I have not been able to find the time or the energy to sit down and blog for a little while and now find myself drawn to write one more time about the trip we took to our home town of Twin Falls. I think the most touching spot we visited was the Shoshone Basin in the South Hills. When we stopped at a particular spot it felt so much like we had been there. That it was our spot. One full of more than one trip of memories. We camped for many years in our young lives. Some times in the South Hills, some times along the Richfield Canal, or on the shores of Magic Resv. We even followed the Lewis and Clark trail by car one year. Each trip holds one or two special memories for me. When we went to Montana along the L & C Trail Dad ran over our 1 gallon green and white thermos. I thought maybe I had imagined that particular memory but Connie also remembered that thermos incident. I am not sure how it happened but just knowing that it did assures me that I have not forgot as much as I feared. One fishing trip along the Richfield was particularlly memoriable for Connie. Mom had a fishing pole made for Dad one year and it was his pride and joy. Needless to say when Connie accidently shut the tip of it in the roll up window of our Chevy Station wagon and broke it off she was very upset and afraid that Dad would be really really mad. He hugged her as she cried and told her it was okay it could be fixed. Dad was such a gentle person somethimes I think to much so for his own good. My favorite memory of camping on Magic Resv. was one of my first real fishing tries. Dad let me us his pole and I got to cast out and reel in. I remember sitting on the bank between his bent knees talking the whole time. When the pole jerked I almost threw the pole in the water but Dad patiently told me to grab tight and start to reel it in slowly. Finally the fish got to the bank and Dad had me, yes me, all of 6 years old take that cold slimy fish off the hook. He told me if I was going to catch them I had to remove them from the hook. I managed to grab that slippery thing in one hand and get the hook out of it's mouth. Dad even showed me how to whack the fishes head againest a rock so it would not suffer a slow death. One of my favorite times in the South Hills is at the spot I am almost certain was our spot. Dad spent the good part of one morning cutting a bunch of willow sticks outfitting them with a length of fishing line, a hook, a sinker and bait for not just one kid but at least 3 of us. We always camped fairly close to the creek so we could use the water out of it to wash up, do dishes and use for cooking. Dad would turn us loose and he would take off for some fishing time on his own. Our fishing adventures never lasted very long as we bored with just sitting there. So we would start changing the course of the river by moving rocks and building small dams. We kept those willow sticks for in the evening we got to roast marshmellows. Now that was a real treat. We had a Boston Terrier and he went every where we went. That crazy dog named Sox followed us as we played in the river. He stayed with us until he had enough of being wet and cold he took off for camp. Mom found him hunkerd down in our suitcase full of dry clothes. Mom pateintly took all the clothes that were wet out and hung them up to dry. We had tons of freedom in those hills south of Twin. We hiked up to the tree line, carved our names in the trunks of Quaken Aspen trees, piled rocks so we would know we had been there and played of endless hours in the river. We felt like we ate like kings. Fried potatoes, bacon, hot dogs and much much more. We slept on the ground and loved it. Don't ask me to do it this day and age. I would need a crane to get me up again. I still love camping I attribute that love to the parents who allowed us to experience the great out doors to it's fullest.
I finally got some pictures put on this other computer but am to tired tonight to mess with putting them on here. I will do it when I get a few minutes. Sweet dreams everyone.