What's This?

Mum + Visiting Daughter = Happiness

Water Over Rocks in Grouse Creek

Patient Son-in-Law Waiting for Slow Hiker

Diamonds might be a girl's best friend, but rocks are mine.

This past Mother's Day will go down in the record books as one of the best. It's hard to top the morning my then nine-year-old son woke me up to beer and cornflakes, or any Mother's Day spent with all three of my children and their father. Rocks tip the scale.

Allison and her husband Drew flew out from Michigan to celebrate May. My daughter Brianna turns 25 tomorrow, a quarter of a century old, and I'm closing in on half a century next Thursday. So for one blissful weekend we gathered in Elmira, sans the Bro who is hard at work on his masters in psychology, for food, games and rock hunting.

My favorite game (after Settlers of Catan) is to play "What's This?" with Allison and Drew who are both trained geologists. Drew did his masters work in the northern Rockies so he is especially in tune to answer. Imagine getting a play day with an expert in the area of your extreme interest.

The following photos and captions explain our rock adventure on Grouse Creek where we hiked to a natural grotto and waterfall just 15 miles from Elmira Pond.  

Linking up with Abracabadra for Wordless Wednesday with my own photos shot with my smartypants phone.

Allison and Barley on the Rocks in the Grotto

Around the Corner is a Waterfall

Deposit of Large Gravel from High Waters

Following a Metamorphic Contact

Quartz (Lighter) Pushing Up Through Basalt (Darker)

Geologists Checking out Intrusions

Vein of Quartz

Reading the Rock

An Inclusion (Already Forgot What It Is Called)

Looking at Granite

Looking for Metasediments

Best Find in the Grotto

What's This? The Men Cooked Quiche & Crab Benedict!

Second Christmas

The Tree Un-Decorating Itself

The Smiles Second Christmas Brings

Gift Wrapping From India

Tales of Zeolites in the Road

Join in the Fun!

Hobbits like to eat so much that they have "second breakfast." Well, I suppose I love my fresh Christmas tree so much, I had to have Second Christmas. It still stands elegant and pine-smelling-fresh in the living room. Ornaments pool at the base; the un-decorating assisted by dogs wiggling at the door to go outside.

Allison's return from India with gifts was timely for a second Christmas. She left for Pune, India on January 1 with two suitcases. She returned on January 24 with four bags in tow. Her husband Drew, sister, Brianna and I all met her at the Sandpoint Amtrak Station (she flew into Minneapolis then finished her trip out west by train). We were happy as hounds to see her and hear of her adventures.

The next morning, over linguisa, fried potatoes and eggs we sat under the late January Christmas tree unwrapping gifts and listening to her stories like when she and a fellow traveler were walking on a dirt road through a village that she realized was full of zeolite crystals and vesicular basalt.

The villagers took notice of theses two American women gushing over the rocks in the road. Allison has an undergraduate degree in geology and was excited over the native minerals. Even though the villagers couldn't speak English, nor Allison speak Hindi, through charades and gestures, a woman took Allison and her companion on a hike to where huge boulders sported zeolite tubes and crystals.

The stories were gifts enough, but we also got to unwrap bits of India that Allison brought back to share. We sat by the Christmas tree and oohed and aahed over ear-rings and spices and scarves. The most incredible gift is on its way to Kansas to adorn the family's newest little princess. In about 2 years, out little Aly will be dazzling in the greatest princess outfit ever and her cousin Allison can't wait for that day.

It might be silly to have a second Christmas, but reuniting with loved ones is always cause to celebrate. Enjoy our photo gallery and be sure to join host blogger, Everything Susan, for more Silly on Sunday tales and photos.

The Perfect Princess "Longa"

Road Rocks

Happy to be Home with Hubby

Drew Studying His Gift-Rock

India Bling

Coffee Maker for Sis

Leather Shoes for Sis

Sister Hugs

The Perfect Gift Bag for Mum

Aahhh...Spices

The Smells of India

Second Christmas Calls for Peppermint Treats and Catan

Clear Blue Day

Full Blue Over Elmira

Snow on Grouse Creek

Romping

Sniffing

Weasel Tracks

Clear blue illuminates the skies over Elmira like high-beams on a dark country road at night. It's as if a light-bulb was changed and this time the wattage is brighter. The absence of clouds--high, low or fog--allows the day to be brilliant. No matter how bright though, the sun is chilly enough to reflect off the thin skin of ice fringing Elmira Pond without melting it.

As if the presence of a full-sun-blue-sky awakens the wanderer within, both Todd and I hanker for a drive. To scan for elk, we tell each other. We get coffeed-up at our favorite drive-thru shack in Sagle and we meander the back-roads like tourists, gawking and sipping joe. We see a legal muley, meaning it's a buck that Todd can shoot and tag, but we drive by instead.

