Saturday, my husband and son returned from a week at camp. There was fishing and canoeing and rifle shooting. My son earned merit badges in photography, archery and fishing. At some point during the week, my husband texted me simply to say that he has my eye for it.
And the Grinch's heart great three times that day.
They returned home, dirty and tired. I figure that Sunday we would just hang out around the house so they could relax a little, but it didn't quite work out that way.
We left the house with intentions to get home brewing supplies, which we did.
We ended up doing something else, entirely, though.
We cashed in free pints at Upslope brewery in Boulder, but had to share one of them when the other met a hasty end and was spilled all over the table (and me). Instead of driving home, we drove along one of the highways just at the base of the foothills. Rolling hills, open meadows, views of the valley and the mountains surrounded us.
I was reminded what I love most about living in Colorado in that moment. We are surrounded with such beauty here. You just have to see it.
We landed in Lyons, a town we obviously haven't spent enough time in even though it's just next door. Though we've been to the Oskar Blues restaurant in town here and the local tasting room, we'd never been to the one there, the original.
As soon as we walked in, we both wondered why we'd waited so long. The downstairs immediately took me back to the places I spent so much time with my family growing up. A solid wood bar that ran the length of the room, a band setting up to play live music, a pool table in the corner, an arcade with old school video games.
We tasted, we played, we danced.
I taught my son to play pool, the game I learned in my grandparent's house, around the familiar green table we all called home back then. For many years, it was the center of us all. No matter how long people were gone for, no matter how far they traveled, no matter who fought with who, everyone always, always, always ended up around that table.
Grandpa would be proud.
My son, the oldest musically inclined one who is now up to 6 instruments, walked right up to the band during warm ups to ask questions. Instead of shooing him away, they talked to him and even let him play the upright electric bass.
I had to fight back tears of nostalgia a few times, for the family gone and the family I miss, for how much this place reminded me of them all.
I think we just found our new favorite place.
After we left there, I pulled up along the river. There aren't many times or places in life where your parents encourage you to throw rocks, but this is one of them. The kids were hesitant at first, like it was some trick we were playing on them. Nope. Go for it.
They took their shoes off, waded in the shallows looking for rocks, they launched them off the bridge even.
And they laughed. Oh, did they laugh.
I had planned a fabulous dinner to be eaten after a quiet day at home. Instead, the kids inhaled Spaghettios when we got home at 9:30, with smiles on their faces.
Sometimes you just have to get in the car and go.
You never know what you might find out there.
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