The Arch That is No More

Arches National Park

Here is Wall Arch, in its final stance. Only weeks later it collasped in the night. It was shocking news to us as though we lost a dear old friend. My children scampered beneath her bridge, cooling in the shade. Aaryn scaled her height, conquering fears. Her arms stretch so long, and she gave in to the battling force of gravity. We mourn her loss.

Evalily kicks her old mule, saying faster, faster. She wonders what in the heck are we doing out in this 108 degree weather. She is ready to spend the rest of the vacation touring inside of an air conditioned car. She had a difficult time cooling her body down, despite us wetting her down with water, and giving her sips of water every ten minutes. Her and Adryann's face were crimson.

Aaryn, Izaak and I were able to enter The Fiery Furnace, with a park ranger. Izaak was the youngest to venture in the fingers of hell. Scott teased him prior to entry that he would meet the Devil in there. The guide also warned that once you past the gate there is no turning back, you are committed for the tour. Izaak turned ghostly pale, and I asked him if he was okay. He said he didnt know. So 3 hours of climbing rock walls, jumping over cervises, trugging through sand, scaling ledges, and pancaking through cracks, we made it fairing none the worse.

Delicate Arch is majestic and splendid. It was worth the grueling hike, up slickrock and not a sparse of shade for even a cricket. We started a 5pm, in 100 degree of weather, each kid fully loaded with water bottles. We entered the Delicate zone near 7pm, as the sun was setting. We never imagined that it could ever be so gigantic. How it got there... perhaps the dinosaurs have taken the secret to their grave.

Evalily's Memoirs

Evalily thoughts about the trip:

So these chickens eat blades of grass when I press grass through the chicken wire. This is cool, OUCH. Don't peck me!! Well, it didn't hurt too bad, just shocked me, I guess I will try again. Hey, what do you know Penny the Pony rips the grass from my hand, and chops away. So what is wrong with the cats and dog? I am offering them a delicate blades of grass and they are turning their head with uninterestness. I guess I will have to keep trying, they are bound to try it soon.

Penny the Pony endures another summer of escorting kids in endless circles around the manicured yard. Evalily is among these expeditioners. Gripping the saddle horn in a life or death grip, giggling in between the pony's gaits. Parents circle miles along side the pony. Bloody screams exit her body as she realizes her turn as a rodeo star must come to an end, allowing a fellow cousin an 8 second chance in the saddle. While waiting she spies sleeping Sadie (the 3 legged dog) who looks like a miniature horse Evalily can mount. "Why wont this horse go, I know I have kicked him enough?"

Green for Oregon

Green for Oregon:

I love how the garbage is not very visible and Oregonians are conscientious of not littering. It is ingrained in our heads. Unfathomable to see garbage in or near water. Iowans seem to think water areas are places to dump their unwanted possessions: dressers, refrigerators, animal carcasses, beer boxes, etc. There is plenty of open fields and ditches for these items, yet there seems to be a magnet to dump in the water. Not less then a mile from our house a creek runs into town, and people love to pollute, by throwing objects off the bridge. Yet the creek is not strong enough to move their possessions, so that is the items final resting place. Water in Oregon is life sustaining for us humans and the wildlife we apperciate. Water is a destination of beauty.

Here We Go Again

I didn't realize I started this 1 year ago, same time same place. Still in Iowa. Whoever grows up saying, boy I really want to live in Iowa when I get older. Not much to do here. People go to the malls on the weekend, cause they cant stand to go outside and be suffocated with the humidity. Iowans have an easy time gaining a gut. I still force the kids outside to play, and they come in dripping wet. Hence the mecca to Oregon in July. Scott can reap the seeds he sows, as he is alone during most of July. House projects get completed while we are gone though, so it is all good. Scott brings me back to Iowa from Oregon, strapped in the car and kicking. It seems as though we know I-80 like the palm of our own hand. There is never a motel in Wyoming at midnight, when you are exhausted, only the ones rundown, listing $130, per night. Cursing Scott misstakenly slams his foot into the toliet bowl to escape the sudden blistering water change of the shower. Driving into flat Nebraska is monotonously long and straight. After experiences like this, home is beginning to sound better and better.