Red Rock

Have I mentioned how much I love living in the desert? Here are reasons #218-227:

 

Handsome boys who think they are mountain goats (and just so you know we did actually see a big horn sheep right when we parked. massive horns and everything! ok that makes reason #228)

Indian rock art. There is a spiral if you look hard enough.

Beautiful little girl who wants to be a mountain goat, as long as she can hold someones hand. And wear her Mardi Gras beads.

Another beautiful girl who was just happy to take in the scenery and sleep on a shoulder.

 

Indian hand prints and awesome bridges to thump across.

Daddy’s that can get thorns out of a hand after an unplanned cactus landing.

Daddy’s that double as pack mules. Little girls that finally start to be brave and realize that they got this whole climbing thing.

I love Red Rock. It’s beautiful and nostalgic and hot and tiring and surprising and perfect. I’m glad that I am one of the snobby locals who can really say “I remember when you didn’t have to pay to get in and there was no high-faluten’ visitor center and hardly anyone came and there wern’t porta potties at every overlook.” But even though some things have changed, my kids didn’t notice the other people or the buildings or the trash cans. They loved the rocks and avoiding cacti and drinking a juice box by the waterfall waterdrip. Made me smile to reassure Garyn (for the 20th time after we pulled out) that we would come back soon.

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