Things That Made Me Go :) Today

1. This blog post. And the blogger in particular :)

2. Being there to see one of my absolute BEST friends (who also happens to be my cousin!)

get her endowments at the Draper Temple.

3. Finishing my stupid paper on bills of attainder and ex post facto laws.

4. Getting pampered! I found a great deal on a European facial + brow wax combo. Only $35 for BOTH!--there was no WAY I was passing that up. Today was my appointment. It was mahvelous.

5. Brock engaging me in a highly intellectual conversation about the characters, plot, language, and literary themes of Doestoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. . . while we ate dinner at Wendy's.

Yet Another Running Misadventure

Less than two months until D-Day: September 18th. The day I run my first ultramarathon. The day I toe the line at 6am with 159 other crazies. I'll be the youngest person there. I's scurred.

With more than 9,000 feet of climbing throughout those 50 miles and an average elevation of 10,000 feet, I'm hitting the trails as hard and as high as I can. That's why I was delighted to find this run online:


I started running on the Big Spring Hollow Trail, connected to a trail that climbed up to Cascade Saddle, and from there I took a Forest Service trail (060) which lead me to the mouth of Rock Canyon. I know I say this every time, but this was one of the most gorgeous runs I have ever been on. I had the entire mountain to myself (didn't see a soul from 6:30-10:00), without even so much as an iPod to interrupt me. When you're walking through a quiet, undisturbed world that is so majestic, so breathtaking that it nearly makes you cry, it almost seems sacrilegious to have Katy Perry blasting in your ear. Besides, no song could ever compare to the sound of aspen leaves quaking in the wind, the soft crunch of dirt beneath your feet, and the perfect stillness of night floating up the mountainside as the sun retires for the day.

After a couple hours of running/hiking, I turned a corner into a cirque behind the Saddle. That's when I saw this guy across a ravine. I have creatively named him Bambi.

Bambi was a young buck--I could tell by the fuzz on his antlers. Newly grown antlers must be itchy, because he kept lifting up his leg to scratch them! It was the funniest thing. I stood there watching him for a few minutes. He watched me, too. There were no other deer around--just me and Bambi in this gaping meadow filled with wildflowers.

I decided to move along. Bambi moved along too, in my same direction, from across the ravine. Pretty soon the ravine closed up, and he was walking directly on the trail behind me.



Then the strangest thing happened. He followed me. If I took three steps, he took three steps. Bambi must have flunked out of deer school, because every single deer I have ever come across has ran away from me as fast as deerly possible. Maybe he'd never seen another human before. Maybe he was hoping to make me his Faline. I dunno. All I knew was that my heart was pounding and I didn't know what to do. I doubted he was going to hurt me--look at that face!--but still, the fact that he had ANTLERS and HOOVES and TEETH (aka: hurt potential) made me nervous.

That's when a little elf opened a filing cabinet in my brain (what? your brain doesn't have elves?) and pulled out an index card. On the index card was a tidbit of information from my younger days. When I was about eight years old, my Grandpa Kern--a true cowboy if there ever was one--gave me a book about the horse whisperer. I didn't read the whole thing, in fact I doubt I read thirty pages, but the one thing I remembered from that book was that horses bow their heads slightly when they want to show deference and respect.

Horses and deer are kind of the same, right? At least that's what I figured. In an effort to reassure Bambi that I was his friend, I did a little head bow. Apparently he liked this, because he kept following me! Had I let him, he would have walked right up to me and probably let me touch him. In hindsight, I wish I had. But I was all alone, deep in the woods, and the last thing I needed to was piss some deer off and have him trample me. I decided to err on the safe side. Having exhausted my deerspeak capabilities, I spoke to him in softly in English: "No, no, deer! Go away." And guess what? He obeyed. Bambi gave me a puzzled look, watched me walk away a few steps, and then turned around and started grazing again.

I continued on up to the Saddle. The view at the top was . . . wow.




A gorgeous vista, right? However, there is a serious problem with this picture. Look at the "V" in the middle-right of the picture--where you can barely see civilization below, miles away. Now look at how much sun is left on the mountain.

