Round One, Lake Powell 2012

Back by popular demand, another blog post by me. :) My little sisters (aka the worlds cutest and most devoted fans on the planet) need something else to laugh at and I am more than happy to oblige. This post is dedicated to our first Nelson Family week at Lake Powell in 2012.
Here is our rudy crew:

Mike - the leader of our crazy family.
Bahb (Yep, I know its spelled wrong.) - by far the most patiently angelic woman I’ve ever met.
Me, with homemade tanning oils, a BackZoning book, and guitar in hand.
My sister Andrea brought her guardian angels. She was miraculously saved from a brush with death...or at the very least a brush with reconstructive dental surgery...A rock interrupted her Pocahontas worthy swan dive and left its mark.
Red was there in all her coppery haired hay bail bucking bicep glory.
Svelt and graceful Mary came decked out in her new jean print, oil repelling swimsuit.
Fat Kathy full of energy and sassy as ever kept Sam and his two friends in line.
Spam’n was our boat’s first mate. He and his friend Nick kept a weather eye out for oncoming boats, rocks and buoys while we were traveling up the main channel.
We were priveleged to have Captain Jack Sparrow (aka Brady Bradley) on our family trip for the second year in a row.
No Nelson Lake Powell Crew would be complete without Voltron Darren Scothern. I am amazed that he wants to keep coming back year after year. This was his sixth consecutive year!
Sam brought Dustin Anderson and Nick Olsen.
Katherine invited Bailey Anderson and Jenna Olsen.

All in all it was a fantastic crew for our 2012 trip!

This year we got to the Marina, our car unloaded and the boat stocked in record time. We were chugging up...or down (whichever suits dad’s need for directional accuracy) the main channel by lunch time. Everyone was safely on board and the only thing that was left behind was a head of cabbage. Dad managed not to pull all of his hair out during the whole rigging adventure.

After motoring along for a while a reconnaissance crew, composed of Andrea, Brady, and Dad went ahead in the ski boat to scout out the camp sites. Mom was given the task of navigating the houseboat. Sam and Nick read the numbers of buoys to make sure we were on track while we slid through the water. This can be quite a challenging job. The buoys spin and bob. There is no guarantee that the numbers will be facing the right direction when you drive past them.

Finally Dad joined us in the main channel. He had left his two assistants to guard a perfect campsite while he came back to guide us in. There was a strong breeze blowing down the canyons which is never good for beaching the house boat. In all the times I remember being in Lake Powell I don’t think I’ve ever parked a house boat without the added excitement of at least a mild breeze.
Thick clouds were pierced by shafts of sunlight. Several torrential rain storms passed over us while we made our way to the campsite and parked the boat. The sun painted rainbows on the sheets of rain. Water poured like silver ribbons down the orange and red cliffs on either side of us. Lake Powell is always gorgeous, but this time it welcomed us with exceptionally breathtaking scenery.

Katherine and I were assigned to keep the ski boat out of the way while everyone else went through the stress of anchoring the house boat. We watched the process from a distance surrounded by alternating patches of rain and sunshine. When things looked fairly under control on the shore Katherine and I ventured over to dock the ski boat and help bury anchors.

After the stress of finding a campsite and anchoring the boat were over everyone settled quickly into the normal laid back routine of a week at Lake Powell. Time is calculated by everyone’s stomachs. We wake up to eat breakfast; head out on the Lake for some skiing, wake boarding, wake skating and knee boarding; come in for lunch when we’re hungry; take naps and play cards during the afternoon until our stomachs tell us it's time for dinner; after dinner we take the boat out for some tubbing or hit the card tables again. Some of us attempted to do some form of physical exercise. Tony led us all in a bit of P90X madness. Everyone hated it, but loved it! We discovered Aquatic P90X, which might be adopted into the Nelson Lake Powell traditions...as long as Brady is there to lead everyone through the grueling and sporadic workout.

Thinking about the limited nature of our Lake Powell activity list it is surprising to me that it is such a favorite vacation for everyone. There really isn’t much that we do once we get there…maybe that is the charm. Dad can’t load us into the car and take us on hot, seemingly never ending excursions to see olive factories or small Mexican markets. Actually, I think we all really like Dad’s crazy adventures. They provide lots of ammunition for stories. :)

Our week at Lake Powell seemed to fly by! It ended way too fast. I need everyone’s help. There is so much I could write about from this trip, but I want to include things that people want to read about. If anyone wants to add a story from this most recent Lake Powell trip please email it to me and I’ll post it. Or if you just want to suggest things for me to write about that would be great. Thanks!

