Photo Gallery: 76 Pictures from a Father's Day in Colorado's San Juan Mountains |
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Let's kick this off with some wise words from Clarence Budington Kelland, America's most significant - and yet forgotten - second-rate author:
I have to say that one of the most bizarre things that has ever happened to us while camping occurred in Colorado. Specifically just outside of Telluride. The wake up process is a slow one for us, even back then when Chloe was just 11 months old. She'd wake up sometime around 6:30 a.m. in the tent. Do I hear you groaning? Her process was a tossing and rolling affair until she decided to sit straight up and make this squealing noise with her throat, and squeezing her fingers together. The squeezing was something we taught her, American Sign Language for "milk." Then Brooke and I would have a short discussion. "Brooke, you're not going to believe what's out here," I said."You want me to go get the milk, or do you want to get it?" You can guess the iterations. If it's cold and windy, it's my turn. If it's nice and sunny, it's Brooke's turn. And everything gets trumped if Brooke has to go pee worse than I do. Which is always. On this one morning outside Telluride, we didn't get that far. We listened to this odd sound that had us fooled for being rain. This pitter-patter on the ground. But not on the tent fly. It was odd. I unzipped the door, poked my head out and made the discovery. "Brooke, you're not going to believe what's out here," I said. "Really?" "Yeah. I can't even tell you to guess and give you three chances because you'll never guess this one." I paused. "It's a herd of sheep." It was true. We were camped right on top of thier breakfast, too, so the sheep gathered around the truck and nibbled as best they could all the way up to the BFGs. The shepherd came down the hill, a short Peruvian gent who hung around our camp and chit-chatted with us for a short while. And that was just one morning. You want some pics? Here you go:
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