Weather.

I love monsoon season in Arizona. I love the wacky way it manages to rain hard while the sun is still shining and it's still nearing a million degrees out. I love the way we are not prepared for rain. The way all the roads flood, the parking lots flood, the campus floods. The way everyone drives at 15 miles an hour just in case the sky actually falls. I love the massive, MASSIVE haboobs we've had this year. Really, I just love the word 'haboob' in general. What I don't like is the impact it's having on my adventuring.

This is the second weekend our plans have been hampered by monsoon weather. It's particularly irritating because it's sunny and boiling hot here, too hot to go outside, and storming everywhere else.

We had just great plans. Brilliant plans, even. Plans of hiking, swimming, fossiling. Plans of diving from cliffs into crystal clear pools. Plans of running like hell from javelinas. Dodging rattlesnakes. Possibly trying to evade bears. Plans of tea parties in the middle of nowhere. Plans of hot springs. Plans at Wet Beaver Creek...yes, you heard me. Wet. Beaver. Creek. The name alone would have made it worth the journey. Even in my little Honda Accord, which is not at all designed for any of the roads around any creeks, Wet Beaver, Fossil, or otherwise.

But no.

No.

Just before you left we went fossiling, out in the mountains, you know the place, staring down the black clouds of monsoon doom. What's a 60% chance of thunderstorms, we said. Nothing! We fear you not ominous clouds! Not even when standing atop a mountain, swinging a metal hammer about like a maniac! We will battle the clouds, the winds, the dust! We will emerge victorious!

What fools we were! The lightning started up just before we reached our spot. Misty rain. Booming thunder. But we were fearless. We scampered, high on adrenaline and the summer rain, hunting for ancient treasures. The lightning strikes came closer. Closer. And still we played.
Then.
All.
We.
Saw.
Was.
Red.
Have you ever had lightning strike so close to you that you didn't even see the flash? Just saw your vision go totally, completely, red...then black...then fade back? Me neither. And I hopefully never will again.

We scampered back down the mountain in the now pouring rain. Soaked to the bone. Backpacks filling up with water. Slip-sliding down the old waterfall to the car. Laughing. Always laughing.

The drive home took three times as long as usual. Several times the rain was so thick I couldn't see the road. Twice I drove into the wrong lane because I couldn't see anything. Luckily, when you're out in the middle of nowhere in a storm, no one else is stupid enough to be driving in it, and no harm came to us. Luckily we were driving with the storm instead of against it. Luckily the road never flooded out in front of us. Luckily we made it home.

Now, we are more cautious. Maybe not about that spot in particular, as the road is always paved, and the hike back to the car is only a few minutes. But these new spots, these blissful wilderness spots we so long to be crawling all over, these are not the places to be trapped in during a monsoon storm. These are at the end of miles and miles of sketchy dirt roads driven until the car can go no farther. Then hours of hiking, uphill this time, back to the car. They are areas prone to flash flooding, and I do not want to wait out a flood. In my car, on the ground, in a tree, whatever.

So instead, we're sitting in the house, staring at the sun. Burning down on us. Mocking our foiled plans. Ick.


I owe you pictures. Pictures of me looking like a big kid. Pictures of me not in scrubs, and I am frantically seeking the cord to my camera to give you just that. Pinky promise.

Please frolic in the woods for me. Scratch all your critters. Say hi to J. Tell him we miss you both. Terribly.

Much love.
Us.