The Duck Inn - My Dream, My Promise

My beloved Gramma and Grampa. You've met them before.

All my memories are of my early life revolves around activities at my grand's home. She babysat a bunch of us while she went to school to become a teacher. I remember sneaking down the stairs from my nap and finding her cold cup of coffee on the kitchen counter. She was watching a soap opera in the other room. I drank it as quietly as I could, but alas, Grammas have excellent hearing and knowing skills. "Candie!!?? Are you drinking my coffee??". You could hear the smile in her voice.. "Uh huh" "Come in and watch TV with me" "ok".

We moved away from Boise the summer I turned six. We were the first ever to leave home, Dad wanted to go to college. He and mom were 25 and dad had a heart for adventure. He was raised on a farm. His family was poor and he left home after high school. He wanted something bigger for his life, for his young family.

We loaded up a small U-Haul and headed for Denver. To a wonderful apartment complex for University families. Someone in his fraternity had a huge cabin in the Rockies not far from Evergreen. We spent endless weekends hiking, playing with other kids in those wonderful forests. The dads would put on sheets and sit out on the lawn and we kids would climb out on the 2nd story balcony and throw whipped cream pies at them. It was an amazing place to be a kid. But it wasn't home. Home was in Boise. With Gramma and Grampa.

Dad graduated in two years and he was restless. He heard from a friend the housing market was booming in Winnepeg, Canada. He traded in our little Ford Falcon on a 66 Pontiac LeMans. Again, we loaded our few possessions into a U-Haul and headed to Canada.

My sister and I were immediately greeted by two neighbor boys in yellow rain slickers, boots and swim suits. I had my 8th birthday there. I got a Parcheesi game and an Alice in Wonderland watch and figurine (which I still have and it works!). We lived in a huge home, very little furniture. The temperature got down to -40 that winter. We were Yankees. We lived in an area that was predominately French Canadian. I had a few great friends. My sister could ice skate down the street. The snow bank almost 2 stories tall from snow drifting in our back yard meant we could sled for hours and be only few feet from Hot Cocoa. Mom cried, she was so lonely. We tried to make a home there. But home, for me, was in Boise. With Gramma and Grampa.

We lasted nine months. The snow started to melt enough for us to pack up our few possessions in a U-Haul, and head out to Seattle. My dad's brother and family lived there. A new job, a new adventure. This was to be where we settled. Dad and mom both worked, we went to school. We had a small boat and we would go out fishing and inner-tubing. We camped, We had a lot of fun. But it really has never felt like "home". Home was in Boise. With Gramma and Grampa.

Three or four times a year we would go back to visit. The first thing we had to do, when we got into town was wash the car. I hated this. Kid's have no sense of 'time'. It takes an eternity for time to pass. Car washed. Kids cleaned up. We would arrive.

Home. This house grampa built was, for me, home. Mom didn't grow up here. He built it the year she left to get married. For me it was home. For me it was gramma's cherry pies. It was love, It was laughter. It was the place my childhood boyfriend Mikey Stoor lived down the street from. I do have to say that I figured out at 7 I could never marry Mikey Stoor. What kind of a name is Candie Stoor? He was the best friend a girl could have. We remained friends for 30 some years. It was a big house, with a big kitchen. This was where we always were. All of us, with room to spare. It had a huge living room with 2 oval rugs that Mike and I would pretend to be scuba divers around, like on Sea Hunt. The back half of the house has a view of the mountains and most of Boise. It was Home. With Gramma and Grampa.

Granpa died in 1982. Gramma had a 5 bedroom home and she was all alone. She begged me to come live there. I was in my "crisis" years and I couldn't do it. I thought I "couldn't". I was stuck and didn't see 5 minutes infront of me.

One day I was drawing. I drew a picture of a glorious wood duck. I sat and looked at it for a long time. It was the kind of drawing you'd see on a carved wooden sign hanging from hinges over a great pub. I began to think that her house would make a great coffee shop, small restaurant. I could get my cousins to work there. Gram could make pies, and wait on customers. She would be in heaven. She loved people. We could have mismatched comfy chairs, sofas and rustic tables. We could make soup and sandwiches. This would be Gramma's place. I sat and looked at that duck for days. Her nick-name was "duck" because of the way her hair flipped out in back as a little girl, was like the cartoon character "ducky daddles". Still I did nothing.

The name of the restaurant could be "The Duck Inn".

I began to wonder what it would take to tackle this project. I knew nothing about any of it. I remember being so afraid of failure. I failed at everything back then. In fact, I did what I did best back then. I did nothing.

Gramma sold the house a couple of years later, to live in a smaller house. It was in this house she fell and broke her leg feeding her squirrels and had to live in a retirement apartment. She died two years ago not knowing any of this. Not knowing. I made a promise to myself when she died. I wasn't going to keep my feelings to myself. I was going to let those I love know it. Even if the feelings are not returned. I was going to tell people what they meant to me. I was going live honestly, as best as I could.

If I fail again, and I probably will. it will not be because I did nothing. These hubs are part of that promise. And maybe, just maybe someday "The Duck Inn" will be. Home. With Gramma and Grampa.