Discover

The family trip is a curious practice, and perhaps what makes them most curious is their name.  We often refer to them as vacations.  They are not.  Vacations are calm, relaxing and peaceful.  I have been on very few vacations. Family trips are more like expeditions.  They are often adventures, excursions, or, as I now refer to them with my own family, Discovery Events.

            A couple months ago, we went on our own Discovery Event to Colorado.  Along with another couple and their two young boys, we travelled west to visit an old friend.  He and his family own a set of cabins about thirty minutes south of Golden, alongside a mountain stream gurgling through a winding stretch of wilderness known as Deer Creek Canyon. 

            One discovery that we made early on was that, contrary to popular imagination, the western pioneers’ greatest accomplishment was not surviving the weather, wild animals, or hostile natives.  Their true claim to greatness was remembering to put their smaller children back in the wagon after their first pit stop.  How did our ancestors survive without portable DVRs and prepackaged snacks?  We made it, though, eventually.  We found the cabins inviting and serene, with both of our kids still very much in the backseat. 

On our first full day after our arrival, we also discovered that if you’re going to have your kids stand in line for an hour, there had better be a rainbow flavored Ferris wheel at the end of it. 

Coors brewery tour?  Not so much.  By the time we had made it to the actual tasting room, our son was so delirious from a hunger-exasperated boredom that he was throwing bags of Cheetos across the floor instead of eating them.  Needless to say, the look on most people’s faces was the same look that many of you most likely have on your face right now, the look that asks the question, “What kind of space age idiot voluntarily brings a three-year-old into a beer factory?”

Point taken.

The next day proved better, or, at least, less messy.  Throughout our planning, we had insisted to our children, “Hey, in Colorado, you’ll get to climb a mountain.”

And we did.  Our Colorado friend and impromptu tour guide suggested we summit Mt. Evans, which is actually taller than Pike’s Peak but generally less crowded  Perhaps more importantly for our sake, Mt. Evans can also boast the highest paved road in the United States, which meant that we did not, technically, climb most of it with our feet.  We drove to the summit, where we could then trek the final 200 or so switchback yards to the very top.  Today’s discovery?  Non-Incan children do not perform well at 14,265 feet above sea level, which, considering personal experience, I should have already known.

Our three-year-old son, in fact, when we told him we were going to climb to the top, collapsed to the ground and began throwing a HATT, a High Altitude Temper Tantrum, which is just like a normal temper tantrum except a little slower due to oxygen deprivation.

“Listen,” I told him, “You’ve been saying you want to climb a mountain for months.  So this is the mountain.  Let’s go.”

 I put him on my shoulders and began our ascent with my wife and daughter already ahead.  We climbed at a pretty good clip, for about ten yards. 

“OK,” I wheezed.  “You’re gonna’ have to walk awhile now.  I’ll carry you a bit, but you’re gonna’ have to do some climbing, too.”

So we climbed and climbed, and close to a half hour later we reached the top.  Mt. Evans is not the tallest mountain in Colorado, but it is the tallest mountain within sight.  Despite the whimpering by all party members, the view was worth the struggle. 

We made other discoveries during our trip, of course.  Back at the cabins, we panned for gold and found none.  We hiked and met many dogs, but, despite warning signs, no bears, mountain lions, or even rattlesnakes. 

Down by Colorado Springs, we climbed amongst the giant red pebbles in the Garden of the Gods.  Up in Idaho Springs, we dined on mountain pizza and found it fully suitable to our Midwestern tastes.  At night we told stories around the campfire about ornery little children snatched up by giant condors because they forced their weary parents to carry them on their shoulders.  In the morning we listened to hummingbirds argue while Deer Creek trickled in the background.

We saw dinosaur footprints and a human leg bone.  Within the statues lining the streets of Golden, we saw the energy and creativity of humanity.  Within the boulders punching from the earth, we saw the strength and patience of God.

Anticipating a muggy midsummer homecoming, we were pleasantly surprised to find cool weather upon our return.  Curiously enough, the first evenings back in Illinois felt a lot like Colorado.

A couple days after unpacking, the kids and I hunted lightning bugs in our backyard.  The giant corn field that hugs up to our property had enveloped the entire neighborhood with the scent of its own survival.  I smirked when I considered that we saw no lightning bugs in Colorado.  We smelled no corn.  A silly thought, perhaps, but it was a reminder that we were home, and that was nice.

To return to an undisturbed home is one of the best parts of traveling, because it is only in that moment we can truly appreciate the luxury of a washing machine, a refrigerator with our own food, a closet full of our own clothes. After traveling, it is at home where we often discover what we went looking for in the first place:  peace, rest, relaxation. 

A vacation.