I had drastically underestimated how much time this 12-mile run would take me. Taking into account the elevation, I'd been banking on three hours (maybe 3.5). But 4000 feet of nearly relentless climbing took a lot longer than I thought it would. I was on the mountain for four hours . . . and I hauled.
I ran the final ninety minutes of my run in complete darkness, with nothing but a wimpy 1-inch Maglite to help me find the trail. I might as well have used the light from my cell phone. In addition to running in darkness, alone, through tall brush and tress, the trail was tiny, rocky, and very steep.

As I was curving down the mountain, I spooked a deer who darted off down the hillside. It just about gave me a heart attack! I decided that spooking a deer was one thing, spooking a bear was another--so I tried to make as much noise as possible. I made up a little twenty-second song--"da da ba dum dum da da...."--and sang that sucker on repeat as loud as I could as I made my way down (total: 540 times). I also pulled out my pepper spray and kept it cocked and ready, and thought about whether it would be better to whack a bear over the head with a trekking pole or try to impale it.

In addition to alerting any prowling beasts of my approach, the little song I made up helped quiet my nerves and forget how utterly terrified I was. I had never run on this trail before, and had no idea where I was going. At times it intersected with service roads, but I just chose the route that seemed to lead me closer to the city lights. There were plenty of opportunities to get lost. There were plenty of opportunities to break an ankle--running full speed down a trail I couldn't see.

After miles and miles of running without seeming to gain any ground on the lights below, I started getting really freaked out. I felt like breaking down into a paranoid cryfest, but I knew that the minute I lost focus was the minute my chances of making a mistake increased. So I kept singing.

I sent some prayers up to God. He heard them :) I rolled into Rock Canyon safe and sound at 10:15, exactly four hours after I'd started. It was so good to see Brock there in his truck waiting for me. We may or may not have broken the Sabbath and made a Wendy's run immediately thereafter (I needed something to calm my nerves, okay?! Not to mention I was ravenous).

But you know, despite all this, I find myself sitting here and wishing I was back up on that mountain. Can't wait to see what this week's long run will bring :)

The Impulse Buy

Today after morning housework, Brock and I decided to head down to a rope swing in Mona we've heard about. Unfortunately, every high schooler in the county had the same idea. Dozens of tools and skanks were gathered together; all of them trying to show off and look sexy--their hormonal bravado playing to the tune of cranked-up pop music and the piercing squeals of girls bound for a lifetime of bad tips and Barbicide at Fantastic Sams.

Needless to say, Brock and I forewent the rope swing and headed home. The afternoon wasn't a total loss however, as we had quite the adventure finding the place, and Brock bought me Cheetos at a Chevron after I convinced him it was a pregnancy craving. (Hey, there's always a chance, RIGHT?! Impermeable logic, I know.)

On the way home, we stopped at South Ridge farms in Santaquin--a place I've been wanting to visit for a long time. It's this cute, big red barn on the side of the highway with "world famous" ice cream, shakes, and fresh fruit. The raspberry shake I had was indeed delicious, Brock said his apple pie was divine, and we bought cherries that looked plump enough to burst right there on the spot.

But the best part about the day, was the little surprise I got in the middle of all this. As we were walking out the door of the barn, I noticed this little ceramic honey container. It was in the shape of a beehive, and it had one of those cute honey wands. I wanted it as soon as I saw it. I flipped over the price tag: $10. Eeesh. I knew Brock would never go for it. But I decided to bug him about it anyway, because sometimes I go up to him with random impulse buys just to see his eyes roll and for him to tell me no.

I meekly approached Brock at the check-out counter. He was buying the bag of cherries.

"Honey!" I said. (No pun intended.) "Isn't this cute? Look! It even has one of those neat little honey dipper things!"

Brock examined the item in question. "How much is it?"

I conjured up the best puppy dog eyes I could and sheepishly informed him of the price.

"You know what?" he said, "That is cute. Put it on the counter."

Huh?

Yes? As in, y-e-s? As in, the opposite of no? As in, si? Oui? Ja? I couldn't believe it! I even gave him the opportunity to renege on this moment of glorious fiscal irresponsibility, saying "No, honey, it's okay, I don't really need it . . . " but Brock insisted.

I don't know why, but I got the warm fuzzies all of a sudden. It wasn't the fact that he bought it, but the fact that he bought it out of the pure desire to make me happy. I mean, it's not like I need him to buy me things in order for that to happen (although I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt!). He could've said no and I would have been perfectly fine with it. Heck, I was expecting it. But he didn't.

