Often during our westward trip, April and I said, “When we do this again….”
“When we do this again, we’ll ask the nice girl at the creamery where we should have breakfast.”
“When we do this again, I’ll order the rhubarb pie, too.”
“When we do this again, we’ll find a hotel in Oakley.”
But we knew in our hearts we might never pass that way again.
This was especially true of our journey to the Monument Rocks.
The Monument Rocks are not visible from any paved road. We traveled at least eight miles off the highway on dirt and gravel to find them. The rocks rise from flat farmland, ghostly formations made of chalk and left over from an ancient inland sea. Bits of shell dot every layer of the rocks, which are crumbling slowly over time. Someday the Monument Rocks will not exist at all.
We don’t regret a minute of that bumpy drive to and from the rocks. On our way back to the highway we passed a gigantic prairie dog town, and stopped to watch the sociable little creatures visit each other’s homes. And if we got a little lost and missed our next destination? Well, that was okay. We solved all the world’s problems along the way.