The idea of something being ’empty’ is typically a negative one. When the glass is half full, we are taking an optimistic view of the situation, but a glass that is half empty is certainly negative. The Basque language has similar connotations around the word huts. Possibly stemming from Neolithic times when an empty stomach or empty food stores were about as terrible a situation one could experience, the concept of emptiness carries with it a sense of failure, of lack of substance or value.
To describe someone as having failed or an item that is worthless, Euskara has a number of phrases that incorporate the idea of huts or emptiness. For example, huts egin du (literally “has made empty”) means someone has failed while gauza hutsala da (“it is an empty thing”) or hori hutsaren hurrengoa da (“that things is next to emptiness/nothingness”) describes something of no value.
The idea of air filling emptiness and thus being related to emptiness is clear in Basque, just as in English (“he is full of hot air”). Air fills the emptiness, giving it volume, but no substance. It exaggerates appearances. Harroputza (“boastful”) literally means “hollow air,” in the same sense of a little bird that puffs itself out to look larger. Similarly, zaputza, meaning angry, possibly derives from zaha-putza, a bag or skin that is inflated with air but nothing else.
Other expressions related to blowing out air, such as eztula (“cough”) and zintza (“blowing your nose”) also contain negative connotations. Horrek ez du zintza bat balio, meaning “that isn’t worth a blow of your nose,” express contempt. (Similar in spirit to the English “not to be sneezed at.”) On the other hand, hori ez da ahuntzaren gauerdiko eztula (“that isn’t the cough of a goat at midnight”) means something is very important.
And, the idea of the wind, haize, being empty leads to several words to describe people. Haizeputz (“puff of wind” meaning haughty), haizeburu (“head of wind” meaning dumb or silly) and zorohaize (“crazy wind”) are all words to describe people in a bad light.
Being full has the opposite sense. Saying someone is not bete-betea, or is not “full,” means that he or she is not all there.
“Sure!” replied Kepa. “It’s only an interview, right? We can make it a vacation. I’ve got a cousin in California, so close to Berkeley…”
“You do know how big California is, don’t you?” interrupted Maite.
“Bah!” answered Kepa. “Once we are across the ocean, it’s all close. We can rent a car, travel the coast…”
“I’ve got a distant cousin over there too,” said Maite. “We could visit both of them, I guess, my cousin and your cousin.”
Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“That’s the spirit!” said Kepa excitedly. “This is going to be a great adventure! When is your interview?”
“Well, I haven’t scheduled it yet” replied Maite. “If I got accepted, they want me to start in January. I wrap up my studies here in July, so probably sometime in August?”
“That’s perfect! I have my vacation then, so I can easily get away from work.”
Maite smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Now I’ve just got to tell my parents…” she said as her smile faded.
“Knowing your parents, they will be thrilled for you. And, again, this is just an interview and vacation. We won’t be gone for more than a few weeks. They’ve got a lot of friends around here, they will be fine.”
“You are probably right. Ok, then,” she said, “I’ll write Berkeley as soon as I get home and schedule the interview. Then we can buy tickets!”
“I’ll write my cousin, he’ll be excited to see us,” said Kepa. “He’s been over here a few times, but I’ve never been there to see him.”
“I remember him! He’d always hang out in ama and aita’s bar, just sitting at the end, watching handball on the tele and sipping on his beer. What was his name?”
“Javi. Yeah, he was a little shy and doesn’t speak Euskara or Spanish very well. When I wasn’t around, he didn’t have much to do. He always came with his aita — my osaba — and his aita was always hanging out with old friends, playing cards, telling stories from their childhood. Javi didn’t understand them so he hung out in the bar. After a few visits, though, he and I got to be better friends. He’ll be happy to hear I’m going out there.”
“Great! And I’ll write my cousin in New York. She’s pretty distant, my ama’s cousin’s daughter, and I’ve only met her once, but it would be cool to see New York and have someone local that can show us around.”
This article originally appeared in Spanish at El Diario.You can find all of the English versions of the Fighting Basques series here.
