The green fields had disappeared and given way to browns and oranges, dust and rock. There was space, but also dimension. Jagged patterns zigzagged up cliffsides. Meandering washes ran in opposition to the horizontal power lines marching clear across the land; man trying to make order among chaotic wildness.
In the four years since I moved to Utah, every so often my dad would mention, “I’d really like to go camping in the Uinta mountains. We should do a backpacking trip there.” After looking at calendars and guessing on the best weather window, we decided on the first week of August. I was going backpacking with my dad.
Four pitches of climbing later, the stupid poison ivy was still rattling around in my brain.
Get outside, use those lungs, let your eyes wander. Be curious. Don't check your phone. I repeat: stay away from your phone. Seriously.
This was seriously scary business, and they let children do it?
As I hiked along the snowy trail in Provo Canyon, Utah, I looked up at the wide wall of ice above me and wondered what I'd gotten myself into. Actually, I wasn't so much afraid of climbing up it as I was worried I might freeze to death halfway through the day.
Once you accept how things are, you can begin to work with them, instead of against them.