Uncharted Territory

One of the scariest things I survived as a mother was allowing my sons to go on their first 50-miler. After months of preparation, which included required meetings with experienced leaders who made sure parents knew how isolated and rugged the area would be, I pretty much knew that if son #1 (barely 13 years old at the time) didn’t die of an asthma attack while they were hiking at 12,000+ foot elevations in Colorado, son #2 (11 – he was only 11!) would fall off a cliff and the body would never be found. I KNEW that it would be one or the other; mothers FEEL things, and they KNOW when they are right. But I saw them off and never let them know my fears, and I cried every day they were gone.

Lo and behold, they returned hale, hearty and filthy 8 days later, full of excellent tales of adventure. I could see the drastic difference in their confidence. I marveled at the stories they told. I was in awe of the beauty of the pictures they shared. I was so proud of my strong, young sons who had endured with gusto and enthusiasm such an arduous trek.  I would look back on this experience every time one of my chillins left - for college, for foreign exchanges, for missions, for marriage - and it made it a little bit easier to let them go.

When son #2 went back to Colorado for a second 50-miler I was a bit envious of his opportunity. Somehow a conversation began with some daughters and friends, and before I knew it I was involved with a mother-daughter group determined to undertake the same hike. Five teenage girls, five moms, and a very brave young man who had led our scout sons in years past, as well as some of our YW 4th-year hikes. We worked alongside a scout troop to plan the trip, with the idea being that we would travel together to Durango, take the train to the last stop before Silverton and begin the hike together, and then separate into 2 groups going on different trails by the second day.

As we boarded the train on a day in mid-July I could hardly contain my excitement. It was really happening! The sun was shining; we could smell the pine trees and see the swirling river at the bottom of the steep, rocky cliffs. Ashes and cinders from the steam engine blew into our faces and hair. I was grinning from ear to ear. My friends expressed some nervousness as the climb became steeper and steeper, and the rough terrain literally surrounded us. But I was ready for this! I had not an ounce of fear.

Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Train

We unloaded all of our gear from the train at Elk Park. Passengers staying on expressed amazement at our undertaking. We posed for a group picture, put on our heavy packs, and began climbing. And climbing. And climbing. I learned too quickly that I don’t climb well with 35 (45?) pounds on my back at high altitudes. I was slow. I was the slowest, in fact. It was quite embarrassing, but I kept going and I ended up in the same place everybody else did in time to help with dinner and setting up camp for the night. We slept well and began climbing again the next morning.

As we went up one narrow pass we found snow, lots of it, and most of the kids enjoyed sliding down it and playing in it when we stopped for lunch. Later that day we came to the infamous switchbacks to the top of the Continental Divide. David, our fearless leader, had told us more than once that we should take our time and stay on the trail. I wish I had listened to him, but when I saw that he was heading straight up the mountain it looked easy enough, and so I followed him. It was my undoing, and once again, I was the last one to arrive at the top. Everyone was shouting encouragement, and then they were shouting for me to hurry up. A storm was coming! We took only a few moments to get a group shot at the top and then began heading down the slippery slopes in rain that turned into sleet that turned into snow that turned into whiteout conditions. It was surreal; I felt like I was on a National Geographic expedition. We couldn’t follow any trail, and we were slipping and sliding our way down. Our goal was to just get off the top of the mountain and find a safe place to dry out and warm up. We eventually found an old miner’s shack where we started some fires and hung up wet clothing. We heated up hot cocoa, ramen soup and oatmeal as quickly as we could, but some of the youth who had gotten wet playing in the snow were in a bit of trouble because they had been cold and wet so long. The night was spent huddling with and helping each other stay warm.

In the morning it was determined that we had used up too much of our food supply to continue the hike as originally planned, and so 4 of the strongest young men, including David, who knew the trails, were sent ahead to get word to our pick-up crew to meet us in a location 70 miles away from the original designated spot. Thank goodness we were still a combined group and could help each other out! That day we were able to hike to a lower altitude, warm up and dry out our gear. The next several days were spent hiking out in glorious conditions and reveling in the magnificent beauty surrounding us.

Lessons learned and relearned:
• Listen to the voices of experience! We had been given excellent guidelines to help us condition and prepare physically for the hike. I convinced myself that I was in good enough shape when I really was not, and should have been working much harder to prepare for the hike.
• Stay on the path! I still feel deep remorse when I think of how my choice to ignore that council caused the entire group to wait longer at the top where they could see the storm coming that I could not, and the extra risk that created for all.
• Enjoy the beauty that surrounds us and give thanks always for what the Lord has created. I didn’t actually learn this, its how I’ve always felt, but it’s something that I still remember as being a huge part of how I felt almost every step of the way, even in the middle of the storm.
• Savor the time you have with the people you love. It will always mean so much to me that I was able to do this with my oldest daughter, her friends, and their moms (who were and still are my friends), and the wonderful men who provided Priesthood support and friendship.

