When our family moved to Morgan Hill in 1983, my hubby’s parents moved here, too, arriving in the area about a month before us. Moving all the way from Indiana, it was quite a transition for them, especially because they were by then in their late 70s. They left behind an extended family, old friends and a lifetime of Midwest experiences.
My in-laws quickly grew to enjoy the small town with its friendly people, and we were beyond excited to have family living close-by for the first time in our married life. Our daughters, then 7 and 3 years old, were thrilled to have Grandma and Grandpa living in their soon-to-be hometown, and they couldn’t wait to visit them in their new Morgan Hill home.
As it turned out, that first visit was on Mother’s Day.
Because we were in the throes of getting ready for our own move to the South Valley, my mother-in-law offered to host Mother’s Day at her home. Since we were unfamiliar with the area, we weren’t yet in the know as to where we might all dine out on our first holiday together—but one thing is for sure: Our restaurant options were way more limited in 1983 than they are today!
Two years later, not to be outdone by my in-laws, my parents moved to Morgan Hill too, and our expanded style of Mother’s Day dinners were held at our home. Occasionally we changed things up a bit and went out to brunch or dinner—especially as our small city grew and offered more choices.
One of my favorite traditions was the Mother’s Day photograph, and these days it’s bittersweet to view those old photos taken outside in our yard. One-by-one our mothers left us, and our Mother’s Day traditions underwent a metamorphosis as we created new traditions to replace the old.
More quickly than I could have ever wished, my daughters grew from babies to gawky pre-teens and finally into young women, all right here in the South Valley. It was a great place to raise a family, and in 31 years that hasn’t changed one iota.
When our older daughter left for college in Arizona several years ago, I wondered how I would feel about Mother’s Day while half of my progeny was living so far away. Empty Nest Syndrome had me in its grip.
As I dejectedly contemplated this latest development on the Saturday night before Mother’s Day, out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a shadowy figure crossing through the darkened kitchen and walking quickly in my direction. Before I had a chance to lapse into full panic mode about suffering a home invasion incident, my older daughter was wrapping her arms around my neck. Unbeknownst to me, her dad had arranged for her to fly home from Phoenix for Mother’s Day. Her good friend from high school had picked her up at the airport and delivered her to our doorstep.
That stunning surprise on the eve of Mother’s Day was one of the highlights of my Mother’s Day celebrations, but there have been many memorable commemorations since then. That year of my daughter’s surprise arrival, we chose Maurizio’s downtown as our dinner destination. I couldn’t stop looking (and grinning happily) at both of my sweet daughters sitting at our table, together again.
Of course with my two girls busy with college and then careers, Mother’s Day sometimes had to be a bit spontaneous and improvised. But that was OK, too. I knew that regardless of where my daughters were on Mother’s Day, being their mom is the best job in the world.
These days? Well, new circumstances call for new traditions, and now that both my girls are married and have become mothers themselves, I say many small prayers of gratitude for the blessings of my two daughters who, along with their hubbies and kiddos, have found their way back to Morgan Hill and are repeating for their own little ones the delightful experience of growing up here in South Valley.
Yep, for this brand new generation and yet another Mother’s Day, Morgan Hill is home.
Gale Hammond is a writer and freelance photographer who has lived in Morgan Hill since 1983. Reach her at [email protected].
