April 10, 2003 - Branson, MO - 2 (2/10/03 - Chiricahua National Monument)

While the trail might not have been very difficult, it was never without interesting sights.  Over and over we marveled at God's handiwork.

No matter how much fun we're having, "life" still gets in the way.  Barb is either getting a pebble out of her shoe or just retying it.  I don't remember.  But either way, she scrambled up to see what was holding that one rock at an angle.

Then she wanted the camera that I was holding, so I crawled up to give it to her and she took my picture while I caught my breath.  Then she took a shot of me once I slid back to the trail.

Steep switchbacks and precariously perched huge boulders are the norm.  And how could we quit taking pictures?  Digital cameras are addictive I'm convinced.  Why take one picture when you can take a dozen?  And why sort them very much when I'm only using about 132 meg of space on the server and have 200 meg reserved? 

What keeps these things standing the way they are?  Superglue?

And then we're goofing off in an area that looks like some huge entity had a handful of rocks and set them down for future use.  The brochure calls it a rock grotto created by wind and water erosion.  At this point we're about 3 miles into the hike if memory serves.

Well, there's an example of some of the differences between me and my bride.  I looked down as I backed up the wall and she's looking up.  Sort of.  We see the same things so differently too.  Like the day we were at Quartzsite (in 2002) and driving around, and there were two buses for sale.  One was $32,000 and one was $28,000.  I only saw one, and asked Barb if she'd seen the $28,000 bus.  She said she'd seen it but it was $32,000.  A mini-argument followed, thinking we had both seen the same thing--we hadn't; there were two of them.  Today we still refer to that incident when we see different things differently.  Or was it that we see the same thing differently?  Oh, well.  We're different.  How'd that one boulder get up there on the left, anyway?  Or was it on its way down from somewhere and it just got stuck there?  Why do I even think about things like that?

And how come I have claustrophobia and get such a kick out of climbing around in places like this where some really big rock can slip just a little and squash me like a bug that got stepped on?

And why are we taking so many picture of rocks, anyway?  Is it because we're pooped out and want to sit a bit?

Barb's always sticking her fingers into things.  First it's a critter habitat, then it's a "tank".  "Tanks" are depressions in rocks that hold rain water.  Some are so famous they name places after them, like the White Tank Park in AZ.