The River, The Road and The Soul

In the past three years, Preston-Fall City Road has captured part of my heart and most of my imagination. A few days before Halloween 2021, a horrible phone call confirmed that Max, a 22-year-old beloved Starbucks coworker (and his mother Cami) died instantly when a freak windstorm landed a huge tree on their passing car. The days and weeks beyond that life-changing 11 AM call thrust my humanity to a place of consoler, convener, and friend for two dozen young Starbucks Partners trying to figure out how to express their profound loss. Although I am much better for the experience, I’d like to believe this was part of a broader lesson that has yet to reveal its full effect. Loss and leadership are tough cousins and like most, I can only handle so many of these unique opportunities. 

“Lord, make me a rainbow I’ll shine down on my mother”

The Band Perry

If I could author all the teaching moments of my path, I’d stick with learning everything possible about who and where I came from. This wish takes me back to Preston-Fall City Road last Sunday with my 85-year-old Aunt Jan. One recurring conversation my Dad and I had was about his adolescence. His family moved almost a half dozen times in a decade. Aunt Jan describes her father as restless and a bit wanderlust, often looking for a better opportunity to provide for his family. The draw for the Snyder clan to Preston was a well-paying job at the local sawmill. Similar to previous housing, this one-bedroom cabin for a family of five was tight. Just a toddler, Uncle Corry slept with Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Pearl, while my Dad and Aunt Jan shared bunk beds in the living room. 

The most memorable attribute of this spot, according to my Dad, was its location right on the Raging River. His keen love of fishing, being outdoors, and adventure like hopping trains to get to upper streams was born there. On more than one occasion, he described his very favorite reason for being on the river. The previous owners had left some type of very small shack that he quickly modified to be his little residence, at age 12. As the oldest, that liberation and lack of constant supervision afforded him great freedom to do his own thing in 1944.

I always wanted to visit ‘The River’ with my Dad but we never made it happen. It’s one of just a few regrets I have about our time together. We spent decades in a business he was also born into, loved being together on the water and I was privileged to be his only son. As his aged advanced and our genetic predisposition for heart issues began showing itself, I felt the need to know as much as possible about his youth. Ask anyone outside our family to describe him and you’ll most likely hear a similar theme. He was a very likable, quietly spirited, and grateful man, who loved his family and every day he was given. I’d like to think those are the Way Finders of my life, perhaps the quiet part excluded. Although my mother left us after a protracted path from dementia, his departure was like a light switch. 

“And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me
He’d grown up just like me
My boy was just like me”

Harry Chapin

Not long after my Dad left us, I asked Aunt Jan about The River. I was hanging hope on the little sister and probably trying to remedy some personal regret. Her recollection was clear, even though she was just eight years old at the time. She remembers endless hours hopping the big river rocks, playing on adjacent railroad tracks, and attending a one-room school. I asked her if she would be interested in a field trip to see if we could find this memorable place my Dad loved so much. She qualified her yes by asking me to cut her some slack if we were unsuccessful in finding the exact spot. It was, after all, 75 years since Aunt Jan last walked this land. 

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one on earth that wants to know all the details of how the generational family puzzle pieces fit together. Aunt Jan is the final one standing and that voice in my head is getting louder. I’m starting to understand that I have many of the pieces already, including countless photos and 100 letters my parents exchanged while he was at war. Aunt Jan will be the master helper of this jigsaw. 

Although months, maybe even a year had passed since I asked her to help me find this treasured ground, we finally made a firm plan. Getting on Aunt Jan’s calendar isn’t as easy as you’d think. Her nearly nine decades on earth do not define her ambition to see the world. In the past two decades, Aunt Jan has been to a dozen countries in nearly every part of land, sea, and river. Like my father, she lives in a state of gratitude and wonder. I admire and celebrate this part of my DNA. Thinking of my grandfather, none of this ambition is an accident. It also reiterates why I need to regularly monitor the example I demonstrate to #GreatestKidInTheWorld. 

“Time gets mighty precious when there’s less of it to waste”

Bonnie Raitt (1989)

Rounding the corner of Marine View Drive last Sunday, it’s evident how much this country means to Aunt Jan. In the corner of her beautifully manicured front lawn, a 25-foot flagpole hosting an equally large Old Glory blows in the wind. Aunt Jan represents a member of the Greatest Generation and unfortunately, there’s not a bunch of them left. As a proud American, Jan believes in Peace and Justice for All. Her continued involvement in a local, dynamic faith community gives her plenty of opportunities to serve those who need it most. During our previous conversations, I recognized how much she’d like to see others celebrate more of the benefits our country has to offer. In addition to being my father’s little sister, I feel comfortable conversing about nearly every subject matter and as was the case with my Dad, much respect goes both ways. 

