Of Canyons Grand and Memories Old

“It was hard work, took a long time,
but I dug it myself, with a pick and a shovel.
If you want to know what I done with the dirt,
just look south through a clearin’ in the trees
at what they call the San Francisco Peaks.”

- John Hance, early Grand Canyon guide

We never went anywhere much when we were little – first we were too busy trying to survive in a gang neighborhood, then we were too busy enjoying the safety we had outside the gang neighborhood. We would go to museums on free days, but, except a trip to the Field Museum to see the Titanic (and touch it, in my case – I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to since I couldn’t read yet), we went nowhere.

That has changed in recent years. We visited relatives when Joy got out of college, and then again in 2012. We did something unprecedented last year and gallivanted off to Carlsbad Caverns without seeing a single relative. Now we’re off to the Grand Canyon – something Joy has wanted to do since she was little.

I tell people we’re making up for lost time now that we can appreciate things. That’s not strictly true; I’ve been able to appreciate things as long as I can remember. But since I didn’t have the endurance required for a full afternoon at the zoo, I would have died at the Grand Canyon.

We’re hoping that it’s as grand as we’ve been told. (If not, I’ve just spent the last week packing – or, more accurately, yelling at my sister – unnecessarily.) We’re hoping we don’t fall over and go kaput from the heat. (That’s the scientific term – “go kaput.”) We’re hoping we can survive after waking up at 3 in order to go kayaking on the Colorado River. We’re also hoping that we have air conditioning in our hotel room.

Above all, we’re hoping that we don’t run out of gas, or get abducted by aliens, or get lost in a Native American reservation, or anything else that we almost did last year. 

(No joke, not even the aliens - we arrived in Roswell during the alien festival.)