The Fisher King

Over President's Day weekend, we took our patriotism and love of former presidents, and funneled them into a weekend trip to Kingfisher (on the Bear River, 20 minutes outside of charming Evanston) along with our friends the Wileys.

Sarah Wiley's account is far better and photographier and can be read here. Still I am a chronic overchronicler and don't have any quilt squares to post, so here's our account.

SATURDAY
Woke up around 7, which- and all you experienced parents on your high horses can go ahead & mock us- is early. We're quite aware that our Sleeping Mornings have a swiftly-approaching date with destruction. Your rolling eyes have been noted and a Thank You note is in the mail. Moving on.

A gas station breakfast of plastic chocolate donuts got the trip off to a rather fitting culinary start. We met the Wileys in Evanston to get some groceries and gossip magazines, and headed out to the Ranch, ready to attack the snow and discuss the descent of Britney.

Once there, Holly bravely volunteered to sit out the fumes and watch the Wiley's little charmer June (see also: a much-deserved nap), while the rest of us fumigated ourselves on the snowmobiles. The first 100 yards were the toughest- Sarah & Brenden got bucked from one snowmobile on a surprising turn, and Scott & I pondered hernias in a valiant attempt to "unstuck" another one. I think the die-hards actually call them snow machines. Which is Reason #12 why I think I'll just stick with "snowmobile."

It was what my brother Andy would call a "bluebird day" (except in the photo, of course). So, we spent a good chunk of the afternoon on a makeshift sled hill with semi-professional sledders Brenden & Oli. To better understand the Wiley boys, you probably ought to know that they're big fans of Travis Pastrana and monster trucks. So they were primed for some incline, velocity, and powder. We thought the arduous trek up the hill in hip-deep snow might deter their enthusiasm. It didn't.



I tried to reprise my brothers' (and Awesomers') extreme sledding, but the footage just turned out to be Exhibit A in the ever-improving case that I'm creeping towards prune juice and Depends. Nothing can pound your once-youthful mojo into the dirt like watching yourself muster up the courage to take the pansiest sled run of your life. Sarah mercifully didn't post the video she took.

Scott and I did some solo snowmobiling as it got dark. And then we all ate. We always do. I believe there was even an emergency run to Evanston for Diet Coke, chips, salsa, and ice cream. It was an EMERGENCY.

SUNDAY
Took it easy. We did get outside for a snowshoe/cross country ski jaunt out to the pond cabins. Let me be the one to say it: it was a gorgeous day, but it was the worst cross country ski run ever. The snow was SO deep and sticky and not at all "slide-able." Plus, I turned out to be a poor guide, as I led the troopers through wooded snowdrits. It's a credit to Holly and The Wileys that they didn't tie me to a tree and leave me for the meese.





I asked Brenden if he wanted to spell a word in the big snowfield. He replied, "Yes. 'SPELL.'" Witty kid. We settled on the easier "YELL." (You go make an "S" in deep snow and cross country skis. Be my guest.) And then Scott and his boys made a giant smiley face, the first step in what Scott can only hope will be a lifelong tradition of father/son bonding through crop circles. The Corn Maze in Lehi should be very afraid.



More food. More relaxing. Root beer freezes. More of me and Holly showering June (Miraculously, not pictured. How is that even possible?) with ridiculous amounts of adoration. And we kept up our tradition of Watching Really Awful Movies At Kingfisher With The Wileys. I believe this year's winner was Martian Child, unjustly overlooked at the Oscars.

MONDAY
Scott & I took the boys out on the sleds/innertube behind the snowmobiles. Again, they channelled their inner Travis Pastrano. I was pretty impressed that none of the sometimes-pretty-bumpy, always-very-powdery runs never ended in tears.

We even got Holly out on the snowmobiles for a bit. But all the bumps were making me nervous (and I'm NOT the hyperprotective dad-to-be) and all the fumes were making her nauseous.

Then Scott & I cruised around for awhile and towed/destroyed each other on the innertube, and we got our stuff together and headed home.

And, no, I don't have any pictures. It's indefensible. But, hey, I can post another Sunday picture.