Wedding photograph of Catherine Urquilux and John Etchart, 1912. All photos courtesy of the Etchart family.
Like many young people of his generation, and like in many cases following in the footsteps of his parents or close relatives, Jean Etchart Chabagno, a young man from Nafarroa Beherea born in the town of Aldude in 1882, began his own life journey in the late 1900s to the United States. There he joined his older brother Mitchel, who had previously emigrated to California. His father, Ferdinand Etchart Iriquy (Aldude, 1826-1905), had arrived in California in 1848 by way of Argentina upon news of the discovery of gold that same year. Ferdinand was among the first Basques to arrive in the United States during those times who, with their achievements, encouraged chain emigration, particularly in relation to the expansion of the sheep industry in the American West, which remained active for more than 100 years and attracted thousands of Basques and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees. Many of these Basques would return after years of hard work and sacrifice, while others would remain in the United States, forming a diaspora that has never forgotten its roots (1) .
“Echoes of two wars, 1936-1945” aims to disseminate the stories of those Basques and Navarrese who participated in two of the warfare events that defined the future of much of the 20th century. With this blog, the intention of the Sancho de Beurko Association is to rescue from anonymity the thousands of people who constitute the backbone of the historical memory of the Basque and Navarre communities, on both sides of the Pyrenees, and their diasporas of emigrants and descendants, with a primary emphasis on the United States, during the period from 1936 to 1945.
THE AUTHORS Guillermo Tabernilla is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. He is currently their secretary and community manager. He is also editor of the digital magazine Saibigain. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government and is, together with Pedro J. Oiarzabal, principal investigator of the Fighting Basques Project, a memory project on the Basques and Navarrese in the Second World War in collaboration with the federation of Basque Organizations of North America.
Pedro J. Oiarzabal is a Doctor in Political Science-Basque Studies, granted by the University of Nevada, Reno (USA). For two decades, his work has focused on research and consulting on public policies (citizenship abroad and return), diasporas and new technologies, and social and historical memory (oral history, migration and exile), with special emphasis on the Basque case. He is the author of more than twenty publications. He has authored the blog “Basque Identity 2.0” by EITB and “Diaspora Bizia” by EuskalKultura.eus. On Twitter @Oiarzabal.
Josu M. Aguirregabiria is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association and is currently its president. A specialist in the Civil War in Álava, he is the author of several publications related to this topic, among which “La batalla de Villarreal de Álava” (2015) y “Seis días de guerra en el frente de Álava. Comienza la ofensiva de Mola” (2018) stand out.
Jean (also known as John), his brother Mitchel and his cousin Martin Chabagno moved to Elko, Nevada, and started a successful sheep operation in 1901 with a fourth partner (a local banker) which was based on transhumance and the abundant availability of free pasture land. Following a workplace accident that John suffered in 1909, the company was dissolved in equal parts. John received $20,000, which at the time was a small fortune, considering that his first salary as a sheepherder had been, eight years earlier, $20 a month. John might well have chosen to return permanently to his hometown, but he only did so for a short period of time, returning to the US in 1910. He settled in Saco, 80 miles west of Glasgow, the capital of Valley County in Montana which was founded in 1887 (2). The county — with an area of 13,000 square kilometers, rich pastures, and a population not exceeding 140,000 people in 1910 — was the ideal place to establish the type of livestock business that John had in mind. After buying land and a first flock of sheep, he returned to Aldude in 1912 where he married his young love Catherine Urquilux Mococain, born in 1888 in Aldude. They made Valley their first and last home and never returned to Aldude.
