Returning to Where I Was Born

I was maybe eight or nine the first time I discovered a secret about myself. I was flipping through my baby book, running my fingers over old photos and keepsakes, when I saw my birth certificate.

I expected it to say La Grande, Oregon—like my younger sister’s, like where we lived, like everything else I thought I knew.

But instead, it said Lakeside, Arizona.

I remember staring at it, confused. Arizona? I had never even been there. No one else in my family was born there—not my sister, not my parents. For the first time, I realized that a part of my story began somewhere completely unexpected, somewhere I’d never known.

That mystery stuck with me.

A Birthday Pilgrimage

Years later, after my dad passed away, I found myself wondering about Lakeside again. Something about that loss stirred the urge to return to where it all began. So for my 46th birthday, I decided to make the trip.

This wouldn’t be my first time in Arizona. I’d gone to Phoenix for a work conference, and once squeezed in a Grand Canyon day trip from Las Vegas. But those visits never took me anywhere near Lakeside. It always felt just out of reach.

So this time, I made Lakeside the destination.

Sisters on the Road

I invited my sister to come along. We’d only recently discovered the joy of traveling together—our first real trip had been the year before with my niece, a whirlwind adventure through Louisiana, Alabama, and Mississippi.

Miltenberger Houses

French Quarter, New Orleans, LA

Growing up, we weren’t exactly close. I was the oldest, and like a stereotypical big sister, I made it my job to tease her endlessly. (My friends and I even used to say her red hair meant she was adopted—she gave it right back to me, of course.)

But that Louisiana trip cracked something open between us, a new sense of camaraderie. So when I asked her to join me in Arizona, she said yes without hesitation.

Planning became part of the excitement. I mapped out Lakeside, tracked down the hospital where I was born, booked flights with my Delta Companion Pass, and rented a fuel-efficient sedan. We chose a hotel in Flagstaff as our home base.

A Winter Surprise

A week before our trip, I checked the weather: Winter storm advisory.

I brushed it off. Surely that was just for the higher elevations.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

We landed in Phoenix and made the five-hour drive up into the mountains. As the snow thickened, our little rental car—perfect for gas mileage but not for icy roads—started to feel like the wrong choice. My mind spiraled with every “what if”:

What if we slide off the road? What if we get stuck? What if we don’t make it?

Classic first-born panic.

Meanwhile, my sister—classic youngest child—just laughed. “We’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

We made it to Flagstaff safely, where the town was blanketed in snow. Instead of spending my birthday in Lakeside, we spent the day exploring Flagstaff—a charming college town nestled in the Coconino National Forest.

The Museum of Northern Arizona

Flagstaff, AZ

And to my surprise, it felt a lot like home. Growing up in northeastern Oregon, I spent so much time in the Wallowa-Whitman National Forest. The pines, the crisp air, the mountain views—it was the same spirit, just in a new place. Suddenly I understood why my parents, who grew up in the Blue Mountains of Oregon, might have felt drawn here.

Finding Lakeside

When the roads cleared, we finally made it to Lakeside—though now it’s known as Pinetop-Lakeside after merging with its neighbor town.

We stopped at the Visitor Center and shared why we had come. I explained that I was born here but hadn’t returned since. Their faces lit up. A staff member pulled out a map, circling lakes, neighborhoods, and scenic overlooks that might have looked the same back then. It felt like a treasure hunt, following breadcrumbs of my parents’ time here.

Woodland Lake Park

Pinetop-Lakeside, AZ

The hospital where I was born is now technically part of Shiloh. The building is still there, though the town borders have shifted. Sitting in the parking lot, I imagined my 21-year-old mom holding me for the first time, my dad beaming. Snow likely falling, just as it was that day.

I wanted so badly to call my dad and say, I made it. I’m here. I found the place where it all began.

But in my heart, I knew—he already knew.

What I Carried Home

The trip gave me more than I expected. It deepened my bond with my sister. It gave me a new appreciation for the courage my parents had, building a life so far from home. And it connected me to Lakeside—not just as a forgotten birthplace, but as a living part of my story.

For years, Lakeside was only a mystery in my baby book. Now, I carry it as a memory—one I made myself, shaped by snow, laughter, and a quiet sense of belonging.

Because sometimes, returning to where we began doesn’t just reconnect us with the past. It gives us a new way to move forward.