Humor
Having successfully raised our two boys, we decided that it was time to take a grown up vacation. We chose to breath in the magnificent scenery of Jasper National Park in Alberta, Canada.
Arriving in mid-June, little did we know our vacation would provide fodder for Canadian locals. As we ate dinner at a popular restaurant, it was obvious from our “Howdy” and “Ya’ll” we weren’t from around there.
“You must be from Texas, eh?” they smugly ask. Thinking this is a good thing and with smiles as wide as the Panhandle, we reply with a sing-song, “Yes.”
They move closer and smiling sweetly ask in choir boy unison, “What are your plans?”
“Drive, ponder nature, take pictures, drink lattes. The usual tourist route.”
A curious, “Ahhh,” escapes from their mouths as they exchange looks that could only come from a secret cult. Their eyes narrow like the Siamese cats from Lady and the Tramp, and they climb into our booth and begin to purr about a local attraction, Amethyst Lake.
We’re mesmerized as they describe it in detail—eerily green, breathtaking, rarely seen, and only accessible by hiking trail—all of which should have screamed, “But we’re out–of–shape tourists.” Just as the captain of the Titanic gave little consideration to the icebergs, we ignore the tell-tale signs. With visions of grandeur we drift into a dream-like trance and speaking in slow motion with the wide-eyed gaze of Marty Feldman, hear ourselves say, “Weeeee’ll gooooo...”
GOOD HORSE SENSE
The next morning we arrive at the park’s main parking lot, possessing the confidence of newly trained Marines. A large arrow points to the lake, but we’re oblivious to that fact that no one else is headed in that direction. As we begin our trek down a dirt road with our sporty backpacks, to our surprise the road dead ends where unexpectedly, we discover horse corrals but no hiking trail. Normal people would ask why there are horse corrals. Not us. We’re on vacation.
Shaking off any hint of reservation, we doggedly backtrack and see a small sign that points to the lake. Emulating the merry dwarves marching to their “Hi Ho, Hi Ho”, we embark with gusto upon what appears to be an easy trail.
As we walk, we experience the beauty of Canada, which is simply spectacular. Snow-topped mountains and valleys of vibrant green with fields of brilliantly colored flowers are as far as the eye can see. We can hear the glaciers crack and fall, and the smell of the crisp, fresh air is exhilarating. We lovingly smile at one another, happy to be together.
However, it doesn’t take long for our hike to turn into a Survivor challenge as our merry, “Hi Ho” turns to a gloomy, “Oh no,” as we find ourselves going over the river and through the woods in order to avoid large piles of steaming horse manure that any Clydesdale would have been proud of. It’s only a matter of time before we have smeared a trail of the pungent encounter from the bottom of our tennis shoes. But compared to years of changing diapers that reek of allergic food reactions, and cleaning projectile vomiting out of your body parts and anything within a 360 degree circle, horse poop is a welcome break.
Using a stick to scrape off my shoes, I turn around to my husband who is doing likewise, when our eyes meet and our souls connect in a way we never thought possible. It’s a Hallmark moment of angelic bliss: we realize horses don’t whine, talk back or ask for money. It’s one of the most romantic encounters we’ve had in years. (Note to self: Upon return, farm out college kids and adopt a horse.)
ATHLETES LIKE IT HOT
Our horsing around is soon forgotten as our, “Oh no” turns to a questionable, “Uh oh” as we begin to realize we have not seen another hiker since we started forty-five minutes ago. Even when we encounter a one hundred foot wide, six hundred twenty-two feet tall rock slide which has spilled onto the trail, we are not detoured. We’re on vacation.
Looking at the boulders prompts me to ask my husband what he would do if I got hurt. Influenced by Harlequin Romance novels, visions of him gently picking me up and carrying me back to safety as I gazed deep into his eyes were quickly shattered by the practicality in his voice.
“Guess I’d leave and get help,” he shrugged.
A small gasp escapes me. “You’d do WHAT? Leave me alone…in nature…to face wild beasts and the elements?”
“The wildest thing I’ve seen is that wild flower and it’s 80 degrees. It’s either that or you could find the proverbial pony.”
Humph. Disappointed, yet realizing years of marriage have simply produced practicality, I trudge on behind him in search of the ever elusive lake. Trying to take my mind off of how tired we are becoming, he points out yet another snow-topped mountain. With my head down and the backpack getting heavier with each step, I am no longer impressed as evidenced by my, “Yeah, yeah. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.” I’ve turned into Grumpy; I’ve lost my personality.