John continued to expand his ranch with the acquisition of new land and livestock. By 1920, Rancho Etchart was considered one of the most important in the Valley. Within it grew the five children produced by John and Catherine’s marriage: Ferne (1915-1984), Jean “Gene” (1916-2018), Mitchel “Mitch” (1921-2019), Mark (1924-1992) and Leonard (1928-2015). With Euskera as their mother tongue and the only language spoken at home, the two oldest arrived at school without knowing a word of English. After being reprimanded by the school teacher, their mother decided to teach her children English, gradually forgetting Basque. In a 2017 interview with Gene that took place in Billings, Yellowstone County, conducted by Joseba Etxarri, director of Euskalkultura, and one of the authors of the blog Pedro J. Oiarzabal, the 100-year-old Gene remembered only a few words and individual phrases in Basque that he learned in his childhood. At the time of John’s sudden death on April 17, 1943, Etchart Ranch was roughly 250,000 acres in size and had about 40,000 to 50,000 sheep and a good number of Hereford cattle. John had become one of the most influential ranchers in the American West. Catherine passed away in 1978, at the age of 90, in Billings.
Young Mitch and Mark playing with a toy airplane.
From childhood, the brothers Gene, Mitch and Mark cultivated a true passion for aviation, popularized by the circus shows and high recklessness of the acrobatic aviators of the Roaring 1920s. Despite the initial reluctance of their parents — Catherine’s younger brother Jean Baptiste Urquilux had died in a plane crash in Santa Monica, California, in 1919 — Gene paved the way for his brothers in the world of aviation, which would guide and shape their professional lives, particularly those of Gene and Mitch and their service with the US Air Force during World War II.
The Etchart family in 1941. Standing, from left to right: Leonard, Mitch, Ferne, Gene and Mark. In the center, John and Catherine.
After graduating from high school, Gene Etchart received his first flying lessons with his father’s permission, becoming a private pilot in 1938. Gene obtained his first plane, an “Aeronca“, at the age of 20, which was of great use for locating lost cattle, supplying and visiting his father’s scattered sheep camps, and controlling the coyote population. By 1940, he had become Montana’s youngest commercial pilot and instructor, engaging in coyote hunting from the air, a dangerous activity at heights between 50 and 100 feet. At that time, Gene began flying as an instructor for the Civilian Pilot Training Program (CPTP). The CPTP was designed to augment the soldier training program due to the lack of trained military pilots at the time. Before the outbreak of war, Gene owned and operated three CPTP flight schools in Montana. Gene inspired many young people to fly, including his brother Mitch, whom he taught to fly in 1940. By July 1941, Mitch had become a certified flight instructor himself, earning his business license at the age of 19. He worked as a CPTP instructor for a flight company in Belgrade, Montana until the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor.
Mitch and Gene, in military uniform, in Oxnard, 1943.
When the United States went to war, Gene, along with his siblings Mitch and Ferne, went straight away to Oxnard, California. There Ferne Etchart worked on the Air Force base itself, while Gene enlisted in the Army Air Corps in December 1942. Gene continued to train pilots for the Army at the Mira Loma Flight Academy until 1943, when he had to return home to take over the ranch due to his father’s death. Gene was discharged with the rank of lieutenant.
Mitch Etchart in his air pilot uniform, 1944.
Mitch Etchart went on to instruct aviation cadets performing basic training on the “Stearman” biplanes and later in a second phase of their training with the more complex “Vultee” BT-13 in Lancaster, California. In July 1943, Mitch was commissioned as a second lieutenant, flight supervisor, and control pilot in the Army Air Corps in Oxnard. In June 1944 he began his training as a fighter pilot, flying the P-39 and P-40, and received training as a gunner in the AT-6 “Texan“. Shortly before the war ended, he transitioned to the P-51 fighter, but did not fly in combat operations. The US had detonated the first atomic bomb, and the end of the war was imminent. He returned to the family ranch in September 1945 and remained in the Air Force Reserve, 9418th Fighter Squadron at Glasgow Base, Montana, for 20 years until his retirement as Lieutenant Colonel (3).
