When you are born and reared amongst the mountains,
returning to them after an absence is like getting out of jail. Not that I've ever been in jail to get out of. As far as you know.
But it is even more special when you can be with family. At a reunion.
Yes, we had one reunion last week. But we had another this week, on Terisa's side. This year it was at Granite Flats, up Tibble Fork in American Fork Canyon. We took Ol' Reliable again. The historical preservation society wants us to donate this to their prehistoric museum, but we think there are many more camps remaining.
The camp was not entirely rough. There were words about this generator.
Aunt Dayna has been cruise director for years now. Except for her hair, she runs a tight ship.
We had the first ever Pit Spit contest.
Cherry pits.
From Santaquin cherries.
It turns out that my knowledge of ballistics, aerodynamics and pneumatic propulsion principles were no match for Uncle Todd's brutally effective form. He spit a pit an alarming distance and took home the trophy.
In horseshoes, Gabe and Alan withstood all challenges by the younger whippersnappers, like Uncle Mike, here.
In the no-match-flint-and-magnesium-naked-and-afraid-firestarter contest (which was NOT actually naked), Alan's set up gave us the the best example, but dogged determination by Alan, Mike, Todd, and Nathaniel actually resulted in fires. No squirrel sushi for us!
There were crafts for those so inclined, such as the family quilt (we all did a square to represent ourselves), look closely at the yellow square on the left and you'll see where the title of today's blog comes from, courtesy of Doctor Mother Terisa.
The water fight was welcome in the warm afternoon. Water balloons. Plus, small fry with water pistols soaked my kneecaps.
Food was great. As usual. Here are biscuits and gravy, courtesy of Monica. Children cheered, women fainted, strong men wept.
This Empire State Building o' goodness was full of chicken and potatoes. For scale, you can see King Kong climbing up the right side...
Mike took an heroic risk with pineapple and brown sugar. It was entirely successful. Mahalo nui loa, Mike.
CJ waited with this donut poised at his mouth until I got my camera out. Good boy! This is his face at the moment of first chomp.
And when we asked connoisseur Alan to judge whether we had been able to match Monica's potato salad, all he would say was, "can't talk. Eating."
Facepainting was courtesy of Professor, Doctor, Sister Mother Terisa. She calls it a hobby. I call it epic.
But as you can tell from these semi-candid shots, everyone had a good time.
Do it again next year? Yes, please.
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