Despite the pain from my newly developed shin splints, we decide that the lake has to be around the bend—a mantra we’ve chanted for the last hour. Soon my husband starts to complain about how hot he is when suddenly out of no where, menopause raises its ugly head provoking my fiery, “Puhlease. You should try hiking with hot flashes that could ignite a Bunsen burner!” A panicked look of, “Oh dear Lord…,” comes over his face and produces a thin-lipped smile accompanied by large, nervous eye movement. When my hormones have leveled out and my Cruella DeVil evil twin somewhat suppressed, we foolishly press forward.
IT TAKES GUMPTION
Nature is playing a cruel joke on us—the trail has become so narrow that even ants have to walk single file. Even worse, what we perceived as a seemingly easy trail has now morphed into K2. If it were any steeper, we’d be walking backwards. Any signs of life—chipmunk, rabbit, empty Coke can—would provide hope that we’re getting closer. Instead, we continue to see dainty flowers, trees, grass and, of course, more horse poop which explains one reason nature thrives here. What we wouldn’t give to be Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.
By now we have walked so far we’re giving Forest Gump a run for his money, and still haven’t seen a sign pointing to the lake. In the back of my mind I faintly hear, “There’s your sign!”
Finally, the notion that the lake must be around the “next bend” is no closer a reality than Jurassic Park. When intelligence finally makes its appearance and broadcasts a loud, “Duh,” to turn around and go back, it is only then we realize we have to walk back OUT. We should have voted ourselves off our vacation hours ago. With every agonizing step I am comforted that when we return to the hotel, all this walking will justify me stuffing my mouth with as many Godiva chocolates as I can at once.
BACK TO THE BEGINNING
Our sense of adventure long gone we wearily head back. Not taking into account the high altitude, we are now so out of breath we could suck the backpacks up through our noses. Like the last runner in the Boston Marathon, we manage to limp just past that small sign that points to the lake. Letting out a sigh which is reminiscent of giving birth, we sit down only to look up and once again read the sign which clearly states, “Amethyst Lake, 20 miles.” Then to the right we see, “Horses for rent.”
Slowly, we take off our backpacks and dragging them behind us like a worn out toddler that can barely drag his blanket to bed, we shuffle our way back to the car. Driving to the nearest store, we fill our cart with tubes of Ben Gay, bottles of anything labeled “acetaminophen,” a barrel of Epsom Salts, and, of course, Godivas.
Ringing up our purchase, the cashier suspiciously asks, “Amethyst Lake?”
We can only manage to mumble, “Uh, huh.” She smiles and reaches below the counter and hands us a post card of — Amethyst Lake.
That night as we ease our over-worked and under-developed bodies into the Epsom soak, we finally understand that when visitors like us arrive, the locals smile, shake their heads, and knowingly mutter, “Tourists.”
WHAT GOD SAYS
Don’t be a tourist in life. You may have amusing stories to tell, but your path will always be better when you live as a child of the King.
“In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.” [Proverbs 3:6]
Note: We love Canada and have visited several times. This article is not meant in any way to offend our neighbors, but rather to poke fun at ourselves.
copyright 2007
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
Reader Count & Comments
Date
The opinions expressed by authors do not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com. This is especially true with articles that
deal with personal healthcare and prophecy. We encourage the reader to make their own decision in consultation with God, His Word, and others as needed.
This article has been read 961 times < Previous | Next >
Read more articles by Terri Arnett or search for other articles by topic below.
This article has been read 961 times < Previous | Next >
Search for articles on: (e.g. creation; holiness etc.)
Read more by clicking on a link:Free Reprints
Main Site Articles
Most Read Articles
Highly Acclaimed Challenge Articles.
New Release Christian Books for Free for a Simple Review.
NEW - Surprise Me With an Article - Click here for a random URL
God is Not Against You - He Came on an All Out Rescue Mission to Save You
...in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them... 2 Cor 5:19
Therefore, my friends, I want you to know that through Jesus the forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you. Acts 13:38
LEARN & TRUST JESUS HERE
FaithWriters offers Christian reading material for Christian readers. We offer Christian articles, Christian fiction, Christian non-fiction, Christian Bible studies, Christian poems, Christian articles for sale, free use Christian articles, Christian living articles, New Covenant Christian Bible Studies, Christian magazine articles and new Christian articles. We write for Jesus about God, the Bible, salvation, prayer and the word of God.