In Gene’s absence, Mark Etchart took over his brother’s flight school in Miles City, Montana, until his return in 1943. Mark became a pilot in 1942 and eventually obtained a commercial pilot’s license and instructor qualification. Despite his devotion to airplanes, Mark was not recruited by the Air Force but by the Navy, at the end of the war, graduating in 1946. Like his father John, and his brothers Gene and Mitch, Mark also became involved in agricultural and livestock policy and public land and water management issues, at Valley County, state and national levels. Although Mark’s father tried unsuccessfully to win a seat in the state legislature, it would be Mark who would become a state senator for Valley County for five terms, between 1975 and 1985. Previously, he had been a member of the Montana House of Representatives, serving between 1961 to 1969. He also became president of the Montana Pilots Association. Mark passed away in 1992 and the Etchart Ranch was sold in 1993.
Mark Etchart in his naval uniform with his mother Catherine, 1945.
Gene, Mitch and Mark continued to make their dream of flying come true for the rest of their lives, both for pleasure and business, flying being quite effective for managing their extensive ranches. Gene maintained his flight status until 2010, at almost 95 years old, pioneering the use of planes in ranch work. He kept his flight license active for 72 years, one of the oldest in the country. Mitch stopped flying in 2009 at the age of 88. He had over 10,000 flight hours and was a certified flight instructor with more than 69 years of experience. In 2001, the Montana Pilots Association awarded Mitch the Senior Pilot of the Year Award and his name was inscribed on the Wall of Honor at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum. In 2004 Mitch received the Wright Brothers “Master Pilot” Award. Gene passed away on May 3, 2018 at the age of 101 in Billings. He was probably the oldest Basque World War II veteran. Mitch passed away on August 13, 2019 in Glasgow, two days after his 98th birthday.
(1) Laxalt Urza, Monique. “Catherine Etchart. A Montana love story”. Montana, The Magazine of Western History, (1981): 2-17.
(2) Saitua, Iker. “John Etchart: A Basque leading stockman in the American West”. Euskonews, No. 742 (Septiembre 2019) Euskonews, No. 742
(3) Tabernilla, Guillermo y González, Ander. (2018). Combatientes vascos en la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Madrid: Desperta Ferro.
If you want to collaborate with “Echoes of Two Wars,” send us an original article on any aspect of the WWII or the Spanish Civil War and the Basque or Navarre participation to the following email: sanchobeurko@gmail.com
Articles selected for publication will receive a signed copy of “Basque Combatants in World War II”.
Today, if you go to the Basque Country, you will see Basque media pretty much everywhere. There is a Basque-language television station, a Basque newspaper (Berria), Basque radio stations, and Basque magazines. There are bookstores full of books written in Euskara. However, the concept of a daily newspaper written entirely in Basque is relatively new. The publication of Egunkaria in 1990 changed the landscape for Basque media. Thirteen years later, Spanish authorities shut the newspaper down.
The first issue of Egunkaria, meaning daily in Euskara, hit the stands on December 6, 1990. The idea for Egunkaria grew out of meetings that started in November, 1989, based on the principles of being aimed at Basque-speakers; having a national, broad, and united appeal; being independent of political parties and the Spanish media; and being non-institutional but subsidized. By 2003, it contained an average of 70 pages, sold 15,000 copies, and reached 44,000 readers.
In February, 2003, Spanish judge Juan del Olmo ordered the newspaper to be shut down. The Guardia Civil raided the newspaper’s offices and froze their assets. The charges were “illegal association” and “membership of, or collaboration with, ETA.” The newspaper was forced into liquidation by these charges, essentially ceasing to exist. A similar fate had hit the newspaper Egin only a few years before. Several people associated with the paper were arrested and detained, including Iñaki Uria, Joan Mari Torrealdai, Txema Auzmendi, Xabier Alegria, Pello Zubiria, Xabier Oleaga, and Martxelo Otamendi. Several of these men reported being tortured while held by the Spanish authorities.
The closure of the newspaper sparked international outcry. The British newspaper The Independent made a donation to help Egunkaria‘s eventual replacement, Berria, get going. Famed writer Salman Rushdie, then president of the PEN America, spoke out in support of the defendants. A number of human rights organizations also protested these actions.
