◦ Every time we visit the husband’s family in Pennsylvania, I am so aware of the distinct differences in this part of the country. They are truly fascinating and I can see how growing up here could get in a person’s blood and shape them.
◦ These row mountains are always in view above the planted fields of corn and soybeans. Sometimes they are covered in mist but on clear days we can go up the switchbacks to the top and see far over the agricultural valley to the next mountain. The roads are old and comparatively narrow with no modern attempts to do away with steep grades and sudden drops and turns. Creeks and bridges are everywhere.
◦ There is an intersection typical of these valley roads – a steep climb up to a stop sign on a busy road leaves you hanging, with foot on the brake, while you struggle to see past houses built only a few feet away from the road. A drive almost anywhere is like a custom designed roller coaster ride.
◦ Dennis’s brother still farms in his semi-retirement. I’m up early and walking around the farm looking at the plants and fields. I’ve always thought there was something a little spooky about being surrounded by plants that are taller than I am. I go into a corn field every time I get a chance just to scare myself, and because I like the color green.
◦ I can find all kinds of things to photograph here. It is so beautiful.
Yes, leftovers. These things I’ve written about my adventure
hiking in the Grand Canyon have probably not taken you more than 2 or 3 minutes
to read, on any given day. When you consider
that the whole experience was six days in the happening, you know there were
lots of things I did not mention, yet.
There are some significant things I want to record for my
own sake, and maybe for yours, dear readers.
I want to remember:
The El Tovar Hotel. Specifically, the ice cream shop and the booth where my brother sat as a teen and was encouraged to apply for summer work at the Canyon. He did, and that started his GC experiences and led to mine. Beautiful hotel with such a history.
Our knowledgeable, personable female guide, Nina. Her German heritage came out in her motherly care of us, her enthusiasm for beer, and her down to earth “so who needs a swim suit to go swimming” philosophy.
That it’s very handy to have an empty plastic Mayonnaise jar in the tent with you at night, ladies. Thank you again Nina.
How big, beautiful and dangerous the Canyon is.
That people are built to walk up easier (and longer) than to walk down.
That trekking poles are lifesavers when you are tired. Four points of balance are so much better than two.
That I can live through pain, and that pain’s memory fades (as in childbirth and hiking the South Kaibab)
That with enough rain, the desert can look so green and full of flowers.
That even in a place stamped with billions of years of time, the fact that I can see it, marvel at it, and wonder about it, means I am uniquely created to enjoy it in my brief span of time. Time is not the only measure of significance.
That I am truly blessed to not be living like I’m camping all the time, but that I get to camp out when I want to.
That you can get to know complete strangers pretty easily when you camp and hike with them, and most serious hikers are nice people. I enjoyed getting to know you Michael, Marlene, Steven, Mike, Bob and Kim.
I kept looking up at what is called the Redwall, a formidable layer of red stained limestone above me. I could see no path taking me up beyond it and it was towering. After five hours of upward travel, the Redwall seemed like a dead end. The only thing I could think was that if I didn’t stop, if I just kept going, I would eventually get to the top. The mental challenge was every bit as big as the physical. I found myself praying frequently that God would strengthen me to keep moving and I warned him that I would someday ask him to explain this canyon to me. This beautiful, challenging, and mystifying place…
When I looked back over the distance I had already traveled I was aware that I had already come far. But most of my attention was focused on the ground where my next footfall would land. The second half of the Bright Angel Trail, right before the South Rim was a real struggle.
We had started that morning around 6, with cool weather and a possibility of rain. The Silver Bridge took us from the campground to the south side of the river. The trail stayed along the river for a while before heading out of the inner gorge on what the guides called “Devil’s Corkscrew”. It wasn’t as steep or difficult as I had expected and all of our crew made really good time. Again the scenery was powerful with frequent views of the trail below and above us, so three dimensional. Voices carry in the canyon and we could hear other hikers even when they were far away, like in an echo chamber.
We reached Indian Gardens around 10 am a little ahead of schedule, and rested. What a beautiful place! Large cottonwood trees thrive around the creek, and green plants were plentiful. I can see why the Indian tribes chose to spend time there in the past. I could have spent more time there but we were urged on – the guides knew there were still 4.5 miles to go, some of it would be in the sun, and some of our group had expended most of their energy and strength.
