Last Thanksgiving, there was much to be grateful for. Gatherings with family could safely be reinstituted, and the joy over that surpassed the mashed potato bliss. However, Jason and I didn’t let what we learned the previous year be forgotten amongst the delight of togetherness. Namely, a Thanksgiving meal with just the two of us is not only delectable but also highly enjoyable. Getting together with family is great. Getting away from family is also great. It’s funny how human beings can appreciate conflicting things, but why complain about having more to be grateful for?
I baked individual raspberry cheesecakes for my family’s dinner. Is it an insult or a compliment when no one believes you made something from scratch?
For decades, Thanksgiving has been a hectic and exhausting day for Jason and me. Trying to please both families regularly leaves us with overstuffed bellies and too much on our plates. This year, we split our meals with kin over three days, which was doable but tiring, nonetheless. I don’t think I can go back to squeezing in two massive gatherings on the same day. We love our families, but the stress and fatigue of trying to bake dishes, keep to unrealistic timelines, and still enjoy company is often too much. The ideal empty-stomach-space-to-cranberry-sauce-volume ratio is almost always exceeded, and that just ain’t right.
The taste of grandma’s pie, the smell of dad’s stuffing, or the crunch of uncle’s apple crisp can fill a mind instantly with potent nostalgia and recollections of cozy childhood assemblies.
Jason and I made sure we reserved a night during our holiday weekend for just the two of us to make and consume a homemade meal together. This banquet included all the favorites we tried the year before. Cooking a fancy meal with my hubby ticked my relaxing box not my heartburn box because that boy is the perfect addition to everything, even sweet potatoes.
I often try to snap a quick family photo at Thanksgiving despite the complaints such attempts sometime elicit.
So, here’s my post-isolation realization: I’m grateful for our families. I’m grateful holiday gatherings with them are again possible. I am also thankful for time spent away from them. Let us give thanks for all of life’s wonderful contradictions.
That familiar line describes our 2021 Halloween party experience well, but it isn’t the whole story. Here’s the rest.
Jason and I thought COVID concerns would be a thing of the past by our 2021 Halloween event. We were incorrect. 2021’s summer and fall brought new variants and fresh waves of uncertainty. Since the virus’ fall plans were still up in the air and out in the air, we decided a yard party was the only way to guarantee accommodating varying comfort levels and not spreading COVID faster than gossip on TMZ.
Intricate calaveras are common Dia de los Muertos decor. These were handcrafted in Puebla, Mexico.
Doing our shindig outdoors posed some unclear challenges. Namely, we’d never done an all-alfresco Halloween party at our house before, and it was hard to anticipate the extra nuances that might entail for an already-complicated function. Also, October weather is unpredictable. Would the conditions be reminiscent of a tropical island, glacial tundra, or perhaps a dark and stormy night? (Don’t think too hard about that one.)
This overwhelming stash consisted of all the party’s favors, handouts, and prizes. Yes, they nearly consumed a whole room.
The theme we had already decided on for the year didn’t work well outdoors, so we had to scratch it, but an appropriate motif presented itself in a roundabout way. I thought a backyard movie could be a great way to entertain the kiddos. The film would need to be appropriate for all ages and at least loosely tied to Halloween. Preferably, it would also link to the year’s theme. And the winner? Coco. With that, Dia de los Muertos became our focus. Yes, I am aware that Halloween and Dia de los Muertos are not the same holiday. They do have some common origins though, which is something I learned from my investigation into the subject.
The cutest favors at our party were these handmade miniature pinatas. We filled them with Mexican sweets.
That brings me to research, one of my favorite things. I did in-depth research on Dia de los Muertos. It was important to Jason and me that our spotlight on this celebration be about cultural appreciation not appropriation. I created a quiz to educate attendees on some of the origins and practices of Dia de los Muertos with prizes offered for the top scorers. Jason and I ordered party favors and decorations directly from central Mexico to put money back into the communities where the holiday originated. Food at our bash was provided by members of the Hispanic community through Super Taqueria and Panaderia Flores. I hope our efforts would make those of Mexican heritage comfortable sharing their holiday traditions.
Catrina, one of the most iconic symbols of Dia de los Muertos, originated from an etching by Mexican artist Jose Posada over 100 years ago.