Maybe we follow old summer patterns, but our road trip leads us to the base of Grouse Creek. Should we? We have the red car, not the Blue Goose and we suppose that if the road gets mucky or icy we can always back out and turn around. The dogs recognize where we are driving and back seat whining ensues until we go as far as we can and let them run on crunchy snow.

If it's chilly in the valley, it's downright cold in the shadows of the Cabinet Mountains. We don't make it far, lacking 4WD and higher clearance than the snow burm building up down the middle of the road like an exaggerated white line. The dogs delight in running until Grendel realizes that his paws are frosty. Dog booties would be great, and I'll add that to my growing list of stuff I can probably live without. For now, the dogs romp on bare pads.

Todd snaps a photo of his favorite fishing hole, crusted with snow. All the rocks I like to pick through rest beneath a blanket of white. No fishing, no rock-hunting today. We find tracks in the snow, each as small as a thumb-print and agree that it might be a weasel.

It's good to have a clear blue day.

Road-Dancing Up to Roman Nose

Right Direction; Wrong Distance (Read)

Hubs, Like Serious Dance Shoes

Rocks and Brush on an Easy Part of the Road

Where Did the Dance Floor Go?

Dancing a Trail of Dust

Brown Blur to the Right is a Moose...Really

High Elevation Trees

And Everywhere Granite

Trail to Other Roman Nose Lakes

Crags

Fall Colors Turning

He Told Me I Made His Trout Look Small

Pretty

Lots of Rocks

Eager to Run

Mirror, Mirror on the Lake...

Rock Pile

Sky Mirrored in the Water

Clear, Clear Water

Water, Trees, Rocks and Sky

Where I'd Like to Read

Mountains in the Water

90% of Fishing is Tying Knots

Want to Climb?

Huckleberries!

Left, Right, Huckleberry Bushes Galore!

It takes three to tango on the road up Roman Nose Mountain--me, Todd and a truck.

Road-dancing changes tempo according to the size of rocks. We pick up speed, sliding across packed gravel until that first switch-back comes into view and the tires turn but scud in the direction of the drop. Hearts pounding as if we nearly missed tumbling off the dance floor by mere inches, we gradually pick up speed until the fork in the road. The handwritten sign clearly identifies each fork, but the numbers are not so clear, or maybe its the windshield or my glasses.

Imagine seeing that sign and reading it as "Roman Nose 1.8 Miles." Yep, that was us. We read 1.8 not 18. Quarter tank of gas? Sure we can drive a couple of miles. It's like signing up for a dance contest thinking you have to be on stage for one dance, only to find out there are 17 more songs and you're already breathless and tenderfoot. And low on gas.

Road-dancing becomes all uphill; no more switchbacks and gentle inclines. At a flat spot carved out of the side of a 7,000 foot mountain, Todd tells me to hop out and lock the hubs. It's like putting on the serious dance shoes, the ones with the solid heals and arch supports. It means the dancing has turned dirty--time to slip into 4WD.

As if the road washed away years ago, only a jumble of cannon-ball rocks remain to mark the trail between mountain slope (down) and mountain slope (up). We bounce over the rocks to more rocks and upward we climb. If you think riding in a truck is just riding, then you've never danced in 4WD before. My core is aching and Todd complains that his arms are beginning to hurt. I tell him, "Don't drop me."

Leafy brush beats against my door as if the crowd has gone crazy, grabbing for the dancers. We have no choice as narrow as the dance-floor has become. Suddenly the rocks are gone, but this is not good news. Nothing but a wall of sand greets us, but we dip, turn into the mountain, slide and go over the swale of sand pale as a tombstone. We live to see the other side. More brush, more rocks.

Dust eddies behind us, the 16th song is nearly over and the road spits us out on a smoother gravel track where a meadow carves a green trench downward toward the valley. Two massive moose stand right there at the edge of the meadow. I've been so busy dancing, that I'm not ready with my camera. Nor is it set up for this close of a shot. With telephoto and hasty aim I shoot best I can and get a remarkable photo of a pine tree. The blurred mass of brackish-brown like old mud is the biggest of the two moose. I swear, on my dance shoes, it's a moose.

The dance is easy now and Todd pulls over again so I can unlock the hubs. He grins from the permanently open driver's side window and says, "Who's the real cowboy?"

I answer, repeating the wisdom found in a Michael Martin Murphy song and declare that Grendel is the real cowboy "because he sits in the middle, and doesn't have to drive, and doesn't have to mess with the gate" or hubs.

Two miles later we pull into one of three lakes that nestle in the bowl beneath the Roman Nose. It's craggy and clear with high-elevation pines and loaded huckleberry bushes. Todd fishes and I try to pick berries with leashed dogs but it's not working out. We enjoy the serenity until its time to dance back down the mountain in hopes of reaching a gas station before we end the night stuck on the dance-floor, passed out.

We did make it off the mountain with fumes to spare. Enjoy the beauty of the Roman Nose (note to self: when in the mountains a wide angle is needed, not a close-up).