Our group had spread out by this time and I lost track of my brother and his wife. I had seen them ahead of me and I didn’t want to fall too far behind them. I passed up the next stop at Three Mile because I would have had to come down a hill from the restroom and downhill was still too painful to choose unnecessarily. I skipped the stop at Mile and a Half because of the vicious acting squirrels trying to get people to share their snacks. I had heard squirrels were the most dangerous animals in the canyon and I found that believable. I wasn’t going fast at all – I felt like the only way to go slower would have been to stop. It’s possible I looked pretty wasted because lots of people asked me how far I’d come and tried to cheer me up.
I walked out of the canyon at 12:50 pm. I never did catch up with my family, and I found out it was because they were behind me, not ahead. Hmmm….
The member of our group who had trouble and the guide who stayed with him made it out two hours later. As we collected and went to find food we compared our experiences. My sister-in-law and I both were avoiding painful downward grades and well, we walked funny. We were sore. Both my knees hurt – I had actually taken the brace off the right one and put it on the left. I found out that if I kept walking even though I hurt, pretty soon that hurt would diminish and something else would hurt more. That was one of my more interesting observations about pain.
It was wonderful to know that I could stop walking, and that most of the places I would want to walk were relatively flat. I felt relieved of responsibility that had been impressed upon me numerous times, in books, in words, and on signs – the warning “to go into the canyon is an option, to come out is not”. I had gotten myself in, and with God’s help I was now out.
As I said in the previous post, I did sleep, but the sore knee began to stiffen and hurt. The sore toe also began to swell and hurt. I could feel it all every time I tried to reposition myself in my sleeping bag. These pains are common reactions to this hike to the river, which is why there is a planned rest day, so called, which oddly consists of more hiking in the gorge. That little bit of less strenuous movement is supposed to keep muscles loose and functioning. We had breakfast, grabbed our water bottles and headed up Bright Angel Creek.
These feet did not fit into the hiking boots too well, but my camp shoes were wearable. The pace was relaxed and the terrain basically flat, leaving me lots of time to snap photos and look around. We were travelling a beautiful gorge – I think the guide called it “the box” because of the steep walls on either side.
The trail went fairly gradually for a couple miles on the right side of Bright Angel Creek, and then we saw another gorge on the left side with its own smaller creek. The plan was to cross Bright Angel and explore the intersecting gorge and Phantom Creek. It promised a waterfall and swimming hole. However, the Bright Angel was running so swiftly that none of us liked the idea of trying to cross it. Our guides looked for a place to cross but decided it was too risky. We might not have drowned, but could have gotten banged around on the rocks. (And the water was FREEZING!)
I always notice texture in nature, and there was plenty of it to notice. I took pictures of every interesting rock and plant I saw because they all just had the flavor of the canyon that I wanted to remember. We were charmed by a little mule deer who kept showing up around camp too. We stopped at the canteen again and sat around talking and making sure we didn’t get dehydrated. The canteen and the other buildings of Phantom Ranch were designed by Mary Jane Elizabeth Colter (click here to read more) and are nestled around BA Creek. In its heyday, Phantom Ranch had fruit trees, a swimming pool and other up-scale features for its more important guests. This tree is one of the few remaining fruit trees. Can you guess what it is?
Later in the day we went down to the Colorado, to the Boat Beach and got wet – some more than others. It was very cold as well, but refreshing. We visited the Silver Bridge, which we would travel out on the next day.
The wind was picking up around dinnertime and some of our tents were actually being blown around. Storms were forecast and temperatures were supposed to go way down. Surprisingly, the bad weather skirted around us and what we got was some gorgeous views of the moon and clouds instead. We all went to sleep early so we could break camp at 4 am and get started on the ten mile hike out to the rim.
I’m back alive. It’s exhilarating to have met the challenge, to be one of the less than one percent of the 6 million visitors to the canyon who actually get below the rim.
The first thing I have to say is that distances are deceiving. We so often view the canyon in a two dimensional picture, and it is beautiful even then. But it is not a two dimensional place at all. Distances are far greater than they appear. Depths are deeper. Heights are higher. So many things are hidden behind a bend, or a cliff. A single element of the canyon, visible from the rim, may still be visible four or five miles closer and it will look slightly different from every vantage point along the way.
I want to share these views and vistas because they are the legendary beauty of the canyon. They did much to make the hike worthwhile and were a constant source of wonder and inspiration.
