In my dreams, highways are always neatly sprinkled with scenic stops staffed by friendly people who chuckle benevolently as they meet your ragged children and overstuffed car. Your visit is enriched through their interesting anecdotes of local lore, delivered with heartfelt intensity, and then they gently send you on your way leaving you pleased and self-congratulatory for having decided to make that educational stop in the first place.Not all "scenic" stops are like this, and, as we sat outside the Conoco in Green River later in the day, backs pressed against the glass windows, eating cheetos and coke, our eyes glazed over, I was happy that we had gotten at least one idyllic stop squeezed in.
We started the day off well enough - collected some beautiful red dirt from St. George, and worked on pasting together some of our state maps. Tammy gave a mini lecture on Georgia O'Keefe and Native Americans of the Southwest. Then we set off.
Happily, Fremont Indian State Park was a huge hit. It was a canyon filled covered by petroglyphs and pictographs - we even saw one of a herd of deer being chased by wolves - Tammy and I were hugely impressed by everything this museum had to offer. The kids loved playing in the make-believe Fremont Indian dwelling complete with leather outfits, woven baskets, pelts, and a loom. The docents were dear little women, living up to my stereotype (and secret love) of overly-eager enthusiasts who give way more than enough information on the subject at hand, leading you to believe that if you went to one of their homes, it would be filled with archaeological specimens and books of Indian legends as well.
After the high point of the day at the state park, things plateaued for awhile - literally and emotionally. We crossed through some amazing wild landscape of mesas and vistas, thunderstorms and dripping red rocks. Tammy had put together pictograph charts so the kids could make their own stories about the Native Americans. Vera wrote a novel, of course. But you can't go on forever like this, and not only did the thunderstorms quit, our energy quit as well. That's where Conoco and the Cheetos came in...the one town in about a 200 mile radius, so we had to stop there and make (several) trips to the bathroom with all of the kids, which seems to be a running theme on this trip.After Green River, when we examined the map again and this time realized that we had to drive four more hours to get to Vail, AND it was already 5:00 pm, we were pretty bummed.
I should add that although Tammy and I have been thoroughly exhausted, the children have all been nothing short of wonderful.
We skipped dinner to save time (horrible parenting, I know), fed the kids craisins and goldfish crackers, and kept on driving. Stopped in Grand Junction at a beautiful park and met an angel in the form of a dad with his son and a huge model airplane which the kids chased for about 45 minutes while Tammy and I re-packed the cars.
At the eleventh hour (literally) of driving, we cruised into a fancy-schmancy resort in Beaver Creek which, from the internet, looked like a great place for a couples' getaway, or a honeymoon destination. Pictures of people lounging in their soft terrycloth robes or enjoying the steam room dotted the website, and why Tammy thought this was a good place to put in a bid, I'm not really sure. But as we pulled in with our hyper children at 11:00 pm, I have to say, these people were the epitome of gracious. At the end of the road, it was great to slip between 12,000 count Egyptian cotton and soak in a deep bath. Oh wait, that didn't happen until everyone was safely in bed - about 1am. In the meantime, having skipped dinner, we pored over the restaurant menu and fantasized about the lobster and porterhouse steak... And then ate a bowl of maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal which we dug out of the bottom of one of our bags. Classy.
I am loving this. Only 3 blogs in and I am eager to hear more. I’m not sure which part of me is more intrigued by what you are doing. The part of me that wishes I could be this type of parent or the part of me that wishes I was one of your kids. Also, I’m not sure whether to call this adventure “brave” or “crazy.” I believe, historically, the combination of those two adjectives can either result in “disasterous” or “brilliant.” Hopefully in your most physically/emotionally/mentally exhausted moments the thought of the stories your children will tell their friends when they are in their 30s about how amazing their mom was for making this kind trek and how “we should all do such a thing” will get you through. Not to mention what they will learn. That along with the fact that we are all rooting for you from the comfort of our air conditioned houses while our own children are napping but wishing we were in the next car caravanning behind you. I am reminded of my own childhood beach trips or hikes to Nira & Davey Brown with my Dad, the high school science teacher, who never left home without his trusty pocket knife so that we could disect some dead sea slug or snake and identify their internal parts and differences. I think I was 4 when I knew what the words arthropod and exoskeleton meant. I’m sure your brood will learn more about geography, nature, conflict resolution, adaptability, endurance, spontaneity and so much more about themselves and you on this trip than they would from a decade of time in a classroom. Have you considered (in all your spare time) publishing a curriculum for this type of adventure? Or maybe a book? I see an indie film in your near future with your girls starring as themselves.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to more.
Christine Garza
Christine, what a nice comment - your dad sounds amazing - I think crazy is probably a very good term for this trip. Although I'm sure I'll remember it fondly, I think next time I want to stick closer to home and spend less time in the car. That said, we've seen some beautiful things - just flying by them at 70mph.
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