photo by my zack, who likes to get up close and personal with wildlife

not the grand canyon, but pretty grand nonetheless

it’s a good thing i was at work at not there or i would have been hyperventilating

those are mountain lion tracks yes they are

tonight i was chatting with my nephew and his wife about the roominess of the back seats of their new truck (remember in the olden days when trucks did not have back seats) and someone said the words “bench seats” and suddenly we started reminiscing about how just a few years back all of us (meaning myself and my inlaws–there were a lot fewer of us then–now it would take four or five suburbans) used to pile on to the dusty seats of the old baby blue suburban.

and the world was ours.

the uinta mountains. moon lake. nine-mile canyon. you name it. we were there. those were the good old days.

*****

tonight my mother-in-law mentioned she was worried that the guys and the kids were talking about skipping their traditional thanksgiving day drive tomorrow morning. suddenly, i understood. it is tradition not just to go to the mountains and count the deer and the antelope (ok, elk, not antelope), but it is also the time for my mother-in-law to prepare the feast without children underfoot and free from dozens of fingers reaching in to sample the savories before they are ready to be served. if you do the math (seven children and their exponential offspring) i can see her point. a twenty-pound turkey could be devoured long before it reached the table. and let’s not even go there with the olives.

*****

long ago my father-in-law served as a missionary among the navajos. seven kids and several decades later he and his wife returned to the reservation to serve among the navajos again. they have a great love for this people. so much that when they found themselves bursting the seams of their small home they built a hogan on to the existing home to serve as a family room. heated by a hearty wood stove, the hogan is the gathering place. the heart of their home.

i’ve spent many–countless even–hours there. curled up on the sofa. gathered around the table my father-in-law built with his own hands. seated around a quilt frame.

it is the heart of many fond memories.

*****

the numbers for tomorrow’s feast are not firm yet. 45-50 maybe. i never know how we all manage to fit in that cozy room. i never know how there is always enough food.

it is how i wrap my head around the miracle of the loaves and the fishes.

and my heart is grateful.