That takes us from the determined theme to the undetermined weather. Rain was forecasted for the day of our party. We prepared for this possibility by putting up canopies throughout our backyard and a couple in the front. Additionally, we set out buckets filled with umbrellas ready for use. The showers did come but miraculously stopped an hour or two before our revelries commenced. The rain didn’t pick up again until just before the last of the guests had left. It was a stress-inducing mix of bad and good timing.
These festive banners came from Mexico. This arrangement of them came from our brains.
In the tumultuous weather, attendees were warmed through several methods. Moods were thawed by the cheerful banners and twinkling orange lights that counterpoised the broody humor of the windy evening. Innards were kept cozy with abundant hot chocolate and tea provided by a massive hot-water dispenser purchased just for this shindig. We went through 25 bags of tea alone; I lost count with the hot chocolate. External surfaces benefited from snugly blankets, which were available in bulk to movie watchers. We also had six propane heaters, a propane-fueled fireplace, and two infrared heaters all pumping out comfort at various locations throughout our yard. The infrared heaters paired with all the outdoor lighting overloaded our exterior circuits, and Jason had to rewire everything the day of the party, which was not an easy or quick task. That rewiring required our windows to emit strings of extension cords.
The movie tent was extremely popular. With heaters blasting warmth, soft blankets, plentiful snacks, and comfy ground chairs, why wouldn’t it be?
As we didn’t think our yard could accommodate our gathering’s usual 100 guests, we tried to keep the invitee list smaller this year. We ended up with about 60 attendees, which was perfect. It was enough to make our efforts feel worthwhile but not so much as to make our yard feel like an overpacked coffin.
So, while it was a stormy night, it wasn’t exactly dark. Radiant fireplaces, glittering lights, frenzied children, colorful crafts and games, flamboyant costumes, rowdy adults, toothsome cuisine, and thawing liquids all filled the gloom with vibrancy and geniality. We made the most of the turbulent evening offered us to welcome both partygoers and the dead.
Last fall, a large group of my family hiked Box Elder Peak. For a couple years, I had been eager to climb Box Elder, a lopsided point sandwiched between Mount Timpanogos and Lone Peak that hasn’t gained the notoriety of either of those showier mountains. This desire began when a hike through the lower third of its trail proved unpeopled and appealing. Therefore, to properly explain the buildup to Box Elder, and because I haven’t written about our 2020 and 2021 treks, I will step back to all the steps before the steps up Box Elder. Then, I’ll explain how we ended up negotiating a mountain in the dark.
2020: Summer of Sanity’s Strides
During the worst period of COVID fears and inconveniences, hiking was our sanity. On countless evenings, Jason and I hit the hillsides after work. This repetition led to discovering many new paths within close range of our house and many ways these trails were connected. It also resulted in much hiking in dark’s cool shadows. Were those shadows foreshadows of hikes to come?
The Willow Hollow Trail leads through meadows and aspen-covered hillsides making it an optical indulgence in the fall.
Amongst the trails we traversed that summer were Pine Hollow Peak, Lone Rock via Jacob’s Ladder, Peak view, Two Hollows, Mercer Mountain, Eagle Crest, Deer Creek-Dry Creek, South Maple Hollow, Horsetail Falls, Maple Hollow, Mercer Hollow, Bonneville Shoreline, Telegraph, South Fork Little Deer Creek, Pork U Pine, Hoof and Boot, Hog Hollow, and Willow Hollow.
I can’t overstate how much these excursions got us through that period. Without the exercise and the variety provided by nature, my mental space would basically have been the psychological equivalent of a junior high school student’s locker stuffed with expired yogurts and gym socks grayed from lack of washing.
2021: Summer of Smoke
Last summer, COVID intermittently let up and reclaimed its hold on society in an indiscriminate manner. Jason and I found ourselves in the mountains often again, perhaps not with as much COVID-induced desperation but with an urgency all the same. In August, our air became unwholesome due to fires on the West Coast. So, every time it cleared a bit, we gushed outdoors to hike or run. We ended up doing more than 20 miles a week for most of August in this spontaneous state. I should mention, the year before had been smokey on occasion as well, but haze seemed less consequential than germs at that time.
Lame Horse is not a lame trail.
