Meet Stormy

She's seven years old. Arabian/Pinto mix. Hails from Boise. Tess and Colm are both ready to learn. Thanks to Warner and Charlotte, they've got a nice horse to learn on.
K

Road School

We decided to call it Road School.... serious stuff, we had a lot of ground to cover...there was only one way...strictly fun and games.
School opened on Hwy 84. It continued all the way to southern Utah. (click on pics for a larger view)




A fairly extensive traveling library in the back seat.
This part of Road School might be called Car Class.





At last, we got outside for...


Hands on study of geologic formations in Capitol Reef...



sedimentary rock...








climbing around erosion pockets...












scoping out boulder patches....










trekking miles to Lower Calf Creek Falls...






sketching thousand year old petroglyphs in travel journals...










hiking up a wash into the Narrows, imagining flash floods, playing acoustical games with the echoes of their own voices...




and in Arches the amazing labrynth of rock formations known as Fiery Furnace ...





the climb across slick rock and past intriguing quartz crystals to the famous Delicate Arch...




and, finally, earning their Junior Forest Ranger badges and sporting them proudly.


Road School took on a decidedly pop culture emphasis on the 800 mile return trip. We broke out for the first time the portable dvd player we had borrowed from friends. Our kids eyes grew large at the prospect of a movable feast of film. We leveraged their hunger for movies with a simple proposition....two pieces of homework completed earns you one film. They bit and we alternated movies with regular school homework until the homework was done and we, coincidentally, arrived home. Road School... a lot of seat time, even more miles, and more good memories than we can count.
K

Father's Eyes

In honor of my oldest daughter Erin who graduated from college last weekend after a long, circuitous and often uncertain process. The tee shirts we're wearing in the photos below the poem bear the words, "In Geologic time, Erin is right on schedule."
















Father’s Eyes

watched you before you knew what it meant

to exist, to be held,

the first time you collapsed the space between

my eyes and yours,

the world grew large, fitting neatly within

the palm of your hand,

you practiced dancing into that small

circle of light,

avoiding the darker regions where I could

not find you,

your face upturned always, the question ever

present, Father,do you see?

I played along conspicuous and clumsy,

yes sweetie.

You were impossible to ignore.

But my greatest pleasure was you not noticing

as I watched.

Seeing you, in repose, or awake and in your

own skin,

Then comes the hiding, the love of distance,

of veiled lids,

A father’s eyes, useless and prying, chasing

you into shadows,

Secrets sprout like mushrooms, hands fly up

and shield our faces,

It is better not to look, better not to see, better

to dream,

A father’s eyes grow more dim even as the world

around him blooms,

I hold what I see more dearly than ever, more

clearly than I remember,

For I remember only shadowy things flickering

on sheetrock walls,

Red stains on linen sheets, mud streaks upon

smooth cheeks,

Strands of dark hair framing dark beautiful

eyes, unblinking yet fearful,

My eyes speak to me of changes, and I am

tempted to ask you,

Do you see? Do you see? I imagine dancing

before you,

My head cocked coyly to one side, daring you

to ignore me.

A father’s eyes may yet twinkle, as yours did when

when balloons filled the sky,

And floated silently over hilltops, nestling

in open hands,

Held there by a strange child’s eyes full of wonder

and the present question,

Do you see? Do you see?

Kevin Cahill

4/30/10