Jodie Jensen

Benjamin Blackhurst
English 218
18 December 2015
Roots
A bell rang, pulling me from my reverie. I looked up to see a little boy, about 6, with his
arms loaded with candy standing in front of the counter.
You sure you can eat all that? I asked, holding out my hands for the candy so I could
ring him up on the cash register.
Yeah. He said, grinning a toothy smile. My mom said I could get anything I wanted.
He handed me a crinkled five dollar bill.
Well okay, I said laughing, but dont eat it all at once. As soon as I handed him the
bag he ran off out the door, eager to rejoin his friends, I suppose. Outside on the lawn the youth
groups were gathered, playing games and learning camp songs. The boy who I helped ran back
to a group of similarly-aged children, running about playing tag.
Thats how things were at Aspen Grove. Simple and full of care-free people. But things
hadnt always been that way, at least not for me. My sophomore year of college I thought I had
everything figured out. I was dating a great guy, my roommates were amazing, classes were just
the right amount of challenging, and I had a steady job. But in January, when the earth was
frozen tundra without the hope of Christmas, my boyfriend pulled me aside and changed my
whole perspective. Im just not feeling it, he said. But lets still be friends.
Over the next few weeks things only got worse. My classes got harder; my job lost its
appeal: my favorite coworker quit to accept a better paying, flashier job. He promised wed still
hang out sometimes, but we never did. I felt tired and overworked. Before long I had spiraled
into a minor depression. All of a sudden all the things that were wrong with my life became clear.
I didnt have a plan for after graduation, my grades were suffering, meanwhile my roommate was
complaining about getting her first A- and breaking her perfect 4.0 GPA. I felt disconnected from
the people around me. I was alone. Mornings were the worst. Id wake up in bed, see sunshine

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trickling in through my window, hear the robin song outsideand feel nothing. I felt no
motivation for getting out of bed, for even going through the motions of daily life. I was buried
under the lack of control I had over my own life, and worst of all, I felt like I was forced to
handle it all on my own.
One day I received an email: Come work at Aspen Grove Family Camp and Conference
Center, it advertised. Something about the pictures of smiling young adults in matching polos
struck a chord. It seemed that this was the opportunity I had subconsciously been looking for. In
my mind I equated getting out of Provo with getting away from my problems. I applied and got a
job working in the Aspen Grove gift shop from May until September.
At the gift shop, my co-worker and I were in charge of opening and closing each day,
taking inventory, running the cash register, renting out games, and scooping the ice creamlots
and lots of ice cream. Our manager was only there for a few hours each morning. In short, we
were in charge of running the store. I had never had that kind of responsibility before. It was
nerve racking to say the least, but in no time it felt as natural as anything. I loved taking charge
and being able to make important decisions. I was doing something importantmaking a
differencea feeling I had lacked back in Provo. The best part was the children. Theyd come in
looking for a sweet snack or an ice cream cone, and Id get to hear all about their exploits in the
camp, what theyd made that morning in arts and crafts, or how much they loved their councilor.
I felt purpose in listening to their stories, as I served them heaping bowls of ice cream.
My co-worker, Alison, was truly one of the funniest people Id ever met. She could make
me laugh for hoursand often did. Whole shifts would be spent gabbing about this or that, and
laughing until our sides split, and we were left gasping for air. Alison was a nursing major, and
her personality fit the part. She was kind to everyone, the children all the way to the elderly,
selfless, and she always knew what to do in a crisis. She knew how to calm down an upset
customer, and though she counted out change slowly, her till was hardly ever off. The tragedy

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was that she had already applied once for the nursing major and been refused. She only had one
more shot, and if she didnt make it, her hopes of being a nurse were out the window. It didnt
take me long to realize that I wasnt the only one who came to Aspen Grove to escape worldly
woes. Like the hymn says, In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye cant see.
The mountains offered a brief respite from the trials and heart break I found in the city.
Suddenly the things I had put so much stock into during the school year didnt seem so
important. Up in the mountains everything felt distant and irrelevant. I often took walks up the
winding mountain road, enjoying the time I had to myself. The Alpine Pass winds its way up and
over the mountain and affords the onlooker many incredible views of natures quiet beauty.
Sometimes during these walks I would pause to watch the aspen trees. When the wind blew, their
delicate leaves quivered like silver in the evening shadow. Little hands waving. Emerson wrote,
All natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence. I felt
that kindred impression. The quiet, unobtrusive trees and tall grass allowed me to set my burdens
down upon the ground if only for a moment, and I found a small kind of peace.
For some reason I often found myself thinking about my grandmother. She had passed
away earlier that year after losing a drawn out battle with Parkinsons disease. She was my last
living grandparent, and the only one I had ever really known. My grandfather, her husband, had
died of cancer at the age of fifty-six. Grandma was a widow for twenty years before she died. In
the end, what defined my grandmother was her fierce determination for life. As she aged, the
Parkinsons slowly began to take control of her body, but she refused to give up without a fight.
She hated the idea of being useless, and so she went on like nothing had changed. She made
treats and little handmade trinkets for Christmas and birthdays, just as she had always done, and
for a while she even refused to walk with a cane. The food werent great, and the presents were
made with an unsteady hand, but we knew what the routine meant to her, so we played along for

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as long as we could. But time slows down for no one. Eventually grandma moved into an
assisted living home where nurses were there to care for her day and night. One day she could no
longer walk without help, then she couldnt dress herself. Eventually she couldnt even get out of
bed. Yet, despite her deteriorating health, she never once asked why she had to suffer so long. Or
why she had to go through it alone, without her husband at her side.
It is said that the aspen tree is one of the largest trees in the world. Not because it is tall,
or old, or has a thick trunkbecause it has none of these qualities. Instead, its roots are shallow
and spring up over and over again, spreading out and making new trees. Thus, an entire grove of
aspen trees is often only one tree because the roots are all connected. These trees brought me
solace that summer in the mountains. They were sisters, part of the same clan, their roots
reaching out to hold one another despite strong winds, or frozen ground.
In central Utah, near Fish Lake, resides one of the oldest and largest living organisms in
the whole world. A grove of aspen trees named Pando (Latin for I spread) spans over 106 acres
and is an estimated 80,000 years old. Think of itthe trees that populate that grove today (nearly
47,000 of them) have a direct line of ancestors that extends across an expanse of time so long
that their ancestors were alive during nearly all of human history.
A part of my roots comes from my grandmother. Her roots touch mine in a way that death
cannot erase. My parents, brothers and sisters, and the people I love touch my roots as well.
Become my roots. I am a branch grown up from the roots of my ancestors, and one day I will
become the roots of my children. Like Pando, our roots span generations in both directions, past
and present. I am not alone. I grow taller, stretching over mountain into sunlight and dazzling
skies, lifted by the branches and the leaves of the people who love me, past and present,
stretching ever higher into the light.