We scrambled up the Dog Lake, Steep Mountain, Mill Canyon, Gloria Falls, Donut Falls, and Lame Horse Trails, along with many in the Suncrest and Sensei systems. Additionally, we participated in the Wasatch Trail Run Series at Solitude in the end of August. Despite the event’s name, this race wasn’t necessarily a run. Depending on one’s stance on darting 4.6 miles up a mountain, “swift hike” might be a more appropriate title. Apparently, I felt fairly casual about the idea because it took me one hour and four minutes to complete the course, which equated to a pace just over 18 minutes per mile (18:21). I finished 10th out of the 15 in my age group. Jason kept a pace of 15:22 and came in fifth out of eight at 53:48. On a side note, there was a 1% chance of rain that evening, but it 100% rained on us a bunch, and thunder was our start gun.
The forecast said there was a 1% chance of rain, but this felt pretty much like 100%.
Now that you are up to speed on our backstory, affinity for darkness, and general lack of speed, let’s head back to Box Elder Peak and tie everything together. Box Elder Peak is 11,101 feet high, about 600 feet shy of Timpanogos’ elevation. The trail to it requires 11.4 miles of hiking and gains 4,931 feet, which doesn’t sound too bad except when you consider 1,500 of those are found in the ascent from the saddle. Parts of that section have as much as an 82% grade, but we’ll come back to that tricky portion in a minute.
Our group consisted of 13 humans and one canine.
Although we did this hike in October, usually not the best time to exceed 11,000 feet, the weather was perfect, the scenery exquisite, and the crowds nonexistent. The fall leaves transformed the already striking hillsides like a shimmering frond prom dress. We only passed five groups in the first few miles of the trail and none thereafter. By the time we crossed an incredible knoll littered with massive granite boulders reminiscent of Middle Earth, all other trekkers were behind us. Shorts worked well as primary apparel up to the saddle. However, since it was nearly midnight when we finished, at that point temperatures were down into the forties, and jackets were appreciated. Why so late? That topic will be covered in due time gentle blog browsers.
The slopes were resplendent swathed in fall shades.
Let’s return to the area between the saddle and the summit now. As I already mentioned, this is a challenging segment. What I didn’t previously state was that our necessary pace made it much more difficult. We weren’t keen on trying to find the path across the ridge in the dark, and we were running out of time to avoid that scenario. Between the rush and the grade, we wore ourselves out. However, the exhaustion paid off, and we made it to the summit at 6:30, half an hour before sunset, at least six of the hardiest (or foolhardiest?) members of our group did. That gave us just enough time to descend back to the saddle before the blackness became absolute. Incidentally, we had a 13-year-old in our group, and he made it to the top without complaint, which was a bit uncharacteristic for him. “Are we there yet?” doesn’t count as a complaint, does it?
Far from the top, the views still exceeded expectations.
How did we end up debating the approach of night near the pinnacle of a mountain? First, we started our hike much later than we should have due to several factors. Between kids with music lessons, traffic at the mouth of American Fork Canyon, and typical family tardiness, our trek didn’t begin until about 1:20 in the afternoon. Second, most people take between 5.5 and 8 hours to complete this trail, but it took us 9.5 hours. Yup, your math is correct; we finished at 11:00 PM. Since we had a lot of youngsters in our group, I’ll go with blaming the whole scenario unfairly on them. Works for me.
The terrain was flattish for a while before the saddle. After the saddle, it was all the words a thesaurus would list as antonyms.
Frankly, I liked hiking back in the dark. The silence and focus were refreshing. With stars aplenty and the misshapen silhouettes of mountains forming a mysterious backdrop to the thickening shade, there was much to enjoy and absorb in the blackness. However, one unfortunate effect of the dimness was my father falling on some rough terrain. One of his grandsons was excited to help with his handy first aid kit. It turns out the kit was filled with Shout wipes instead of alcohol wipes. LOL!
From the top of Box Elder, we saw familiar landmarks from unfamiliar perspectives.
A week later, Box Elder Peak was covered in six to twelve inches of snow. Man! We squeezed that hike in at the perfect time! With that, our topping finished for the season. Box Elder was two years in the making and one delicious fall afternoon (and night) in the undertaking. I hope it won’t take two more years to plan and embark on another such spectacular, if leisurely executed, summiting.
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