On the way home, I expressed to him my surprise.

"Y'know," he said. "I hate how there's always too much honey that comes out when I'm trying to make a sandwich. So I was sold on the dipper thing." (This comment brought the romanticism of his gesture down a couple notches.) "Plus, I know that that's one of those trinkets that we'll have in our house for like fifty years, and it'll always remind us of our little date to the red barn." (Notches regained.)

(The reality is that, because it's ceramic, one of our kids is bound to break it into a million pieces, but whatever. It was a nice thought.)

Brock tells me he loves me multiple times a day, but sometimes it's the little, stupid stuff--like Cheetos and honey wands--that let me know he really means it.

For the Beauty of the Earth

Yesterday after work, Brock and I headed out for a backpacking trip in the Uintas. It was divine. Definitely the most idyllic getaway we've ever taken . . . and it was free!

After grabbing some fuel (read: a frosty and chicken nuggets) at Wendy's, we set off into the wild blue yonder with our packs and Mojo. On a run together last week, we saw the most beautiful campsite. It was high up in the mountains with no other campsites around, the ground was flat and mostly soft dirt (perfect for a tent), there was a great firepit and a natural source of pure mountain water that burbled up from the ground twenty feet away. Right when we saw this place, we knew we had to come back.

As one might expect, you don't get to a place this ideal without a haul. It's about four miles up the mountain, and 3.5 of those are uphill. No exaggeration. Add a 30-pound pack on your shoulders, and you've got quite the workout. We were a little worried that the campsite would be taken, but when we rolled in at sunset we were delighted to see that that wasn't the case :) I dropped my pack and set off into the woods to look for firewood while Brock set up camp. When I got back, we made a fire and heated up a can of thick, meaty chipotle chili for dinner. I am quite sure that NOTHING in this world tastes better than chili on a cool night after hours of hiking. We topped off our meal with s'mores (of course), washed up, and crawled into our tiny two-person tent.

It was a beautiful, cloudless night, so we didn't even put the rain cover on. This allowed us to gaze up at the stars through the mesh ceiling, and watch the bats flying overhead. The moon was beautiful and bright. We stayed up late talking about nothing, and right as we were about to drift off, we noticed a certain someone shivering at our feet. Being the sweetheart that he is, Brock let Mojo crawl into his sleeping bag. Mojo nuzzled right up to him and was asleep within minutes. Our lullaby was the breeze rustling through the aspens and the soft burble of the stream.

We woke up to birds chirping in the morning, and had cereal and OJ for breakfast. I'd stuck the milk and OJ in the stream the night before to keep them cold . . . another perk about having that cold, fresh mountain water so close! After eating, I headed out for a run while Brock broke camp. I went out for about an hour and it was breathtaking. The sun was streaming through the meadows below Mt. Timpanogos, and I felt like I had the whole mountain to myself.

I returned to camp to the sight of Brock laying down in the shade reading a book with Mojo by his side. We brushed our teeth, washed up (moist towelettes...LOVE 'EM), and headed back to civilization.

Not a bad way to start the weekend :)

Here's a photo album chock full of pictures...enjoy!

Life Isn't a Popularity Contest

. . . except when it is. That's why I'm glad I had this book to help me along the way. 

It was basically my bible from ages 11-14. For the record, its methodology was questionable at best, seeing as how "Grow Boobs", "Shop at Limited Too", and "Don't Be Annoying" were not amongst the 30 rules. All of which I was in violation of.

Thanks for nothing, Camy Baker.

A Troubling Sight

Just now, on my run in the mountains, I saw a man wearing this kangaroo suit playing a banjo.

I am not making this up.

Photo Source

I repeat:  I SAW A MAN DRESSED LIKE THIS PLAYING A BANJO.

An Interesting Exchange

Today, as Brock and I were walking home from the park after a game of fetch with Mojo, we ran into a man from our ward who was on a walk with his elderly mother.

They shuffled along, two peas in a pod. All they have is each other. The man--whom we will call Arthur--is not quite "there" mentally, and his mother is very weak. So weak, in fact, that she had to resign as ward chorister after the job proved too strenuous (she nearly fainted three times).

Brock hollered at them from across the street. "Hey, Arthur! How's it goin'?"

"Oh, I'm leaving the church."

As you might imagine, this answer stopped us dead in our tracks. Mojo tugged on his leash.

