This weekend we said goodbye to Grandpa Mont. The funeral was in Salt Lake, after which we piled into cars and headed north to Heyburn, Idaho, his final earthly destination.As we were driving along I found the journey to be beautiful, beginning with a cloudy sky and old red barn in Northern Utah. More pictures ensued, most of them taken out the window as we sped by, so be kind and forgive the blurry edges.
We were lucky to have my brother along for the ride. Dental students strapped for cash don't often fly home for visits. We loved seeing him. The kids fought over the prized seat beside him. We only wish his wife and sweet girls could have come with him.
My brother lives in Virginia where speed limits are not quite as generous. He plans on sending the below image to his governor in hopes of inspiring speedy enlightenment.
The place from whence we all came (our little clan anyway).
For those who make this journey often and complain of lack of beauty, I beg to differ. This shot was taken out my husband's window. Leaning over someone while they are driving can be risky, but it was a risk worth taking. Undeniably beautiful.
When we would visit my grandparents when I was young, these giant rolling sprinklers were fascinating to me. We just don't see them in our neck of the suburbs.
Serene little river.
Mighty Snake river.
Rivers of this proportion are not something we are used to. My daughter called it Snake Lake.
Cousins & brothers carrying our beloved grandfather, hero.
Full military funeral service was provided for his service in World War II. Shots were fired & the flag folded and presented to my father. It was such a beautiful, profound moment.
After the graveside service my dad's generous cousin invited us (ALL of us) to his nearby home for root beer floats. This was his back yard.
(& I thought I was immune to car envy)
Younger cousins played while older cousins visited.
My youngest losing her hair ribbons along the way.
Then we headed to a little park across from the cemetery on the banks of the Snake River. We shed those restrictive dress clothes and shoes and put our tired feet in the cool waters.
Such a pretty, peaceful spot.
If sense of belonging is a genetic trait, then I must have inherited some sense of belonging here. A recessive gene shining forth. The green mountains, fields & farmland, majestic river….it felt like home. Last night my dad shared stories of his time spent here in his youth and it only compounded that sense of belonging. This place is a part of us, of those who have gone before. I love knowing my grandparents' final resting place is in this beautiful spot where memories and pastoral tranquility collide.
We loaded back up for the return journey.
We passed fertile potato fields (lucky spuds).
Rolling green hills.
Scenic farms & pastures.
Back to the Wasatch Front.
To the mountains we know and our home beyond.
Until we meet again.