When Plans Go Awry

 I woke up Monday morning with the Park City bug.  It always seems to get me right about the time the mountains break out in their own rash of flaming red and orange.

Ahh..The Alpine Slide, I thought aloud.  What better way to bid summer farewell!

And then.. retraction.., knowing full well that a holiday is NEVER a good day for the Alpine Slide.

But....we loaded up the car anyway.  And we seven sailed up the canyon and around the bend and into the valley (on the edge of that city) where time stands still - if you turn your head- and a banner of freedom hangs proudly on pure heritage.

It's a living portrait that pierces me through every time.

I nudged Creighton:    We need to go there sometime.

He nodded.  Yep.

And we drove on up into madness. 



The Slide was Disneyland revisited, just as I predicted, with chaos and crowds and a two hour wait, and we weren't about to stick around for that insanity.  We stayed just long enough for treats all around and a single snapshot of autumn splendor:

Then wound our way down the mountainside.

Oh what to do with our restless crew... what to do, what to do...

I say we turn around and go back to that barn! I declared.  Let's go see what that's all about.

Boo.  Hissss... I could hear it in Luke's eyes.

But the executives overruled and we piled back into the van and back to a country lane with no crowds and no lines and no astronomical tag attached.  Only wind and grass and our very own yellow brick road to the Emerald City...

Bikers whizzed past now and again as we strolled and skipped and sprinted along,

pausing here and there to reflect- and gain some respect- for who once lived and what once was on this little patch of field in a timeless valley.





The McPolins.  A classic American story.

Park City took ownership of the farm in 1990, which is a good thing, because we sure were in the mood for snooping...

And climbing...

And Swamping... (is that a word?)



And all manner of roaming and romping around the entire property...

 

 

I may or may not have taken 500 pictures of this iconic barn with the rippling banner...

while wandering around in my own bucolic reverie.

Before we knew it, evening came.  A quick phone call and a few minutes drive found us with favorite friends in Midway for high climbing adventure (when we all got locked out),

And mighty good grub at the local greasy spoon:

"Chicks." 

The name says it all, doesn't it?

 Mmm..mmm.  A Happy Labor Day it was.

Flexibility.

That's what I call it when schedules need tweaking; when circumstance compels us to shift gears, turn a different corner, tread a different path- usually at the last minute, the last second.

Or at least that's the definition I give our kids...

We've gotten pretty darn good at that kind of flexible over the years, and by George-I may as well tout the virtue in it!
Amazingly, more often than not, we end up heartily pleased by the nothing that turns into something--

when plans go awry.