Must Be A Mountain Thing

So, that is not an animatronic yak. It is an honest to goodness buffalo. And some real cactus there, to boot. If you guys (and most of you are) are following Kathleen's documentation of her Everest trek, then you'll forgive me having a little fun with her travelogue-style graphics. I should have actually titled this post Jeremy & Kathleen: Six Years Later.

Not so much a need for passports, just snacks for the road and a car charger for the iPhone(s). Yes, plural. Two boys, two borrowed iPhones, less screaming. We are slaves to technology, and Angry Bird.

It was one of those crisp fall days that starts off a little too cold (okay, I know that's relative) and ends up pretty toasty by the time it's all said and done. But before the shedding of the layers began, the boys did look pretty darn cute.

I mean, Sam could almost pass for a ruddy-cheeked child from Lukla, Nepal here.

Except that every stitch of clothing he's wearing is from Target. And as picturesque and outdoorsy as he looks here, I am fairly certain he's thinking about how he's going to slingshot himself some birds into feather-flying, squawky glory as soon as he gets back in the car.

Nobody is falling off this goddamn mountain.

I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today... ope, nope, "Closed Tuesdays."

This is, as the sign says (why on earth did they plaster that vinyl banner over the original wall-painted lettering?)... home of the famous Meers burger. And it was, indeed, delicious.

So once we got off the mountain, explored the grasslands below, which basically was us just running around a field full of prairie dogs barking like crazy at us, with Sam bee-lining it for the horizon. I swear I felt like if I ever caught him as he ran on those freakily fast little legs for the rocky, cactusy, valley below, that I was going to either stumble upon a rattlesnake or a No Country For Old Men failed drug-deal death scene over the next hill. But I caught him. So if there were a bunch of shot-up pickup trucks and a suitcase full of undelivered cocaine waiting for us, it would have to keep for another crazed two-year old and mother in pursuit.

So panting, with two-year old under arm, we left the prairie dogs in peace (after Charlie stuck his sneaker into every prairie dog hole we passed) and went for burgers. And they were, indeed, delicious.

But, of course, my city kids were more interested all these cats that were hanging outside the establishment than the burgers. Or the buffalos. Or even the tormented prairie dogs. Like, you would have thought they were at a petting zoo, with all the cooing and stroking and just drooling over these cats.

So, really, by the end of the day, we could have just gone out in the back alley of the tattoo parlor down the street from us and had us a good old time petting all the strays. But then of course, we wouldn't have the memories. Actually, come to think of it, that sounds pretty memorable. Maybe next Saturday.