Is it hard for me to believe in a creator God, when the evidence is laid out for us to see – evidence of millions of years of deposition, of soil and rock, with fossils embedded? “Time and the river flowing” is written all over this canyon, but so is the mark of an amazing artist. I can believe in the story geology tells because I believe that God also created time. Science has not yet told me how he did that and it’s a question I hope to ask him, someday. I am thankful for what I saw. It increases my faith. Look at these, and wonder.
Yes, it really is a word. It is the name of a dish consisting of pieces of seasoned meat. However, it has nothing to do with the Grand Canyon. I’m hoping the alphabet police won’t notice I’m going off theme.
I could only come up with one Q word having something to do with the canyon and that was quartz. I didn’t even want to try to make quartz an interesting subject, although I’m sure some would be able to do that. So instead I chose qabab, which interestingly, is kind of like the Grand Canyon word Kaibab – that’s my excuse. There’s not a lot to tell about qabab either, except that it is more commonly spelled kebab. Shish kebab. We all know what that is and have probably enjoyed those seasoned pieces of meat roasted on skewers with vegetables stuck between them.
What I would really enjoy writing this post about is this A
to Z exercise of researching my coming adventure. It has been so helpful to me, as I learn
ahead of time about the things I will be seeing and experiencing.
In some ways, it has dispelled the fear of the new and
unknown. I have looked at the details of the trails I’ll be walking. The
history of the buildings, the inhabitants of the area, the development and
tourism aspects, the geography – all of it is a bit familiar now. I’ve thought through all the travel
arrangements and rehearsed mentally what each day will be like. Some of it may
turn out differently, but I at least know one way it could turn out.
The only unusual and unexpected result from my posts has
been comments from friends and relatives who are now worried about me going on
this hike. I am having to explain why I
would want to do such a thing. The husband looks at me and says “you’re not 25
anymore, you know”. It’s like people are
thinking I’m going to run my wheelchair off the edge of the trail. I’m not going to start having second thoughts
about this – that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.
And as long as my Q word is unrelated to the Grand Canyon hike, I thought I’d post a couple pics also unrelated to the Grand Canyon. They are from my first extended hike on the AT with four lovely young women. Now that was an adventure. The first one was taken by the gentleman who gave us a ride to our starting point (we hiked back the 30 plus miles to our car). Our packs were so heavy, and we were so “green”. I’m sure he thought we would never make it. But we did.
The countdown has started, 24 days to go… I CAN’T WAIT. Well, I can, but you know what I mean. Just sayin’…
Tomorrow afternoon, we will have been married 46 years. This has been an eventful year, with retirement for the husband, an interstate move and our house going up for sale, and then a diagnosis of Lewy Body Dementia that the husband was not expecting.
We may have many more anniversaries. But however many there are, we have this one to look forward to. We have an appointment with a lawyer in a nearby city, to discuss estate planning. As long as we are there, it will be nice to stay in a hotel and not to have to make the two-hour drive home. As long as we are staying for the night, we are going to dinner at a nice steakhouse as a celebration. It is all planned and will be more of a “night away” than we have had for a long time. It’s just hasn’t been something that we find ourselves doing.
It will be a celebration of another sort as well. Today we got the first real paper offer on our home in Florida. It’s been over six months on the market and this is the first offer we have had, although there have been lookers. It is the kind of family we had been hoping for, and although we feel we must make a counteroffer, we are hoping to come to an agreement with them. In a little over a month we could possibly be closing the sale. I have been looking forward to this for so long! (at least it seems like a long time). It would solve several other problems as well if this could come to closing. Prayers appreciated.
The husband has not been feeling well, but he is pretty certain he will feel better tomorrow. Don’t ask me how he knows. It’s as much a spiritual/emotional matter as it is physical, although it involves physical discipline to keep to the diet that he wants to be on. I am hoping the restaurant will have at least one good keto meal to choose from so he can enjoy the evening. I chose a hotel that has no stairs to climb and a nice hot tub to soak in. That should also be a treat, if he has the energy for it.
Things do fall in place at some point. I am glad it is now, or at least seems to be now. I know we could yet be disappointed, but I’m taking care not to find out until after our anniversary. Congratulations to us. We are in it for the long haul.
