Greetings consumers of this publishment! I am as flabbergasted as yourself that there is yet another post up, and that it is read at all. But it is, and I thank you for allowing me to divert you with reminisces of an August outing. May you enjoy, and may you nickname your siblings as effortlessly as I did my own.
Cast of Characters:
Daniel– The original. The Wizened One. The Beginner of the Whole Thing.
The Narrator– Still myself.
Cyrus–Younger brother. Couldn’t gain weight if he tried. Doesn’t understand the definition of serious.
Niemah–Little sister. Contagious laughter. Keeper of the Narrator’s Secrets.
Fatty, Merry, & Pippin–Three musketeers/amigos. Main hug providers. Triplets separated by age difference.
Owen–always and consistently himself.
This morning we took a little while to check out of the hotel, but when we were finally situated in the RV, dad announced we were going to see the sight the town was named for. 12 minutes later we parked at the sight of the twin falls and tumbled out of the vehicle to see billions of water drops leaping off rock to unite with their compatriots at the bottom, doing so with a joyous roar. The viewing rail was a “tourist’s” distance from the crashing liquid descent, which was a pity, for I wanted to feel the mist and maybe even touch the downpour, not watch the praises of nature from afar. We took pictures from all the angles until dad yelled “no more time to tarry!”—or a rougher variation of it—and we all dashed back up the metal viewing stairs (bad idea to rush up metal stairs, very bad) and moved back towards the RV.
Dad asked the boys if they wanted to run up a small hill we had passed on the way to the viewing area, and of course the three musketeers took off, almost being run over by crossing the road without looking both ways—or any ways for that matter. As soon as I made it across the road, I plopped Owen on his little bare feet, and helped him walk a few steps up the incline until he decided to inspect the dewy grass as thoroughly as he inspects all terrain: by sitting on it and slapping it with his hands. I left him to his devices with mother to supervise and scurried up the hill to join the siblings, all of which besides Niemah and baby had mounted. It was set up as a picnic area, with a little rock wall and picnic tables that Fatty, Merry and Pippin were hopping all over. We were about to depart and march back down the incline when someone declared they heard running water. Not running, falling.
Hastening as quickly as our flip-flops would allow (I still can’t believe Daniel is wearing flip flops), we followed the enchanting sound to a burbling little stream, which was fed by water chortling down a staircase of rocks in a gentle cascade, partially hidden by bracken and bramble and all the other b-words there are to describe shrubbery. There was no one around other than our delighted clan. We had discovered a secret—only it was a waterfall, not a garden. Daniel began capturing the scenery quickly as more siblings arrived to gasp at the image, but the mood in the air was “we must return to the car quickly because dad wants to arrive in Vegas early”(bad idea to go to Vegas, very bad). But I didn’t want to leave Idaho without a final dip. After all, that’s why I wore easily disposable shoes to this destination.
I most certainly gasped when my feet plunged into the current; the water wasn’t quite the definition of when authors use the word “icy,” but it was close enough. I analyzed the rippling glass and the stones it was tripping over. I placed a cautious foot on the submerged rock stair above where I was standing, and, finding it to be coarse, hopped up gingerly. I heard siblings behind me, still on the shore, I felt their doubts about what the parents would think of what I was obviously going to do.
The water gathered in teeny, dancing pools where one stair ended and another began, but the bed in which they bounced was climb-friendly. I lighted from rock to rock, not minding when the stone was uncomfortable beneath my feet, and the urge to see from where the water was running from not nearly as great as my joy that we had found another mini adventure to have before traveling for the rest of the day.
Ducking under an archway of bramble, I came upon the source of water. A precipice of round, black rock rearing above me, hiding behind a sheen of falling water as a girl hides behind a sheen of hair when she twirls. The sun shone through the smoke as if it wanted to make the discovery as memorable as possible. Nature has a way of filling your cup with awe of what the Maker can think of, inspiring joy in its joy, of stirring beauty in you with its beauty. I hopped up as close as I dared to the locks of liquid streaming down the rock face and laughed. Life is wonderful if you stray off the path and go looking for wonder.
Daniel appeared up a different watery staircase—the water divided into two trails, one canopied by braided branches, connecting the bank to a mini island in the middle of the falls—and was as blown away as I was, though less expressive of it. I was hopping up and down like a five year old with an ice cream cone while he just placed his hands on his hips and said “wow.” It was exquisite, like I had found a piece of Eden; there were little trickles of water on the side of the cliff, away from the main deluge that were like liquid silver snakes, gently adorning the rock like side bangs on a girl.
Everywhere was water dashing down the stairs, over rocks, under shrubs. Daniel snapped pictures and videos and I thought that was it, because before ascending up to this hidden temple, I had seen mom hustling up the hill to catch up with us and I had believed she would forbid any more children to experience what I had done without permission. We often forget that we inherit our yearn for adventure from somewhere, and all of us have some Took inside–even mothers.
Suddenly Cyrus and Niemah were up on the rocks with me; Niemah as enchanted as I was, Cyrus having a mini panic attack about falling and heights and “GOLLY IT’S COLD”. Niemah and I started shooting pictures of each other as the little boys made their way up. Then I trekked down, trying to video the wonderment of our watery trail. I paused the video halfway down, and saw mother with Owen looking as if she wanted to see what I saw too, and I wanted to help—but alas, for in my eagerness to share how loverly it twas, I misplaced my footing, and whoopsie daisy I tripped like the water (much less gracefully) down the stairs. I did not fall, thank you for asking, but I certainly wasn’t in control of the descent. A split open shin is what I received for my troubles. It was quite a graphic site.
WELL although I am sure you are dying for more, that’s all the time we have for today folks! I thank you for reading, truly, but now go do something productive with your day instead of reading a stranger’s escapades.