The first time we went to my brother's house in Bountiful I noticed how immediate the mountains were. It was like here's us HERE'S THE MOUNTAIN.
People talk about my valley like it's the greenest, lushest, most mountainous part of Utah, but it's really much easier to get to the mountains all along the Wasatch front. We've got our little canyon at the edge of town, of course, but it's a little canyon.
January snow, a couple of babies and a pizza kept me off the mountain that time, but last week when we dashed down for a quick meeting with Nate (tag along with Dad day), we couldn't be kept away.
I drove up and up and around and past all of the historic houses, through the neighborhoods of homes planted long enough ago to be surrounded by mountainous foliage, and then finally emerged through the newest subdivisions of huge, gawky, conspicuous mansions. Barf. However, when I transcended even those, I saw the temple (lovely) and across the street a parking lot and a trail. Obviously I pulled over.
Un-eager Calvin went on my back and we went up some trails. Saw some paintgun ball things. Saw the valley stretching out really far. I let him down after he said please, but he was on unsteady ground and his little nose was cold so we headed back to the car.
We got on the freeway and headed home through a real canyon to our little mini house by the mini canyon.