I am not a virtuoso, but I have played enough over the years, that I can relax and enjoy expressing myself through music. I’ve played hymns in churches most of my life, and always offer to do so when I move to someplace new.
And so it happened that I offered to play for the church that I am attending here, “up north”. and am collecting quite a collection of piano stories with a common theme. Embarrassment. It’s got me thinking. But, as always, what I let myself think is important. Humility and embarrassment are related, but not quite the same and that is where the importance starts.
This morning I arrived early enough for church that I could make sure the electronic instrument, a clavinova, was plugged in, turned on and sounded appropriate for the small early service. I only had to play for the communion portion of the service – one hymn. All was set. The service went well, the message was moving and the invitation was given for communion. To my surprise, when I started to play there was a pop drum beat and a very weird bass thing going on with my reverent, calm hymn.
I hunted for any button on the control board that had STOP written on it, and tried several times to make the hymn sound like a hymn, but no. What finally came out of the machine was barely recognizable and was probably more distracting than having no music at all. Stuff like this is a musician’s nightmare.
This particular service is early, 8 am, and has small attendance, so the music crew does not do a lot of practice for it. Other times when I’ve participated, I have played the wrong song at the right time, played the right song at the wrong time, and played when I was not supposed to play at all. I suppose the regular attendees are getting kind of used to me and my uncomfortable adventures.
I am filled with mixed emotions. Why do these things keep happening? It always takes a bit of courage to put myself in a place of service to others where what I do is noticeable if I do it poorly. I am aware that music sets the mood and can influence people. I desperately (yes, desperately!) want to not distract people from their worship, or make them uncomfortable because they are worried about me.
On the other hand, I realize that music is not what it’s all about. Worship is not about me at all and how I respond when things go poorly is what God is probably watching. What does my embarrassment lead to? What discouraging messages am I giving myself about my performance, my usefulness? Will I be intimidated and unwilling to serve again? Those would not be good choices. However, I have to consider that God might be telling me that my time playing for church is finished. Maybe I am to move on to something else, and it would be okay. It has to be okay. Kind of makes me look at my pride issues and wonder what God wants to teach me next. That is always a good thing.
This morning, the pastor asked me what I was going to write about next. I had no idea then, but God inspires in strange ways and look what happens. Just sayin’…
I was awake at 3:30 am listening to the plow over in the Walmart parking lot. There are fences and tree borders between our condo and Wally World so we don’t see it, but we do hear most everything. That’s how I knew there was more snow.
I didn’t actually get up until 5 and since it was still super dark, and I think it’s a little ridiculous to shovel snow in the super dark, I waited another hour to go out. It was simple dark then, and my brother was out with his Bobcat, clearing the parking area for his employees to arrive.
It was a whole different kind of shoveling today. The shovel no longer slid easily over the cement. I had to kick it every few inches because there was an immovable layer in there somewhere. If you’ve ever had a pan with food burned on it, that’s what it was like. It was also quite slippery – made it hazardous to get in a good kick when the leg I was standing on was slipping out from under me.
Frequent rest periods were the answer. Every time I would stop and look around I was amazed all over again at how beautiful the world is when covered with snow. And to be out in it is an experience so different from looking at it.
My snowman looked a little stressed this morning, just sayin’…
Why not? Fun can be found anywhere if you are able to search for it. Yesterday’s excursion was to see a little of the history in the Rochester MN area, and to have a good meal for the day.
It is a challenge to eat well when traveling. Schedules are erratic, fast food is everywhere and may be the only thing we have time for, so we looked at the restaurant recommendations in the motel guide. The Hubbell House in Mantorville looked interesting and fun.
Mantorville is a small, historic town about 20 miles from Rochester. The Hubbell House was the first establishment in the town, way back in 1854.
We were there early, but others were already arriving. The various dining areas can hold over 300 people. We had an efficient, grandmotherly server with the authentic Minnesota accent, and a good knowledge of local history. She assured us that Garrison Keiler had never been there, although they do have record of many other famous guests.
Our meal was good, as was the service. We shared beef tips with wild rice. We took bread pudding with raisins and caramel sauce home with us for dessert. A quiet, reserved atmosphere, surrounded by antique decor, real oil lamps glowing on each table, white cloth napkins, all made the experience special. The familiar, but varied menu choices made it comfortable. The historic details made it interesting.
This country is full of small, interesting places to visit and experience. I’m glad we found this one.