Last time we were at the ranch, we went on an explore to see a hidden valley called Macintosh Spring, traveling a treacherous trail that would have defeated a lesser vehicle than our beast of a suburban. We liked that rumbly road so well that we decided to venture there again with the Grands on Sunday morning.
The plan was to get up bright and early at 5:45 (which we did), get ready and drive into town for 7am Mass, and then go on our hike afterwards. However, Grandma did not feel well in the morning, so she and Grandpa stayed back at the cabin while the rest of us headed into town. We were greatly perplexed when, at ten of seven, we drove up to the church and found it locked up tight as a drum, with no cars anywhere in sight. Obviously, they changed the time and failed to alert the Heidmanns. How rude! There is no sign in front of the building, and they had posted nothing on the door, so our effort to make it to mass was stymied. We went to Fina and got some coffee, then headed back to the ranch where Grandma was feeling better, and we all enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of crispy bacon and Danish rolls.
THEN we set off for Macintosh Springs. I believe I can safely say that Grandma and Grandpa will be satisfied with just that one trip… but once we were there, with boots on terra firma, they had a good time. We stopped at the corral, took note of the dead cow and remarked upon the circle of life, drove up along the winding precipice of death to the top of the mesa and then those of us who preferred not to risk our lives walked back down, watched the kids climb a mountain, and then hiked about a quarter-mile to the source of the spring and back. I did not get to come on the last part of the hike up the spring, as I was still wearing my Sunday boots and preferred not to trudge through the crick in them. I sent the camera with Geneva this time, to her everlasting delight, and she did a lovely job indeed.