"Alright . . . uh . . . " said Brock, not knowing whether to take it as a joke. (We were, after all, talking to a man who dances on street corners advertising Little Caesars for a living.)

"No really, I'm leaving!" Arthur insisted. "I'm leaving the church. I really am."

"Okay . . . why's that?"

"Because I don't believe in God," Arthur said flatly.

[Cue the chirping crickets.]

"Hmm. That's too bad, " Brock stammered." . . . Welp, have a nice walk!"

And they did. Arthur waved us goodbye as he continued shuffling homeward with his mother, apparently finding nothing striking about the conversation at all. 

Today's My Day!

Oh, how I yearn for the simpler times! (But I'm sure in ten years I'll look back on now and think the same thing.)

Freudian Slip?

Thank you, Microsoft Word, for your red squiggles.

I was putting together a results table for a set of qualitative data at work.

Right as I was about to send it off to my boss, a red squiggle alerted me to this typo:

Multiple cateorgies.

Hmm.

Can You Spot the Girl in this Picture?

In case you couldn't tell: I'm second from the right in the middle row.
ALSO: I had no idea that Uncle Rico coached my 2nd grade baseball team.

He's Back!

Brock is hooooome!

As it turns out, the job down in California turned out to be a dud. Brock wouldn't have been making much more money than he currently is here, so he was like "Uhhh . . . peace!" I don't know why he couldn't have figured this out with a simple phone call beforehand, but whatever. All I care about is that he's home!

Although we've been apart for longer periods of time, each time we separate, one thing becomes obvious: We are both pathetic  without each other. Seriously, we are blobs. I thought I would get so much done (reading, studying, working, etc) with Brock being gone, but I just moped around ALL DAY. 

Being blobs without each other. I think that might just be what true love is.

Obligatory Fourth of July Post

WARNING: This is a pretty long post . . .but there IS a funny anecdote at the end. So persevere! If you skip everything and just jump to the end, you will die in seven days.

On Friday night Brock and I went to dinner at Aunt Cindy's house. We actually got in a big fight beforehand though. It was pretty funny . . . Brock was kindly telling me that I shouldn't be so quick to anger over inconsequential things like idiot Utah drivers. Oh, and that I shouldn't lean over and honk the horn when he's driving. I maintained the that if a person is incompetent behind the helm of a machine that has the capability to KILL me, I reserve to the right to get mad. Brock countered this argument by saying that I should never get mad. Ever. AKA: Be Jesus.

For obvious reasons, this advice did not go over well. By the time we got to Aunt Cindy's, I was in no state to sit down at a table next to my husband without feeling the compulsive desire to poke his eyeballs out. "You know what?!" I yelled as we got of the car. "You go to dinner!" and I stormed off down the cul-de-sac.

Way mature, I know.

I started walking home. Yes, walking home (we live about seven miles away from Aunt Cindy's). About ten minutes down the road, Brock's pickup pulled up beside me. I reluctantly got in the car. Much to my relief, he told me he didn't expect me to be Jesus. I told him I would at least try. I love how Brock is so quick to forgive, and how we're both able to just get over ourselves. If we were the type to hold grudges, we would have missed THE most amazing homemade lasagna at Aunt Cindy's house!

Saturday was our adventure day. I'd heard about this place in Alpine where there is a natural granite waterslide up in the mountains. The water at Sliding Rock was freezing, but it was such a hot day that it actually felt pretty good. We hiked above the waterslide for a little while, meandering up the mountain along the cascading river.

We had also heard stories of this crazy bike jump near Sliding Rock . . . after a little bit of searching, we found it. There were some teenagers there messing around, so we asked if we could borrow their bike. Click here to see a video of what ensued!

Then it was off to Aunt Cindy's for a BBQ. Man, we love her! :) My family drove over from Colorado for the weekend, so they were there, too! After dinner, we went to grandma's house with my family to hang out for a bit, and then to a park in Provo to watch fireworks and play with sparklers.

Sunday was relatively uneventful--we went to my grandparent's church, and Colby got ordained a priest. Crazy! Brock and I went on a night-run that evening.

I woke up early  Monday morning to go on a trail run with my dad. It turned out to be one of the most best runs I have ever been on! The first part is killer steep--it took us an hour to go 2.5 miles. But after that: WOW! It opened up into huge, rolling fields and meadows of tall grass and aspens! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! I'd be lying if I said that my dad didn't reenact the first scene from "The Sound of Music."

