I only have a few more Fridays off before I go back to 5 day work weeks, while we deal with our fractional owners making reservations for next summer season. It is a gruesome month-long process and requires an undue amount of energy and patience. Last Friday I had such a delightful morning readying ourselves for our camping weekend. I made an unbelievable walnut cake from a Bon Appetit that Sister has give me a subscription to. This might sound kind of dramatic, but it is one of the best treats I have ever eaten. I added a little maple syrup and we couldn't keep our hands out of it all weekend. I froze two big slabs of it for a later extravaganza.
I cruised the Farmer's Market, got a few overpriced items, returned home and we headed out of town at 2, driving through Montrose, Lake City, over the Continental Divide, down past the headwaters of the Rio Grande, then found an exquisite campsite overlooking Antelope Park:
The aspens are turning early, and we were agog at the little sections of golden leaves welcoming us into a different region of the state. They turned about 20 days early this past spring, and it appears they are done early as well.
We hiked Fisher Mountain on Saturday, an odd little trail through a logged forest now growing back. The peak was unremarkable, but we had a nice conversation on the final ascent and during our snack about the previous weekend, the kids, and the challenges of navigating former spouses. Well, just one in particular. Haha. We had a nice fly-by of a hawk, imagining it was Johnny's dad listening in and getting his usual chuckle from that topic. The amount of damage from the pine bark beetle was shocking in that part of the state - entire forests completely dead:
We are hoping it does not reach our region of the state, but I don't know what could stop it. The forests here were quiet and weird.
We were down with enough afternoon time for me to take a tent snooze, then make raviolis for dinner with ample amounts of walnut cake into the evening around our toasty fire. Coyotes we busy all night, gossiping across the valleys late at night.
We lazed around Sunday morning, eating farm eggs, granola, coffee, walnut cake (!) and gradually packing up the campsite until we wandered into Creede, a cool old mining town and discovered that Main Street was closed for a... gravity race! Homemade non-motorized vehicles powered by the force of gravity and manned by one human were racing their way down the street to a sparse but cheering crowd:
It was all small-town, holiday, cheery stuff and we all know how much I love that kind of stuff. We wandered around a bit and were disappointed to find the Creede Museum closed, but the day was warm and we were in no hurry to do anything. I bought my usual topo map of the area, which I tend to do every time we visit a new region of the state. Here come the kids in their event, rolling down the street on a hobby horse:
Amazingly enough, Johnny had never been to Wolf Creek, so we drove back home that way, stopping at a fruit stand near Pagosa where I bought 3 bags of roasted green chilis and another sack of summer squash and zucchini for $4, while an injured bear tried to sneak away up the hillside behind the stand, the woman checking me out showing us the photos of the bear on her iPhone, calling me "Hon."
Durango was our next stop, and a brief grocery load at Nature's Oasis. I'm going to go ahead and say it: I might be cheap about a lot of stuff but I find that I am okay spending more money on food if the store provides a pleasant shopping experience. It was cool and quiet, the staff smiley, and the shoppers athletic and tan. Elitist? Perhaps. But grocery shopping can be a total buzz kill and I actually enjoyed myself once I figured out where everything was in that store.
In case you didn't know, this same weekend last year we saw 3 Phish shows in Denver. Neither of us was up for it this year, partly a financial decision and partly, we're just not ready for that kind of a scene, and as we drove past Purgatory, up Coal Bank Pass, then Molas Pass, the Twilight Range slipping by, then the Grenadiers on the edge of the Weminuche, I was transported by the music of Phish. Runaway Jim sounds like a hokey bluegrass diddle until you find yourself 6 minutes into the song wondering, how did we get here?
I started this entry last Wednesday and I am finally getting it out, so I am going to sign off now so I can enjoy my evening!
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