myself as he worked out numbers. The memories here were painful. I felt like I would be bombarded with remembrances around every bend. And yes, it did happen for a while. But new memories and a growing family replaced old memories. My circle of friends and neighbors grew as I rubbed shoulders with them in church and the community. My love and respect for the many good men and women around me took root and grew deep. As time went on, the old memories lost their pain. It got to a point where I felt like I could not ever leave this place. My husband wanted to at different times, never content to be in one place for too long, but I stood my ground. I needed a solid foundation for my children and not have them uprooted like I had been as a child. And then those around me became a solid support as my marriage started ebbing and flowing away into oblivion after many years of neglect and abuse. The emotional pain was exquisite all over again, but this time was different. I felt well loved and accepted by my friends and neighbors here, and I couldn’t imagine leaving and going somewhere where I was unknown and a stranger. There were so many invisible bonds tying me to these people. I guess this is why I felt I was led to Farmington. The people in my neighborhood are some of the best people I have ever known. And not just one or two, but many many people. I felt led to this "fertile part" of the land where so many good souls became a part of my life to assist me in my journey. I eventually got to a point where I felt I could cut those apron strings and move on, but as my blessings kept flowing in, I was able to keep my home after the divorce and stay amidst these people. And I try my best to now take part as a more independent member of this community looking for ways to give back and help someone else who was led here for the same purpose. The God I worship leads us to the most fertile parts of the land.
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