Getting out of the St. George heat to nearby Pine Valley for the 4th of July was the right thing to do for the Sid and Mary Ann Atkin get together. The Atkin yard offers a great local for cool relaxing, eating, playing cards, playing volleyball, and chatting.
In Enterprise Cole participated in the competition for candy race.
At Beryl, we toured Mary Ann's burned childhood home. Inside resided some 20 70's and 80's vintage motorcycles. The antithesis of "Zen and art of motorcycle Maintenance" is stated on this sticker mounted on the number plate of this 80 something YZ Yamaha -- "The only mark you'll ever make in life is the skid marks you'll make in your shorts." Inspiring.
A couple of my favorite 24 year-olds.
We just about lost Canyon!
Mary Ann's very attentive disciples.
My spouse and her sibling philosopher/computer guy/churchman
Hello Clint and Cass!
My spouse's brother-in-law/runner/dentist guy.
My favorite red-heads.
Car or dogs? Car
Twin sons and daugters of different mothers?
Grandpa, Grandma, hey.
Cute people in the backyard of Atkin's Trails End.
Is it really a tour? Or, is it just a boy and his car? I've been to CT more than a dozen times -- Hartford, New Haven, Litchfield, Bridgeport, Bristol, etc. And, I have seen some of the sights, but tour? I don't want to use that term lightly. Wait! haven't I seen that shirt before? Oh yes, in every summer picture since 200?
A tour certainly does not refer to trips when you spend evenings hanging out by yourself in a motel room working or watching the History channel? Look! I have hair from the back!
OK, I did some homework and found that in Farmington (where my business meeting was) Wilford Woodruff was born and raised. His parent's place is now located in Avon (was Farmington). So I found the Avon Parks and Recreation building (it was housed with all the city offices in old rennovated munitions buildings) -- very nice as you can see. I sat down and had a chat with Alan Marsten, the Parks manager. He gave me a little more history than I was actually looking for, but, in the end, I got the address to plug into the GPS.
Trips are made to share. I've travelled alone plenty and find that, when alone, I detect a smidgen of foreboding in my tummy. It seems to be asking the question, what's going on here? Or, what's going to go on here? I have no answer. The pre-monition, or portent usually disappears rapidly when distracted -- business meeting, conversation, human interaction, or familiar surroundings.
Case in point. I went for a run around the neighborhoods in Farmington and happened on to the local airport. I ran down one of the taxi ways and observed the many Cessnas, Beeches, Mooney's, and Cubs. I looked into a couple of hangers and saw the familiar puttering of airplane mechanics with airplane parts and clutter all around them. While there, I felt right at home.
By the way, it seems that airplane people will find any reason to create a hero out of someone who flew an airplane.