It’s a hole in the ground. One big, giant, two hundred and seventy-seven mile hole in the ground. The Grand Canyon is another place that never really interested me when it comes to top ten places on my list of travel destinations. But sometimes, the thought of a road trip on the way to the planned destination just has to happen.
And that’s how we ended up there. At the Grand Canyon. In the sweltering heat. With me repeating the phrase “back up, you’re too close” to the kids. I can’t help it, I have a vivid imagination and our family has notoriously bad luck when it comes to vacations. Put two and two together and in my mind’s eye were visions of the kids tumbling end over end down the steep sides of the canyon to the bottom below.
When I wasn’t experiencing fleeting moments of paranoia, I stood in awe of the beauty there. The way the sun was shining and the sparse clouds skated across the bright blue sky. I stared out at the wonder of this geological awesomeness and felt…really…small. As in miniscule. Tiny. Almost invisible. Because it’s in a place like this that reminds a person just how big the world really is.
We didn’t walk out on the Skywalk; I’m pretty sure we were on the South Rim, not the West. I couldn’t be convinced to ride a mule down the side of it and I wasn’t interested in the white water rafting. Mostly because I’m afraid of heights and falling and white water rafting sounded scary. But I could have sat there on the edge of the canyon for hours and not gotten bored.
Maybe someday I’ll go back and my more adventurous spirit will have kicked in, allowing me to ride mule back to the bottom or to waltz on the skywalk with my husband. For now, I’m just grateful I had the experience and got to share it with my family.