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For some reason, I've had a difficult time making this communication together, and I haven't even started on the other two letters that are waiting to be written. Maybe it is just a case of writers block, or maybe I've exhausted all I have to say... And yes, Symantha, the date is when I started writing it, not when it was finally posted...

As I told most of you already, I experienced a small problem with my motorized bicycle. While driving to work, the rack on the back of my car broke, dropping both the rack and the motorized bike onto the pavement at about 45 mph. The main causalities were the clutch lever and the rims (one repairable, the other not) on the bike, and the rack itself.

The cause of the incident was the failure of one strap, which led to other system failures. I knew the rack was getting old, and had even considered replacing the straps, but I didn't think it was that close to failure. Now I have repaired the rack (I just didn't like the replacement, as it won't carry the recumbents), but it still needs some tweaking as one side is higher than the other.

On Labor Day weekend (2-5 September 2011) we camped near near Mule Creek, NM (but still in Arizona). It rained, again and again, and again, as is usual for these camp outs. It was also fun watching my children struggling with their offspring in much the same way I struggled with them. "You can wade in the water, but this time don't get your clothes wet..." Riiiiiiiiight!

With the exception of Symantha, the Arizona clan gathered here. The others were missed...

If you look closely, you can tell we fed the mosquitos somewhat liberally.

The younger generation enjoyed playing with each other, as is usual on these gatherings. I have often wondered what controls the formation of "friendship" bonds--why I like one person, and not another.

I have not formulated an answer to that question that come anywhere near covering all it's facets, but I suspect that it may involve having similar out looks on life. Out looks are presumably controlled both by nature and nurture If that is the case then it is not unreasonable to expect that people who share portions of their genetic material might be predisposed to be like each other. At any rate, the kids seem to like one another (even when they are squabbling).

Ameilia made cinnamon rolls, and baked them in a dutch oven. It appears that my offspring may be developing some proficiency at that type of cooking. The most common mistake made by novice outdoor chefs is using too much heat, and burning the bottom and/or edges. This trip, we couldn't seem to get enough heat, such that cooking was slower that might have been desired, but nothing burned. That may be some sort of a record.

We visited an old mining/milling site in New Mexico. When it was in operation, water for the milling operation was brought down a narrow canyon through a series of pipes. Some of these were suspended from cat walks, which also provided access for their maintenance. The old versions have been replaced by new one, but the name, "Cat Walk" survived.

AJ, with his memories of Grand miseries from The Canyon still fresh in his mind, was not a "happy camper" when he learned that visiting the Cat Walk involved a short hike (1.1 miles). But once we got him moving, I think he enjoyed it.

I think I might have enjoyed having someone carry me up and back... Nah...

When it comes to carrying them, there are always plenty of babies to go around.

The pose suggest (and rightfully so) the obligatory photo op before the hike began.

Before the cat walks were in place, traversing this canyon in the upstream direction probably wasn't easy. Given the proper equipment and the heat of the summer, traversing it with out the cat walks (in the down stream direction) might be kind of fun.

The kids seemed to be fascinated by much of what they saw. I wonder how much they will remember, and for how long...

For some reason, it seemed like it was further than it actually was. Maybe that was because of the swarms of people who were hiking it that day. The trail was basically a straight line, and there weren't many places go get off of it. `

Trying to herd children is like trying to push a chain. The fun is in watching others try to do it.

When resting in the shade is indicated, any shade will do.

There was some initial misgivings about how well the younger set would stand the trek, but they held up better than some of the older folk.

Everybody started up the trail, but not everybody hiked all the way. Then again, that was part of the plan from the beginning. Isn't that an interesting sign post? It is pretty hard to miss, and even harder to steal.

It appears that some of them experienced fatigue to the point where they could no longer walk--so they had to crawl...

Best friends... even when nobody else is looking.

AJ and Brittney brought some frozen Eegees.

I personally don't see how people can stand to put that stuff in their mouths, but it was a big hit with the kids.

As a human embryo develops in utero, it goes through stages where it resembles a tadpole.

It may be that intellectually children still think of themselves as tadpoles. Why else would they enjoy playing in the water so much?

And it is pretty much a universal characteristic of young kids. It isn't until human become slightly senescent that human become marginally hydrophobic (not to be confused with rabid...).