I reflected a lot on this experience as I began to train for a half-marathon. Six months ago I knew zilch about long distance running. I didn’t want to go into the race feeling like I had on the train to Elk Park, only to be mortified by my performance.  Training made the difference and I really knew this time that I had what it would take to finish strong.

Best of all, I got to start and finish with daughter #3!!! That for me is the highlight of the whole event – I only wish I would have hugged her more at the finish line!

And believe me, I savored the time we were able to share together with all who were able to be there, and for the tremendous support and encouragement we received from all who couldn’t be.

Finding our bib numbers

Kris, Troy, Ben, Ayrel & Laurie

Half an hour before start time!

Kris provides moral support

Sonja keeping a watchful eye

Sonja and Kris cheered us on with such encouraging words as,

"Run faster! I didn't come all the way out here to see you lose!"

Mile 3

Mile 10

Finish Line

(OK, not really - we didn't get good ones. But our time was only an additional 13 minutes; never mind that this is a time meant to inspire the full marathoners!)

Ayrel, Troy, Ben, Laurie, Sonja

It's over!

Due to injuries Ben and Troy finished behind us, but finish they did!

*Thank you, Sonja, for the very cool and cozy fleece jacket!



Big Sister

The original plan was to post about each of my siblings sometime during the month of their respective birthdays, but thus far I have only managed to embarrass spotlight my baby sister. So I shall proceed with Plan B, which is to continue from youngest to oldest at random times.  My sister Sandy is my next victim!

Even though her birthday is only 13 months ahead of mine, I have always considered Sandy to be wise and sage beyond her years. I know that she was Mom and Dad’s favorite because she was so perfect – obedient, polite, kind, generous, hard-working, a straight-A student, and without guile. Fun loving. And funny. Oh, and the peacekeeper in the family. Of course she was the favorite child!

In 5th or 6th grade (I think) she broke her arm just below the shoulder when she fell off a horse, and had to sleep sitting in a chair for weeks. I don’t remember her complaining about anything, but the reality is that her arm became really stinky because of the cast, and so her room was really stinky. I avoided going in to visit her...and I’m still ashamed of myself for that. A few years later, right after arriving at Bear Lake for ONE ENTIRE WEEK of waterskiing, we both paid for a plate of french fries to share and had a big fight over who should get the last one. Right after that I had a stupid accident that landed me in the hospital with a concussion and ruined the whole trip for everyone. She felt guilty about the french fries, and I milked it.

It was my wonderful big sister Sandy who taught me the true order of eating a cinnamon bear: you bite the head off first and then finish off the bear in small bites (yes, it is pretty vicious). We would often take the bus to downtown SLC and (mostly window) shop, breeze into Adrian & Emily's so we could smell like Chanel º5, buy cinnamon bears, ride the escalators whilst loudly double-speaking to each other, and then meet mom after work for a ride home. She was a wonderful friend who shared her friends with me in high school and even let me go camping and to Lake Powell with them.

She, Diane and I were supposed to rotate chores each week – vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms, and fixing dinner. I think it was Sandy’s brilliant idea that we just do the one we liked best since she liked to cook, Diane didn’t mind cleaning bathrooms (ugh), and I was a master with a vacuum cleaner. So when I married I didn’t know the first thing about cooking or cleaning bathrooms….

Sandy has always known how to work hard and make things happen. While attending the University of Utah she had a number of interesting jobs. At one time she cooked for a group of nuns – they really liked her almandine green beans! She also introduced me to the musical “Hair” at a listening booth at the U. I felt so sophisticated going on campus with her.

I wanted to copy her perfect wedding – right down to the dress. I couldn’t though, because it didn’t fit me; and I couldn’t have the reception in the quaint RS room because our church on Evergreen Avenue had been slated for demolition so it was no longer useable.

I still marvel at the depth of her grace and strength when she was widowed with 2 teenagers and a 2-year old. Those 3 children have grown into 3 beautiful and delightfully talented adults; one is a master baker and fitness pole dancer, one a flight attendant, and the youngest a guide at Zion's. Her kind and gentle husband has a passion for steam trains and was instrumental in bringing the Heber Creeper back to life.

One of our favorite traditions when we visit them in Heber is to check the wall behind the kitchen door where all the kids, cousins, friends, aunts, uncles, grannies, gramps and strays have their heights recorded over more than 3 decades of time!  And then there are all the times we converge on Heber for family reunions and lake trips, and always feel loved and welcomed.

