Angelnina’s Cottage

Mountains, Lost Dog, and a Happy Ending

Mark and I jumped into the minivan on Saturday and headed for the mountains.  We usually throw in the sleeping bags–just in case we wander too far. 

Our intention was to take a day trip to scout out a nice private future camp spot for ourselves and the “kids”.    Sometimes I need to escape from the city.  Don’t get me wrong, the city is great.  We have access to beautiful parks, museums, live music, book readings, festivals, and so much more.  More importantly, living near a large city means survival for our construction business.

Mark seems to enjoy city life.  Crowds and traffic don’t rattle him at all.  I, on the other hand, prefer the country–specifically, the mountains.  While growing up, I’ve lived in large cities and extremely rural areas.  I’ve often wondered if people, who have never left the city, have any idea how bright the stars look at night in the middle of the Rocky Mountains? 

At the age of fifteen, I lived in Kremmling, Colorado.  We had no telephone, no television or radio reception, and the closest neighbor was twenty minutes down the washboard dirt road.  Kremmling is where my love for the mountains really blossomed.    I remember walking Gore Canyon and the only sound I could hear was the sound of my boots crunching in the snow and the wind whistling through the pines.  Herds of elk were commonly sighted outside the kitchen window while eating breakfast. 

There is just something mystical about the mountains.   I can clear my mind when I’m far from the city and far from people.  I’m more aware. 

Mark and I ended up driving more than two hours looking for a place to eat lunch.  We veered off the main road and took a winding dirt road which we followed for another forty minutes.

I’m somewhat picky–must have mountain view, sun, no people close by, and a river.

We were getting pretty hungry, so we put John Denver on pause and pulled into this spot…

No plans means no good home cooked food.  We had stopped at a market in a small rural town to pick something up from the deli for lunch.  Big mistake.  Store cooked fried chicken only tastes good when you’re starving.  The broccoli salad I bought made up for what the chicken lacked in flavor.

This spot reminds me of a scene from The Waltons.  The Waltons is one of my favorite old television programs.  Corny?  Whatever.  I always wanted to marry John Boy Walton.  I still do.

Sadly, the creek that runs by this spot is quite a steep hike down, so after gobbling up our Kit Kat bar (hey, if we’re eating store bought fried chicken, we might as well go all the way!), we moved on. 

Finally, I spotted the perfect camp site.

“STOP!” I shouted, “This is it!”

Mark obediently spun the van around , and I jumped out the door before he had come to a complete stop.  I couldn’t climb down the river bank fast enough–not an easy feat in a sundress and a pair of Jibs.  Mark was unloading the camp chairs, as I stared out over the river…

We sat here and stared for quite a while.  Few words were exchanged.  At times, Mark can be quite verbose.  Thank God and Buddha, Mark had toned it down some.

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