My mother and I had been watching the leaves on the mountain turn for days--a
patchwork quilt of scarlets, greens, and golds. This is such a beautiful
time of year, but it can be so fleeting. A heavy frost and a stiff wind
can end all that glory almost over night--leaving the grey, bare trees
of later fall.
Saturday, I really wanted to make our yearly trip up the mountain to
enjoy the autumn leaves, but at first my mother wasn't having any of it.
She had things to do and places to be. Finally, she decided that a
short ride would be okay; then we would come down and get the work done.
We helped my dad into the car (he has post-polio syndrome and
Alzheimer's) and went on our way. The road was newly opened following
six-months of repair work to recover from an avalanche and landslide
last winter that took out a large section of it. It was our first trip
up the mountain in months.
The mountain was beautiful. We could not have chosen a prettier day. The
colors were brilliant--reds, oranges, golds set against an azure sky,
and there were still plenty of greens as well. We turned up Right-Hand
Canyon road which is mostly dirt and gravel, but is beautiful forested
land and has great views of the valley below. There are also large lava
outcroppings and acres of lava beds to add a rugged dimension to the aspens, scrub oaks, and pines. Many of the trees are gnarled and
twisted from harsh weather conditions of wind and heavy snow they endure
in the winter. Here and there are flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, and a
few horses running free. Boundaries are sketched by miles of wire
fences. Here and there are the zigzag log fences. They used to dominate
the mountain, but many have fallen into disrepair, been replaced by
posts and wire. Cabins and sheepherder's camps dot the landscape.
We remember girls' camp, picnics, family outings to hunt fossilized
shells in the tiny mountain creeks. One year, Dad even kept a hive of
bees on a friend's mountain property. The mountain wildflowers made a
light, delicate, floral honey that was so delicious--especially on Mom's
hot homemade bread with melted butter.
My mother was exhilarated with the crisp beautiful day, and all the
memories. Once we reached the plateau, she thought we might as well just
drive on across. This journey took us past Kolob Reservoir, which was
brim full after a wetter than usual summer, and through the back roads
of Zion National Park. It took us two and a half hours at 25-30 miles
per hour on dusty, rutted roads. After we reached Kolob, the roads were
oiled again, but still very winding and narrow.
The peaks of Zion are fantastical--red and white sandstone monoliths.
They catch the sun in shining glory. From where we were, they still had a
distant look. But they were familiar, and we knew their grandeur well
from many summers of hiking and picnics.
Then Mom decided we might as well just go drop in on my brother, about
30 miles more, but good highways. He and his family were so surprised.
"Why didn't you call?" he wondered, but this day would never had
happened if we had planned it. We would have just felt that we were too
busy and it was too hard. It was the allure of that "just a short little
ride, then we'll come home" that got us out the door and up the
mountain. How glad I was that I had gassed the car the day before so
that this adventure could happen.
My mother sent my brother and I out for hamburgers--her treat. We had a
great time together; then headed back home by another, but faster,
scenic route.
The next day when I looked at the mountain, it was so gorgeous, and I
felt so connected, having just traveled across its face the day before.
No comments:
Post a Comment