Rock On
9:21 p.m., Thursday, July 31
Independence Rock, Wyoming.
I’m writing this at a cement picnic table at the foot of Independence Rock. It’s where overland pioneers stopped to water their stock and carve their names. Hundreds of them are still visible.
The rest of the trek group is up on the rock now. I can see the entire stake huddled in the broiling sun for another “special moment.” I’ve had my fill of them already.
I can take the heat, the distance, the dirt and even the teenagers, but I draw the line at being repeatedly told that dying for a cause is sufficient proof its truthfulness.
Fortunately, the Sandy Canyon View Stake is being led by Pres. Mark Oviatt, who seems to have the right mix of faith and common sense. When we get out onto the trail, I’m betting he’ll make it clear to the kids that praying for God’s attention doesn’t mean you can stop paying attention yourself.
Case in point—snakes. At the end of the Martin’s Cove tour, we hiked back down to the parking lot. I was plodding behind Rick when he and the 50 pounds of camera gear he lugged the entire trek suddenly jumped sideways. A 2-foot prairie rattler was coiled and buzzing inches from where he had been walking. Jessica walked six feet off the ground the rest of the way to the parking lot.
The meeting on the rock is breaking up. I can see my “family” coming down. We’re organized into family groups by ward. Jess, Rick and I are in the Sandy Hills ward family. Each family is assigned a ma and pa. Our ma and pa are Brikaelie and Casey, both young but competent kids. In fact, Brikaeli is only 19.
Since I have pants older than Brikaeli, there was no way I was calling her “Ma.” She said it wasn’t required but that it would be nice if the “other kids” heard me do it. Since Jess and Rick call her Ma, and the other kids have already put a “I’ve had enough” gleam in her eye, I figure she’s perfectly capable of slamming a frying pan across the back of my head. So I said, “No problem, Ma.”
Still no signal. I’m worried. I have to file these field reports with my editor—who I don’t have to call “ma” but she still scares me.
TREK TIP: Gold Bond Medicated Foot (and Crotch) Powder.
Independence Rock, Wyoming.
I’m writing this at a cement picnic table at the foot of Independence Rock. It’s where overland pioneers stopped to water their stock and carve their names. Hundreds of them are still visible.
The rest of the trek group is up on the rock now. I can see the entire stake huddled in the broiling sun for another “special moment.” I’ve had my fill of them already.
I can take the heat, the distance, the dirt and even the teenagers, but I draw the line at being repeatedly told that dying for a cause is sufficient proof its truthfulness.
Fortunately, the Sandy Canyon View Stake is being led by Pres. Mark Oviatt, who seems to have the right mix of faith and common sense. When we get out onto the trail, I’m betting he’ll make it clear to the kids that praying for God’s attention doesn’t mean you can stop paying attention yourself.
Case in point—snakes. At the end of the Martin’s Cove tour, we hiked back down to the parking lot. I was plodding behind Rick when he and the 50 pounds of camera gear he lugged the entire trek suddenly jumped sideways. A 2-foot prairie rattler was coiled and buzzing inches from where he had been walking. Jessica walked six feet off the ground the rest of the way to the parking lot.
The meeting on the rock is breaking up. I can see my “family” coming down. We’re organized into family groups by ward. Jess, Rick and I are in the Sandy Hills ward family. Each family is assigned a ma and pa. Our ma and pa are Brikaelie and Casey, both young but competent kids. In fact, Brikaeli is only 19.
Since I have pants older than Brikaeli, there was no way I was calling her “Ma.” She said it wasn’t required but that it would be nice if the “other kids” heard me do it. Since Jess and Rick call her Ma, and the other kids have already put a “I’ve had enough” gleam in her eye, I figure she’s perfectly capable of slamming a frying pan across the back of my head. So I said, “No problem, Ma.”
Still no signal. I’m worried. I have to file these field reports with my editor—who I don’t have to call “ma” but she still scares me.
TREK TIP: Gold Bond Medicated Foot (and Crotch) Powder.
posted by Robert Kirby @ 11:32 AM |
1 Comments:
Great story, Kirb.
Please explain the pin on your left suspender as shown in your "trek" picture. What is it and what is its significance? I like your "trek" picture better than the usual one on your column. It captures more of the curmudgeon nature of your writing.
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