Campy.

Campy
I had a wonderful time on our little camping trip this weekend. It was great to pack up everything you need to survive into a relatively small container and immerse yourself in nature and your loved ones.

Quite possibly, one of the loveliest highlights of the whole experience was the way the early morning sun cast deep golden shadows across the rippling sand and jagged sandstone mountains. It's pretty surprising how drawn I feel to vast expanses of rocks and sand and more rocks and more sand. It's the little moments of light and shadow and effortless glory. The brevity of a warm soul through tired eyes and chattering teeth and a beanie'd head and fleeced body. Lingering glimpses of creation outlasting the fleeting taste of amazing coffee prepared lovingly whilst crouched over a trusty stove by our mother hen, Jackie.

My sweet coworkers kept joking about the little imperfections of the desert, and how God totally needed a retrofit kit ("a dash-9-0-1") for the terrain. As caught up as I get in engineering jokes [/nerd], I couldn't help but be fully overwhelmed that -- in every water-carved canyon, in every earthquake-rippled cliff, and in every wind-blown crevice -- God's creation is doing just fine on its own.

Well, it was, until we started digging little holes to bury our poop.

Right up there with the desert sunrise was having Erik spend time with the people I spend 8+ hours a day with. I adore those moments when all your little sub-worlds collide seamlessly. You know, like watching friends from different walks of your life mingle at parties or weddings.

Some shining pictoral moments:

On Saturday, Erik, John, and I hiked up to a little peak above some "underwhelming" wind caves. The views were majestic in all directions.


A group self-portrait:


Erik and I with his/hers camelbaks:


Ocotillo:


John with the coffee and that morning lighting:


Jackie taking care of us all:


Craig has amazing legs. Also, Jackie and I have decided to en-title him my "work-gay-best-friend." No, he's very much not gay. And sorry, ladies, he's very much not single, either.


Two persons, my ass:


Stop Plate Techtonics!


The elusive elephant tree, AKA: tree #14 of a poorly misguided use of taxpayer funds for fun numbered but not otherwise identified desert trees.


Finally, on the ride out of the wash, my sweet and dirty husband feeling the wrath of the Subaru's 8.5" clearance: