The “Carpool”

Each day since the school year started, I’ve been on the lookout for bubbles. The most magical thing happened last Fall and I so want to see it again! I wrote this back then, but I was waiting to get a picture before posting it. That never happened (you get a Photoshop edit of my dog blowing bubbles for my little boy instead). I’m sharing now because it’s too good to keep to myself. 

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Four years ago we moved our family from the endless suburbs of the Salt Lake Valley, to farm country. It’s been an adjustment.

Our chosen place is a large valley, tucked into the Wasatch Mountains of Northern Utah. It’s known for its agriculture — mainly dairies, and Utah State University.

If you ask people what to do for fun around here, they’ll invariably answer, “outdoors stuff.” Which is true. There’s all kinds of recreation. The mountains are what drew us here. I just miss malls and museums, and convenience.

Our small town is an eclectic mix of everything from pioneer homes to multimillion dollar mansions, interspersed with family farms. Our house is on the foothills; a little piece of heaven with the perfect yard for our frisbee-loving dog. Sunset evenings on the patio are occasionally serenaded by the bellowing of a neighborhood cow.

There’s a firewood stand up the road that’s run on the honor system — just take your bundle and leave the money in an envelope. Farther on, there’s a school bus stop where kids leave their bikes and scooters leaning against a tree from 8-3:30 every weekday.

It’s idyllic, and  sometimes strange. I couldn’t stop laughing the day three enterprising little girls with a ghost costume set up a lemonade stand in front of the cemetery.

But the strangest curiosity, up until now, has been this: Occasionally on our drive to school, we encounter a soap bubble floating over the otherwise deserted street. It’s the most bewildering thing. There’s not a person in sight, but here is this bubble. Just floating there.

I had puzzled over the bubbles for the longest time.

Then it happened.

The day started with “Radial” — the default alarm on my phone. It’s the worst sound.

Annoyed at the dawn, I crawled out of bed to drive youngest to his high school across town, and oldest to his University. I didn’t bother getting dressed for the day.

We silently climbed into the car, all tired and a little grumpy, and headed off.

We must have been a little earlier than usual. Or maybe they were a little late? Regardless of how it happened, the stars aligned. As we approached the mystery bubble place, there emerged from a cross-street the most Rockwellian parade I’ve ever had the pleasure to see.

Out in front, on a tricycle bike, road a man in a safety-orange vest. He had an orange flag mounted to the front of the tricycle, and a basket mounted on the back. In the basket, a bubble blowing machine churned out swath of soapy little orbs that danced around in the morning sun. Dozens of children and parents rode bikes of every kind amid the swarm of bubbles. There were babies in carriers and toddlers in bike trailers. Little preschool aged legs pedaled furiously to keep up with older brothers and sisters. Behind them all, a safety car trailed slowly with its hazard lights flashing.

And it suddenly made sense: this is their carpool. This magical little bike parade of smiling parents and children happens every school day! How amazing is that?!

The mood in the car instantly changed. It’s impossible not to feel happy at the sight of pure joy. I wished I could join them. I smiled, imagining the memories those kids will have. I would’ve followed them the whole way if I could, but we had a schedule to keep. And those stinkers were slow. So when the safety car stopped for someone to tie their shoe, we turned down the nearest street.

I wish I were Rockwell. I would paint that pure, bubbly joy dappled in morning sunlight.