Boulder River

Dear Gramma Dot,

Wish you were here. I bet you wish you were here too, because here is a good place to be. It’s a blue-sky day. I’m on the Boulder down by the Natural Bridge. That girl Polly and me came up here to do some fishing. Seems like they ought to be biting, but they aren’t buying what I’m selling. Maybe it’s a little too hot or they’re all full to the gills with grasshoppers because I got nothing.

I drove G-pa Odd’s car up here—I figure you don’t mind—you said it was going to be mine when I needed it. That car is like driving a big old chunk of heaven, like you already know.

Stopped to see the prairie dog show on the way over. Polly didn’t seem too impressed. She thinks she’s going to get the plague off them. Normal person would see cute. That Polly, she sees a tick bus full of disease. Anyhow, Hokahey! like Crazy Horse said. It’s a good day.

So you remember when you brought me here the first time? I do. I remember you told me that there used to be a real natural bridge made of rock that went from one side of the river to the other. You told me about how there was a fieldtrip and a bus full of kids went over to the other side to have a picnic. After the picnic, when they were all in the bus, the bridge fell down and just crashed down into the river. If it happened ten minutes earlier all them kids would have died, but they didn’t.

We found some real good fossils in the riverbed that day. I still got mine. Then we climbed up to that cave and saw those paintings, the red ones. And you said they couldn’t be too ancient because one of them showed a gun, but they were still cool. The cave was cool too, the air in it I mean. And you told me that was what bat shit smells like and not to stir up the dust. I still remember all about that day. It was a good day too. A real good day.

And today is a real good day. I saw some prairie dogs, and I hiked down here to this hole below the falls, and since the fish aren’t cooperating I’m sitting on this rock by the river and writing to you.

 

Love, your boy Odd