Oh the memories ~ thank you for being my wonderful Big Sister, Sandra Lee! I ♥ you to pieces!

Dog Days

Theo enjoying the green, green grass of home and the desert sunshine

Today I walked outside and didn't immediately melt into a puddle, there were some dry leaves blowing around the yard, and our grass doesn't look so green.
Today Keven harvested the first batch of our pistachios and I saw chile ristras being sold by the side of the road. 

Yes, I think the dog days of summer are coming to an end.

Kid Quotes

Soon after Aubree was born Mitchell said to Rachele, “Mommy, we love her, right?”

Cars and Camping

Currently I am driving a 1992 Nissan Maxima. It’s creamy white with a burgundy interior, and has quite an impressive travel history: from El Paso, TX to Provo, UT to Seoul, South Korea (with a little joy ride to Los Angeles before getting on the ship, courtesy of some unscrupulous employees of the moving company), to Rochester, NY, with side trips to Wisconsin, Maine, Vermont and Massachusetts; and then back to El Paso via Utah, Montana and Oregon. It really belongs to Sven & Hyuna but they decided that they didn’t want to haul it back to Korea so it’s staying with us. It’s a great car and has never caused us any serious problems even though the odometer has passed 170,000 miles. (Thanks, Sven & Hyuna for sharing!) I’ve always maintained that I don’t care what I drive as long as it’s reliable so I’m not going to complain that the radio is kind of lousy, the alarm system has had to be disarmed three times, and on the hottest days the air conditioning doesn’t cut it. And no, I don’t name the cars I drive.

Recently I was taking a vivacious young lady home from a youth activity. As soon as she jumped in she said, “Ooooooh, I LOVE old cars!” Up until then I hadn’t thought of this car as an “old car”, but then, I’m still trying to use dates from the last century when I write checks. After the above mentioned young lady got out of the car I did some mental math and realized that the car is older than she is, so of course it’s an “old car” to her…it’s all about perspective.

The only car we’ve had that brings up really bad memories is the blue VW Vanagon that we owned from the summer of 1985 to the summer of 1986. It was exciting to get our first van because with six kids we really needed it. I’m sure they were great vehicles (my dear friend Birgid drove her Vanagon for years and years and LOVED it, at least that’s how I remember it) – we just didn’t know we were getting one of the citrus persuasion when we bought ours.

The one good trip we had with our van was a camping trip up to the Gila wilderness area of New Mexico. As much as Keven and I proclaim to love camping we did not do enough of it as a family, but this was a great trip. We loaded up the van with all the gear, including the old canvas tent that had been in Keven’s family for-ev-er, and off we went. The 30 miles of winding roads and switchbacks out of Silver City to our campsite took more than an hour to drive, and it was breathtaking. Setting up camp was a riot with all the kids wanting to help dad in some way while I mostly ‘supervised’ and held 4-month old Tanja. Of course, we all slept like babes on the rocky terrain that night. The next few days we hiked around and played and just enjoyed being away from our everyday routine.

Camp cooking is the best, no matter how it turns out – there is some kind of magic that occurs. The morning we broke camp we cooked up a big camp breakfast – bacon, eggs, hash browns, and pancakes. It was fabulous! Nothing smells quite as good as food cooking in the wilderness! And then, because Keven had to spend some time with clients in Lordsburg, NM, we cleaned up and headed down the winding roads that led back to civilization. I was enjoying the magnificent view when the first child (we won’t name names here) lost his/her breakfast, soon to be followed by the second, and then the third. By the time Keven was able to pull over I didn’t even want to look back there because I was pretty sure I would just add to the accumulation. The bacon, eggs, hash browns and pancakes didn’t smell so good this time around. My memory dims here; I’m not really sure how we cleaned up everyone. I do remember we went to our client’s business in Lordsburg, a grocery store, and they met all our children. I’m sure they were charmed by our distinct “straight from the mountains campfire smell” that probably didn’t overpower the other odors. They kindly sent us on our way with several large bags of goodies and fruit which were devoured on the way home, and didn’t make a return appearance either! You might ask why we didn't plan the client visit before the campout. I've wondered the same thing myself.

The joy of Vanagon ownership was the greatest when we arrived home – we simply took everything out and hosed it down and scrubbed it on the inside, as it was all rubber and vinyl!!! That almost makes up for the other trips where it broke down or burned up gallons of oil; Keven will have to document them though, as he was the one taking the boys to soccer tournaments in Albuquerque, NM and Alpine, TX when they occurred. But since I was left stranded with kids more than once on the other side of town I have my own grudges that I’m still holding onto. I will admit, however, that writing about the camping trip has softened them.

Picture it blue with a white top - our Vanagon

Exactly how I remember Birgid's Vanagon