Ameilia arranged what she referred to as a devotional, and ask me to make a few comments. I mumbled a bit and we went on. Here is what I should have said:

I am the oldest person here, by a least a decade, but I find I am not really ready to be in this position. My mind still thinks I am about 18, and my body agrees, at least for the first hundred yards of a hike. But I'm the one who knows all the old songs and all the old stories... except that I only remember about 10% of the ones mother knew. It is interesting to watch the generations roll on. I remember my maternal grandfather, Sessal Delma Allen. He graduated from the eighth grade, and was proud of it. He enjoyed debating as much as I did (my mother disdainfully referred to it as, "arguing") and we enjoyed some lengthy exchanges (usually over points so trivial they wouldn't merit mention even in a footnote to a footnote). He read vociferously from and about the Book of Mormon and I thought him to be quite a scholar, until I asked him to write a piece describing what he had learned from his studies. After much encouragement on my part, he produced a three page handwritten document, which looked and sounded like it had been written by an eighth grader. At that point, I concluded that debating prowess doesn't necessarily translate into writing skills.

Grandpa Allen had a profound influence on me, and given the paucity of time I spent with him, I'm not sure why. We were alike in many ways, but different in others. He always bought new vehicles because, according to him, buying an old one was just buying someone else's garage bill. I, on the other hand, have never owned a new vehicle, reasoning that when you sign your name on the dotted line and drive it off the lot, the vehicle immediately becomes a used car, and is worth about $3000 less. I just can't give away what amounts to a substantial fraction of what I have historically spent on a car. Grandpa used to say, "Poor men have poor ways," and it took me several years to figure out what that meant. As a young man, Grandpa was strong and enjoyed wrestling. This is a photo of him doing a Russian Dance (squat on one leg with the other out in front, jump and reverse the position of the legs) while holding his mother (try that sometime).

Before the introduction of motor vehicles, he hauled freight with a wagon and a team of horses, and owned one of first trucks in Woodruff. One could even make the argument that he was on the cutting edge of that technology. He was very good at checkers, and I could never grasp the strategy of the game, but I taught him to play chess, and there the converse was true... I think about grandpa and the influence he had on me, and wonder what influence, if any, I might have on my grandchildren. When they remember me, how they will perceive my idiosyncrasies (not admitting, of course, that I actually have any). Teaching my children to drive, I sang, "On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again..." each time they ventured outside the lines. I suspect my grandchildren may hear that refrain when they are learning to drive (and perhaps my great grandchildren too...) During at least some of the years she attended high school in Snowflake, my mother lived with her grandmother (Julia Ballard), and they formed a strong bond. I remember going with mother to visit Grandma Ballard, who at the time, was a frail, white haired lady largely confined to sitting in a rocking chair. She and mother talked on and on and on and on, and I, as a child in the first decade of my life, was bored to tears. I wonder if that the way my great grandchildren will remember me... When I was in the second decade of my life, I enjoyed many fantasies. One of my favorites, that I revisited numerous times, concerned the type of a father I would be. The plan was that I was going to be so good that the sheer force of my personality would cause my children to be perfect. As we all know, that didn't work out so well... The older I get, the more I appreciate what my parents, particularly my mother, did for me. After having children of my own, I'm pretty sure my constant debating drove her to distraction. I would argue incessantly in support of positions that I as often as not didn't believe, and when I finally backed her into a corner, she would counter my arguments by saying, "Because I said so!" I never did discover a suitable comeback to that, and as a child, I took a solemn vow that I would never say it to my children. Years later, I caught myself not only saying it, but saying it at the top of my lungs. You learn to be a parent by being a child and watching your parents raise you. When I yelled at my kids, if you listened carefully you could hear my mother yelling at me, and Grandpa Allen yelling at her, and though I didn't know her, I suppose you might even hear Grandma Bates (his mother) yelling at him as well. Pondering that observation makes me wonder how many generations into the future a parents' yell echoes... Thinking about that ought to give you food for thought the next time you chastise one of the little miscreants that you are using for children. In retrospect, I've gone a few places, seen a few things, and had some what I suspect are fairly unusual experiences, but the things that really matter almost always seem to involve relationships with other people. Coming from someone who could be happy as a recluse, I find that statement could be a bit surprising. But, none-the-less, that has been my observation. So, if you want some advice about being happy, it would be simply to resolve conflict in a mutually agreeable way, and live in peace. As the Hymn says, "Bid thy heart all strife to cease, with thy brethren be at peace..." If you look back at your conflicts from even a decade away, there are exceedingly few things that are really worth fighting over.

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