Almost immediately after Egunkaria‘s closure, a new temporary daily newspaper, Egunero, was published, the first issue released on February 21, 2003 with a circulation of 50,000. And, in June, 2003, a more permanent replacement, Berria, hit the stands, with Martxelo Otamendi, former director of Egunkaria, as its director. Berria is still being published.
The criminal case against Egunkaria and the men detained was finally settled in 2010, by which time Egunkaria had long ceased to exist. The Criminal Court of the Audiencia Nacional of Spain stated that there was no grounds to have the newspaper closed. Specifically, they said that “the narrow and erroneous view according to which everything that has to do with the Basque language and with culture in that language is promoted and/or controlled by ETA leads to an incorrect assessment of facts and figures, and to the inconsistency of the accusation” and that “the allegations have not proven that the defendants have the slightest relation with ETA, and this determines in itself the acquittal with all pronouncements favorable to the defendants.”
One of those defendants, Joan Mari Torrealdai, died on July 31, 2020 of cancer that he said was caused by the torture he had received. Not only was Torrealdai instrumental in Egunkaria — he was President of the newspaper’s Administration Council — he was editor of the journals Jakin and Anaitasuna, Chairman of the PuntuEUS Foundation, and the author of many books focused on Basque writing and language. In 2007, he was made a full member of Euskaltzaindia, the Royal Academy of the Basque Language). He was 78 years old.
A few days later, Maite found herself sitting at a small table outside one of her favorite tabernas on the plaza in Gernika. She took a sip of her cortado. “I guess it is only fair that he keeps me waiting this time,” she thought to herself.
She saw Kepa appear from around the corner, recognizing his dark curls from blocks away. She smiled as he approached the cafe, scanning the crowd. When he saw her, he smiled. She stood as he approached, and they traded kisses on the cheeks. As they sat down, Maite said “Sorry I didn’t order for you, I wasn’t sure what you would want.”
“No worries,” said Kepa, waiving to the waitress at the bar. The young blond woman, wearing a short apron over her white blouse and black slacks, came up to their table.
“A caña, mesedez.”
The woman nodded as she headed back towards the bar.
“It is good to see you,” Kepa said. “I’ve missed you.”
Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Maite laughed. “I bet you did. Sorry for how I left you last time.”
“No, no,” said Kepa, shaking his head, “it was wonderful. But, I admit, I’m very confused.”
Maite sighed. “Kepa, sometimes…” She was interrupted by the waitress who placed Kepa’s beer on the table.
“Mil esker,” he said absentmindedly, staring alternatively at Maite and his beer.
“Look, Kepa,” said Maite, leaning forward in her chair. “You are my best friend and I love hanging out with you. But, I want something more. And I think you might too. But, right now is also a difficult time for me. I’m about to finish school and I need to figure out what I’m doing next.” She sighed again, flopping back into her chair. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kepa.
“I mean,” replied Maite, the emotion rising in her voice, “that I don’t know if I should pursue things with you or not. If I should go to America or not. If I…”
“Go to America?” interrupted Kepa. “What?”
“I’ve been tentatively accepted to a graduate program in the United States,” replied Maite, her eyes darting back and forth, looking at everything except Kepa.
“What do you mean tentatively?”
“Final acceptance depends on a visit and an interview,” she said.
“What do your parents think?” asked Kepa.
“I haven’t told them,” replied Maite, her eyes welling up with tears. “How can I? I can’t hurt them like that.” She looked into Kepa’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
Kepa reached out across the table and took Maite’s hands. He gave her that crooked little smile that always made the butterflies flutter in her stomach. “Your parents are the strongest people I’ve ever known. Yeah, sure, it will be hard, but they will be fine. And, it’s only an interview, right? You don’t have to make a decision yet.”
“What about you?” asked Maite. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”
“Me?” answered Kepa, his smile widening. “I’m coming with you. I’ve always wanted to see America.”
On Sunday, July 19, 2020, Jon Rahm won the Memorial Tournament, founded in 1976 by Jack Nicklaus and held every year in Dublin, Ohio. The win catapulted Rahm to the top of the Official World Golf Ranking for the first time in his young career. Rahm was born in the Basque Country and is the first Basque golfer to reach the top of the world ranking.
