At Big Springs on the Cusp of Fall
Yesterday we took the kids up the canyon to see the first of the fall colors. It had been raining all day and the clouds were hanging low on the mountain tops. It was a glorious, sliver-and-gold, late-afternoon in the high desert.
While Christopher and Iris stayed close to the car, Anson, Ever, Erin and I went on a short hike. Anson has turned his life's ambitions towards capturing Sasquatch. He ran ahead with nothing but a stick, a pair of fleece camoflauge pajama bottoms and a heart full of courage. The girls and I climbed to the top of a hill where a small abandoned camp was found in the wet, tall grass.
"Let's pretend we are pioneers," I suggested to them. "And this is where we are camping for the night."
"A storm is coming!" Erin dramatized on cue (with a lisp) immediately pointing to a billowing cloud expanding in the east."We need shelter!" Eyes wide with pretend suspense.
Ever ran around in her black-and-rust colored princess dress--left over from a morning of playing pretend in the green room--yelling for "Anyone! Anyone! Help us!" From plucky princess to desperate pioneer in one day, Ever has quite the versatile imagination repertoire.
And though he insisted "I am NOT playing" our Bigfoot hunter retreated to our camp and started "splitting a log" to keep the "fire" stoked.
Luckily I was still holding on to one of the baby's blankets and we huddled in a mass until "the night" was over. "In the morning" all toes and fingers were accounted for, all resolutions still in place.
We are of Mormon heritage after all.
"Let's get back on the trail to Zion!" I said, with my arms in the air, my small camp of brown-eyed pilgrims behind me. We slid down the the muddy trail, past the reddish aspen leaves, took a few photos, examined a few footprints for extraordinary length (always be on alert!) and stomped the cold pebbles out of our shoes.
And Zion was a warm minivan with a rotund baby and a handsome, able father at the wheel.
We were saved to live another season!
Welcome Fall 2014.