“Whisper Words of Wisdom, Let it Be”

The Beatles (1970)

Today, little of Preston, Washington looks similar to 1944. I slowly followed the cemetery sign down Railroad Ave. A nice resident standing in her driveway told us our direction was correct and made sure to inform us there was a community picnic at 4 PM if we wanted to meet some locals. Aunt Jan started picking up clues even though few of the current structures existed 75 years ago. The one-room school she attended was between the railroad tracks and the cemetery. A few farmhouses remain, sans the farmland. Today, a giant taxpayer-funded soccer complex stands on that land. The cemetery was in desperate need of watering. Our first pass down 45MHP Preston Fall City Road brought us to a standstill. Passing vehicles made the “go back” gesture. I took that to mean this parking lot wasn’t moving soon. Not being one to give up, an attribute I take from my family’s path in business, I made a quick spin to the left and began a 20-mile circle, trying to come at this road from the opposite direction. As a bit of a bonus tour for Aunt Jan, she was astounded by the recent development on Snoqualmie Ridge, including 14,000 new residents since 2001. Our lengthy detour took us past a very busy Snoqualmie Falls which appears to be on every visitor’s itinerary. Our pass from the other direction took us down every side road and dead end. It’s difficult to analyze landmarks at 45MPH. Several passes proved fruitless until Aunt Jan began visualizing the topography she remembered as a child. Her recollection was the cabin standing quite a way above the river. That changed our search strategy but there was another spirit guiding this mission. Each time we went up a mile and turned around, we passed the corner that Max and his mother perished on. Even through the roadside vegetation, the little white crosses and small shrine still call my name on each pass. Both Aunt Jan and I recognize this mission involved more than just the Snyders. On about our fifth trip down Preston Fall City Road, Aunt Jan motioned me to pull over. She stared at a steep driveway on the opposite side of the road. “That was the path up to the railroad tracks, our driveway was right across the road!” Mind you, we’re on a 45MHP rather curvy road so moving from one side of the road to the other was a bit sketchy, especially because one side has no shoulder. As we pulled into the driveway full of cars, the only place to park off the busy road was on the lawn. Aunt Jan stayed with the car while I walked up and knocked on the door. No answer. I asked her if she wanted to at least look over the bank to verify this was the land she called home….75 years ago. Leaning over the bank, Aunt Jan saw her childhood in full view. The big river rocks, the bank, and the trail down to the river. It was all there. 

“We can never know about the days to come

But we think about them anyway”

Carly Simon (1971)

Walking back to the car, a red pickup pulled into the driveway with a concerned father behind the wheel. I’m not sure what stressed him more: My car parked on his front lawn or two strangers wandering around his home. Fortunately, he found me a credible curiosity seeker and gladly took in a few of Aunt Jan’s best memories on his piece of river paradise. It was his idea that we take the trail down to the river. A little steep in spots, I tried to keep Aunt Jan from tumbling down the hill but even at 85, she needs little assistance. She even put her feet on the big river rocks to revisit her best moments at the river. Out of nowhere, two young kids came down the trail who happened to belong to the worried Dad in the red truck. At seven and nine, these two spry kids appear to be today’s generation of Aunt Jan and my Dad. Both had stories about fish, falling trees, and the one time the river got so high the big rocks disappeared. I’d brought the world’s smallest plastic container of my combined parent’s remains in the event we found our intended destination. After a brief prayer, Aunt Jan let them fall into the river. Both kids watched and began asking really important questions. I decided not to be the teacher but instead changed the subject. They’ve been around people like me before and continued with the inquiry. As I opened my mouth to explain, my brain told me otherwise and I said something to the effect of fish food. 

With a mission accomplished and a few new friends, we made our way back up thinking our adventure was complete. As we neared my car, the third child emerged with Mom and Dad from the house. It didn’t take long for both parents to want to know everything Aunt Jan could remember. The old one-room school next to the railroad tracks. How the teacher left a student in charge each day because the train that came to take her home arrived before school was out. How many fish my Dad caught in the river. The giant chicken coup that kept the whole neighborhood in fresh eggs. The night the Sawmill burned to the ground which caused another move and eventually put us in the home furnishings business. The conversation shifted a couple of generations forward as Aunt Jan and I listened while its current residents talked about how they found this special spot on a visit from Chicago. As we wrapped up our surprisingly long chat, I felt as if both parties had just completed key pieces to a long, unfinished family jigsaw puzzle. 

“You see it’s all clear

You were meant to be here

From the beginning” 

Emerson, Lake & Palmer (1972)

Gingerly backing off the front lawn, we waved a half dozen times before disappearing behind the stone fence that surrounds this special place my Dad never stopped talking about. Passing Max’s resting spot one more time on our right, I couldn’t help but wonder if all this was part of a much bigger plan. How could this little two-lane road represent a couple of the most significant chapters in my life? And, not just my life, but multiple generations of several families. Loss and life represent this unique intersection, each bringing with them a significant set of lessons and even more questions. 

The ride back to Burien with Aunt Jan was full of wows. She had just stepped into a time machine. The smile on her face was made of satisfaction and gratitude. These are similar feelings I process nearly every day when I think of how fortunate I am to be a member of this tribe. Thank you, Aunt Jan and Rest easy Max.,