I don't know how we
ended up by taking a trip to Yuma (middle-of-nowhere) Colorado.
Okay, that's not really true-- I do know how we ended up in Yuma, (I
just can't believe we did!) I even know why we ended up in Yuma.
It's because Joel and I are awful at compromising. Now, I don't mean
the we are unyielding or unkind to each other. I just mean that,
somehow, when we have different ideas and we try to combine them to
find middle ground, something ugly often seems to come of it.
For instance, a few
years ago we redid our laundry room/ third bathroom. I wanted to
paint the walls mint green and the cabinets light pink to match a
painting I planned to hang in the bathroom. Joel wanted to paint the
cabinets terracotta. Neither of us wanted the other person's color
choice. It was time for a compromise. We went to the Lowes down
the street and what we came home with was the most god-awful, 1950s,
Pepto-Bismal pink paint (that we both hated). It was enough to turn
ones stomach. It also stayed on those cabinets for the next two years
until we moved, because,just because we know our compromise was
something awful doesn't, apparently, mean that we will change it!
The trip to Yuma
was a similar ugly and awful, all be it completely civil, sort of
compromise. Here's how it happened: We had a dog, Zeke, that we had
been fostering from the local animal shelter. He was sweet; he was
playful; he was well mannered and great with kids. He was also over
seven years old, a rather bland-looking black dog, and completely
neurotic. We knew people would not be lining up to fight over who
got to adopt this crazy, old, black dog. The thought of him
languishing in the kennel slowly going stir crazy (or maybe quickly,
he's kinda prewired for crazy) was too much for us. We had no
choice-- we had to keep him! But first, Joel said, we must know if
he was OK to fly. We bought a new kennel and Joel figured out how to
bolt our “already- part-of-the-family” poodle's kennel to the
“almost-part-of-the-family” Zeke's new kennel and then bolted
them both into the airplane-- keeping everyone safe and out of the
pilot's way during flight.
Up next, a
destination. Camping seemed like a good choice, after all we would
have two dogs in tow. Joel researched and found the perfect place.
A cute little grass strip in Northpark, between the mountains. It
had a near-by lake, we could camp right at the airport, and it was
only a ½ hour flight. We headed to the airport. But when we
called for a flight briefing, we learned that the winds were expected
to pick up in about an hour and a half. Joel was fine with this bit
of news, after all he reasoned, it was less than a 30 minute flight.
Now, there is something you should know about me. It's this: I am a
chicken when it comes to mountain flying. Even in the best weather,
I look down at all those trees and the mountains sticking up all over
and I can't help but think, if the engine quits, that's gunna hurt!
But, at any rate,
the plane was packed, the kennels were bolted down, the dogs and kids
were loaded. And so we did it, we made a compromise. We did the
figurative equivalent of drawing a circle on the sectional map and
concluded that thirty minutes, going in the opposite direction of the
mountains put us in Yuma Colorado. We'd go there, and see if there
was anything to do. If there wasn't, we reasoned, “we could always
leave, and go somewhere else” (I know, famous last words, right?)
The flight and
landing were unremarkable, by which I mean I really don't remember
them. I do however, remember that another plane landed at about the
same time that we did. Joel went over and admired the other plane--
because that's what pilots do. And I'm so glad he did because in
doing so, he met the man who would save us from ourselves.
We didn't bother
unloading the camping gear, after all we hadn't decided whether to
stay in Yuma for the night. Instead we crated the dogs in the
concrete, buggy bathroom and took a pleasant ½ mile walk into town
where we had lunch at the local Subway sandwich shop (one of two
places to eat in Yuma.)
By the time we
returned to the airport, the wind had started to kick up; we hoped it
was temporary because by now we had realized that we didn't so much
want to stay in Yuma over night. In the meantime we let the dogs out
and explored the various little sandhills surrounding the airport.
By this time it was becoming obvious that we weren't going anywhere
soon. The winds were much too strong. It was also obvious that we
weren't going to be leaving that night. Even if the winds did let
up, Joel was not night current. And it was also obvious that camping
on the Eastern Plains of Colorado with nary a tree to block the wind
was going to be a miserable experience! We walked around the various
structures on the property hoping maybe one of them could block some
wind. I even tried to come up with some way we might be able to
erect our tent in the bathroom-- yes we really were that desperate!
It was along about
this time that the doctor/pilot that Joel had met earlier in the day
took pity on us. I picture him sitting in his quaint, little,
small-town home, drinking a quaint cup of tea while looking out his
window at the less than quaint scene of hurricane force winds
whipping the trees about and pelting the windows with dirt. I, of
course, have no real idea of what he was doing when the thought
occurred to him that that foolish young couple with the three
adorable kids and two dogs were in for a hell of a night, but I do
know that shortly after this realization occurred to us, this saint
showed up at the airport and offered to let us pitch our tent in his
backyard. Without stopping to consider, we loaded up our kids, dogs,
camping gear and our selves into the back of this strangers pick up
truck. This is not the only time we have had a trip that left us
with little choice but a ride in the back of a strangers pick up
truck on middle-of-nowhere back roads, and every time I left with the
feeling that I should say something to the kids. The lecture always
comes out something ridiculous like, “Now kids, you shouldn't get
in the car with a stranger, and riding in the back of a truck is not
safe, but.... well, it's our only choice...” yeah never my finest
parenting moment!
Fortunately, we
were not kidnapped this time, nor where there any fatal car accidents
that day. Instead we set up our tent in the back of a stranger's
back yard, used our camp stove (again, in the backyard) to cook our
dinner and breakfast, and the kind couple even left the back door
unlocked that night so we could use their bathroom! The night was
windy, and loud and more then once I was sure the huge cottonwood
would fall and crush us in the night! But, the houses and fence
blocked much of the wind and we may have even got a few hours of
sleep that night. Had we stayed at the airport I'm pretty sure we
would have woken up in Kansas-- or maybe OZ.
So that is how (and
why) we ended up camping in the back yard of a stranger's house in
Yuma Colorado. How we came to have a MOST extraordinary trip in a
most ordinary of places. How we learned about kindness and
compassion and the danger of compromise. It's also how we learned
that our new lab/ border collie liked flying-- but HATED swimming (he
nearly drown in two feet of water in the tiny city park-- a now
favorite family story). Oh irony, you have much to teach us.
That last paragraph
sounds so mature and noble, doesn't it? That's because I'm writing
this three years after the fact. At the time, I could not yet
appreciate the divine absurdity of this story. And that is why, less
then a month later, when a massive hail storm smashed two windows and
dimpled the entire surface of the plane, the very first words out of
my month were, “NO, that trip to YUMA, CAN NOT be our last airplane
trip!” But, now I see that all's well the ends well. The fates
smiled on us and we were able to join an airplane owner's club that
has a beautiful six seat Saratoga. Fate smiled on the other
airplane, too. She is now christened “Dimples” and belongs to
Joel's Uncle. Dimples even gets to continue carrying babies around
(something I am convinced she enjoys) and we frequently enjoy
pictures of Joel's cousin and her little one flying in “our”
airplane.