Jon Rahm Rodríguez was born in Barrika, Bizkaia, on November 10, 1994. Barrika is one of the oldest towns in Bizkaia, founded in 496 by Sancho Vela. Rahm’s mother is from Madrid while his father is from the Basque Country. The Rahm name comes from an ancestor who immigrated to Bilbao from Switzerland in the 1820s. Rahm is a big supporter of Athletic Bilbao.
Rahm went to school at Arizona State University, in Tempe, Arizona. He won 11 college tournaments, the second most in ASU’s history (second only to Phil Mickelson). During his collegiate years, he achieved the top ranking in the World Amateur Golf Ranking, a position he held for 60 weeks, the most in history.
Rahm entered the back nine of the Memorial Tournament with an 8 stroke lead, but saw it evaporate to 3 strokes. He was penalized 2 strokes as his ball moved the literal width of a dimple before he hit it. But, Rahm never disputed the call. When he saw the video of the the stroke, he accepted the penalty without complaint.
After winning the Memorial, in a post-tournament interview, Rahm thanked his parents in Euskara: “Aita, Ama, eskerrik asko, eskerrik askoguztiagatik, benetan, eskerrik asko.”
Rahm isn’t the first Basque golfer to do well on the international stage. José María Olazábal Manterola, born in Hondarribia, Gipuzkoa, won the Masters Tournament twice, in 1994 and 1999, and had a total of 30 professional wins. Olazábal holds the record for the longest put, 9.323 miles… he made the shot on a traveling Concorde jet. His highest world ranking was 2.
It was a few weeks later. Classes had ended and Maite had done well in her thermodynamics class, well enough that her professor asked to meet after the final class. She followed him to his office.
Professor Gorostiaga was an elderly man who had been teaching at the University for decades. Maite didn’t know much about his research, but she knew he had done some important work on the properties of quantum materials. He opened the door and, weaving through stacks of books and papers, found his way to his desk. As he sat down, he motioned for Maite to sit.
“Maite,” he began, “you are one of the best students I’ve seen come through the department. You work hard, you have a deep understanding of the material and, most importantly, you are creative in your approach. Have you given much thought about graduate school?”
Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“To be honest, Professor Gorostiaga,” replied Maite, “I applied to a few programs, mostly in the United States. One has tentatively offered me a spot, depending on how an interview goes. I still need to arrange a visit to the campus for the interview.”
“Ah, it would be a shame to lose you. The Basque Country could certainly use someone with your talent.”
“I wouldn’t be gone forever, just graduate school. I’d come back.”
“I would hope so,” replied Professor Gorostiaga. “But, that’s what we all think. When I was a student, there was a woman in my class, Bego. She was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. We spent almost every waking moment together, in class of course, but also working through problem sets and studying for exams. She was so smart, and so beautiful. I was sure she was the one…” He trailed off.
Maite looked around, unsure of what to say or do. The awkwardness grew as Professor Gorostiaga stared past her, seemingly unaware that she was still there.
After a few moments, Maite ventured a tentative “Jauna? Sir?”
Professor Gorostiaga gave a small jolt, his eyes snapping back into focus. “What? Oh, yes. I was talking about Bego. Anyways,” he continued, “she applied and got accepted into one of the best graduate programs in the United States, at Berkeley. I graduated a semester later than she did. I applied too and even got accepted.” He sighed. “I never was quite as adventurous as Bego. As she started her research at Berkeley and wrote to me about it, I could tell she was moving on. That we were losing that special connection we once shared. I decided to stay here, in the Basque Country, where I was more comfortable.
“The point being,” he continued, sitting up straighter, “is that Bego had originally intended to return too. But, after finishing graduate school, she got a postdoc at one of their national labs, fell in love, and eventually became a professor at one of their universities. She never came Just be back, except for the occasional visit here and there.”
His gaze settled on her again. “You never know what life has in store for us. Just be sure to think about the ramifications of your choices.”
