a river runs through it.

This past week I paused a lot. I stood still and let the warm sun shine on my face. I let the 95 degree air envelop me like a blanket. I let the cold water rush through my toes. I let the wind blow my hair around. I stepped back and watched my kids sparkle with sheer joy. I watched them scrunch up their faces with determination. I listened while they threw their heads back and laughed, big and deep and loud. We ran around until our feet got dirty. We slapped mosquitos away. We let the river be our bath. We jumped off of rocks the size of a small car into the cool water. We floated through rapids. We had one of those vacations where I wished time could stand still. Just for a moment.

We ventured off to Plain, Washington this past week. This sleepy little town where a few hundred people live along the river banks of the Wenatchee as it runs through the valley is one of my favorite places in the world. I grew up here. I learned how to float on a log and how high the river needs to be to make it over the rocks, but not too fast. I stayed up late watching the campfire dance in the reflection of my parents' glasses. I watched my dad and and his friends place their handhewn logs one by one until after 7 years, they built a 3 bedroom cabin with only their bare hands and no electric or gas-powered machinery. I swam at the swimming rock, I hiked, skied, ran, biked and walked the trails around us. I had so many different friends come there with me that I could never think of all of them now. I learned how to nurse a bee sting, how to stoke the fire when the cabin got below freezing at night, and how to build a thrilling (and somewhat death-defying) sled run. I remember (well into my school-age years) when I used an outdoor shower to bathe, hidden in the woods and my sleepy feet memorized the moonlit path to the outhouse with our German Shepherd by my side. I remember bumping along the dirt roads, unbuckled in the back of my parent's white Volkswagon bus, with the orange daisy-printed curtains swaying back and forth, singing along to Peter, Paul and Mary and Air Supply.

The way the summer air smells, the sound of the crickets at night and watching the field irrigation across the river brings me back to those days. And now, as I drive down River Road with all the windows rolled down and U2's Beautiful Day playing on the radio with a raft tied to the top of my car, I'm convinced we could live here forever. Or dream of it. I know that moving here would bring along all the daily life that I escape here and I'm sure that would spoil all the allure. Because that is what our time there lacks completely. There is no phone, no TV, no internet and (God bless it) my cell phone doesn't even work there.

 We ventured our of our hiding hole for one windy hour at the lake before we packed it up, headed back and never strayed more than heading up river or down river.

 Absolute euphoria right here.

Root-beer CHEERS!

The Firefighter catches the popcorn AND the ovenmitt on fire. In his defense, he'll likely say it's because he built such an amazing campfire.

 The River Guide takes his job very seriously. "Let's go" he'd nonchalantly say, tossing his roped up waterbottle overboard and pushing off his raft. He scanned the river for rapids at all times and insisted we hit them all. He had to bail his boat about 10 times during the trips. :)

We had a pure, uninhibited, blissful time. The kind where we rafted the river every day. I said yes every time the kids wanted another root-beer float. We watched baby birds in a ground nest next to the deck grow and the mama bird got so used to us that she would land on the stair next to me. We popped popcorn over the fire and we dammed up the river to create our own little private swimming pool on our sandy beach. Pure, pure bliss.