After our hike, we picked up Brock, Caden (7) and Connor (5) and headed to a waterpark in Draper called Cowabunga Bay. I love my little brothers like crazy, they're hilarious and so fun to watch. Caden's swimsuit was a little loose, and it just about came off at the end of every waterslide he went on! I saw his white little bum on SEVERAL occasions :) Connor was a riot in the lazy river. Brock and I would toss him through the air, spin him on the tube, dump him out the the tube, and basically rough-house the living daylights out of him . . . and he loved it! He also has a new saying that he says ALL THE TIME: "Touche, pussycat!" He said he learned it from watching that Tom and Jerry cartoon one day. Of course he has no idea what it means, so he'll just say it whenever he pleases. "Connor, do you want some Cheetos?" "Touche, pussycat!"

After bidding my family adieu, we went home to have one final date night before Brock leaves for California. We ate dinner at a new restaurant called Spark--it was delicious! Here's what we had.

thai chicken lettuce cups
boston bibb lettuce cups topped with thai chicken , roasted peanuts, and served with tamarind sauce

kobe beef burger
incredibly tender and flavorful burger with melted local cheddar cheese, caramelized onions, and
jalapeño aioli. served with truffle and parmesan french fries

fried chicken and smoked gouda mac & cheese
tender panko-crusted fried chicken served over trottole pasta in a creamy smoked gouda and pepperjack cheese sauce with a touch of bacon

banana strudel banana towers sautéed in cinnamon
and chocolate covered and wrapped in a thin filo dough before being deep fried. Served with housemade mango ice cream, strawberry sauce and mango coconut foam

On top of that, because our waitress found out that this was the last time we'd see each other for a month, she gave us double berry martinis on the house! Non-alcoholic of course--made with raspberry and blackberry purees and seltzer water. Yeah, we tipped her good. Like 30% good. When the Boyces go out to eat, we go out to eat!! HIGH ROLLERS, baby!!

To end the night, we went to the movie "Knight and Day." AND IT'S NOT EVEN AT THE DOLLAR THEATER YET!! And get this . . . we were planning on getting popcorn. AND SODA. Like I said, high rollers. I say we were planning on getting popcorn and soda because we didn't actually stay for the entire movie. In fact, we didn't even make it past the previews.

Allow me to explain . . .

We arrived to the movie theater a little late from dinner, but we figured the previews were just barely starting anyway and that it wouldn't be too crowded because "Knight and Day" has been out for a few weeks. WRONG. It was packed! To our delight, we spotted two seats next together in a prime location! Halfway up the auditorium, in the dead center of the row. So we annoyingly crawled over about ten people to sit down, and when we did, we got THE WHIFF. Brock and I looked at each other and bulged our eyes . . . you know . . . that "Do you see/hear/smell what I'm seeing/hearing/smelling" bulge that you do when you can't talk because the source of the sight/sound/smell is near you.

The source of THE WHIFF turned out to be the overweight, tank-top wearing redneck couple to our right whose double wide in Spanish Fork must not have showering facilities. I am not kidding when I say that this was THE WORST B.O. I HAVE EVER SMELLED.

THE WHIFF came approximately two seconds after either one of them adjusted in their seats (which was a lot)--sending a veritable fire bomb of putridity that singed our nostrils and made our eyes water.  I'm considering calling up the Department of Defense and having them track down this duo so they can patent their body odor and use it as a biological weapon.

We sat there in limbo for a few minutes--should we tough it out? We had already rudely crawled over ten people to get to our seats; we didn't want make things even MORE AWKWARD by crawling out five minutes later. After a little while, the odor would subside and we'd be like "This is okay. We can do this." But then Bobby Joe or Luanne would adjust in their seats and then BAM! THE WHIFF. We finally gave up, got our money back, and opted for a Netflix at home.

A boring end to an exciting weekend.

Quasiwidow

Nope, not Quasimodo. I don't have a hunchback, I don't hang out in bell towers, and I don't have gargoyle friends. I am Quasiwidow: the girl whose husband left to go work in CA for a month and left her behind to finish summer classes alone. A kind-of widow. A quasiwidow.

Brock and I met up for lunch at Sammy's (where else?) before he left today. We ordered our usual: pepperjack/provolone grilled cheese sandwiches with fry sauce and a banana cream pie shake to split. The meal was melancholy. I tried to make conversation, but my throat was tight. I was trying not to cry. Brock commented that our shake was like an hourglass sand timer: The more and more it ran out, the closer he got to leaving. My throat got tighter. 

The older I get, the more I realize how powerful the bond of marriage is. I have friends who say "Oh, well, we've been together since high school . . . so we might as well be married!" But marriage has nothing to do with how long you've been together. It has nothing to do with how intertwined your finances are or whether you live under the same roof. Marriage is about committing the rest of your life to another person's happiness. And it's about the beautiful, tender relationship that grows as a result. 

Most would-be husbands would have given up on me long ago, what with how much I've changed, my domineering personality, quickness to anger, etc. But, somehow, I married either the most patient person in the history of man or the world's biggest glutton for punishment. Or both.

He held me close as hot tears streamed down my cheeks and onto his shirt. He kissed me softly. For a fleeting moment, I felt better; I forgot that this was the moment I had been dreading for weeks.

I was still wiping away the tears as I came home from classes. The house was empty. No roommates to talk to, no family, no one. I saw a pink gerbera daisy on the counter.

Dear baby, the card read. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder . . . but I don't think that's true. Because there's no way I could love you any more than I do right now. Love, Me.

It's going to be a long month.

Y-E-E-H-A-W

I totally forgot to blog about what Brock and I did last weekend, and I figured I should probably get on that before this weekend gets rolling . . .

On Friday Brock planned an awesome date! We went to the LEHI RODEO.

I hadn't been to a rodeo in forever so this was really fun! Beforehand, we grabbed pizza at this FANTASTIC restaurant in Orem that we'd never been to--Pizzeria 712. It's a restaurant that's really focused on sustainability; they buy all their ingredients local, recycle their menus, the whole nine yards. Even the art they display on the walls is made by local artists.

After our fancy dinner, we switched gears and drove to Lehi for a night of calf-wranglin', dirt-bike-ridin', bronco-bustin' fun!

The dirt bike halftime show! AWESOME.

After getting our hick on, we got our hipster on at Sammy's for a banana cream pie shake! (As if you could find us anywhere else on a Friday night!)

Saturday was a CRAZY day! I helped throw a bridal shower for my cousin/best friend Heidi. Her sister actually had a medical emergency in the morning and was rushed to the hospital, so things got a little hectic. Luckily, her sister ended up being okay and was actually able to come home and sleep during the bridal shower, which meant that Heidi's mom and dad were able to be home for it, too :) There was a huge turnout--a lot of people LOVE Heidi!--and we had a good time eating, chatting, and playing games. Well, at least some people had fun with the games (which I was in charge of). I get SO SICK of playing the "How Well Do You Know Your Fiancee" and let's-make-wedding-dresses-out-of-toilet-paper games at EVERY UTAH BRIDAL SHOWER. So I mixed it up. My games involved zebra bras, lace panties, and blatant sexual innuendos. Mind you, I still kept things relatively tasteful (I did nix the banana game), but I would be lying if I said that I didn't toe the Utah Valley line.

LITTLE DID I KNOW that the age range of the bridal shower's attendees would range from TWELVE TO SEVENTY-FIVE. I am not making this up. I simultaneously gave some attendants a lesson in sex ed and reminded others of what sex was.

It was awkward.

Really awkward.

And really funny.

Later that night, Brock and I tried to go karaoke with our friends Ryan and Tiffany at Sammy's, but the karaoke machine was on the fritz. Bummer--I'd been practicing folksy/grungy/nasaly Alanis Morissette voice all day and Brock had been listening to Meatloaf's "I Would Do Anything for Love" on repeat for hours. Instead, we headed to R&T's to play some Mario on the Wii. 

Speaking of Ryan and Tiffany, we hung out with them later in the week at Brock's grandparent's cabin in Park City! We played horseshoes, badminton, went fishing, told jokes, and saw a MOOSE! It wanted to get a drink at the pond we were fishing at, but it stopped in its tracks as soon as it saw us. He ran off into the woods (galloping moose = beautiful) and we followed him in our car. We found him a little ways down the mountain, and ended up seeing the baby moose who was with him!

I love the cabin. A great end to a great weekend!