Pictures will be posted shortly. :)

Today is a blog worthy one! As I was getting ready to leave work I received a call announcing one of the most exciting things since my sister had her baby on Wednesday. When I answered my cell phone a very Tony Hawkish voice belonging to a guy named Jon at Slim & Knobby's bike shop let me know that my bike is finally ready for action. As soon as five'o'clock struck I left work to retrieve my two wheeled beauty from the herald of cycling bliss. My body may have been sitting in the driver's seat of my car during the drive home, but my mind was cycling through the Red Wood forest. The past week has been an emotional roller coaster! I am learning to rely upon the Lord more than I ever thought possible. Getting my bike today was truly a tender mercy. I realized that I really have so much to be grateful for. Thinking about my summer filled with cycling joy I realized how grateful I am for legs...that work...and as an added bonus mine are fairly cute ones. They are strong and silky smooth...on the days when I feel like shaving them :) But perhaps the rarest and best part about my legs are the freckles. I used to hate freckles until my Grandpa informed me that they are angel kisses. If that is the case every angel in Heaven must line up when they see me in a swimming suit. :) I also realized today how grateful I am for Coconut Passion lotion and homemade buttermilk syrup!

(Disclaimer: This post is a draft. My “editor” is taking a while to review it so I decided to put up what I had. Stay tuned for the final post. J)

Spaghetti, salad, bbq spare ribs and pulled pork sandwiches are among the many foods which have been branded as "do-not-eat-on-a-date" foods. Sitting across from someone who is desperately trying to slurp a rogue piece of pasta or wrestle an uncooperative half head of romaine into their mouth can be a bit awkward. (After lunch today I decided to add curry rice bowls and teriyaki chicken tacos to the list. Basically, don't eat anything on a date that can't be sucked through a straw.)

Wait a minute…Who decided certain things should or shouldn’t be eaten on a date? Of course, everyone should want to make a good first impression on a date. Perhaps we are looking at these messy foods in the wrong light.  

There are times when we stand on the thresh hold between dignity and culinary greatness. Then a choice must be made. Do I stand safely in the realm of bland, easily eaten, easily forgotten food? Or do I throw caution to the wind and put my social life at the mercy of culinary genius? Standing over a pot of fragrant Southwestern Chicken Soup is one of these moments.

This elegant and simple soup is truly delicious on its own, but the devout gastronomic artist is never satisfied with just delicious. To them a steaming pot of soup is merely a beginning. Their mind begins to ask the question which has led to more culinary revolutions than any other, "How can I make this better?"

There are several ingredients which could come to mind...chips, sour cream, avocado...and cheese. Yes, cheese with its salty flavors and deliciously soft melted texture would be perfection...or so It would seem.

One of the wonderful properties of cheese is its willingness to melt. Without this miracle we would never enjoy things like quesadillas, nachos, or grilled cheese sandwiches...in short, the world would be a colder, darker place. However, so much melted goodness isn't for the faint hearted eater. Melted cheese has a mind of its own.

Handfuls of delicious cheddar cheese were dropped into the steaming soup. From the first spoonful it was apparent that melted cheese belongs on pizza or pasta and not in soup...if your need for dignity outweighs your pursuit of gastronomic greatness. When cheese is added to hot broth it quickly settles to the bottom of each bowl in a molten mass and is determined to stay there. Instead of being transported easily and cleanly into eager mouths the melted cheese will do its best to slide off the spoon and back into the bowl or onto the table cloth or down your chin...anywhere besides your mouth.

I feel a little bit awkward posting something about marriage…I am no expert on this subject, for sure! My friend asked me to post what she and I talked about so she could discuss it with some friends. J

My friend and I decided it is so ironic that the young adults of the church, who have the ultimate example of pure love and the key to happy marriage and family life, look to people who call lust love and can’t maintain healthy intimate relationships. We are tricked by the media into expecting things in a relationship instantly, things that can only be cultivated and earned through hard work, sacrifice, selflessness and commitment. Real lasting true love isn’t something that magically happens between two people. It is a gift that is given by Heavenly Father to those who draw close to Him and are willing to obey commandments and keep covenants.

We talked about some things that made me look at marriage in a whole new way. When we approach dating and finding someone to marry from the world’s perspective it can be a very competitive, selfish thing. Everyone is looking for the person who suits their needs best. I completely agree that people should look for someone who they are equally yoked with, someone with common long term goals and commitment to the gospel. However, sometimes I think we look for someone who will “make us happy.” Ultimately, we choose whether or not we are happy, regardless of who we marry. There are some situations that make being happy easier than others. Of course Heavenly Father wants us to be happily married.

I have realized more than ever that happiness in marriage is a combination of choosing an equal companion, with Heavenly Father’s help, and creating a happy marriage. It requires a lot of work. Happiness and love in marriage aren’t things that are magically present and if they are not you are out of luck. Couples must work together selflessly to create a happy relationship and home.

Realizing this has helped me see that the characteristics of kindness, patience, friendship, selflessness and charity are things that I need to develop and want in an eternal companion. If each person is more concerned about their spouse’s happiness than their own and are committed to Heavenly Father than a blissful marriage is definitely an attainable goal. When I look at guys who I date as a potential father of my children that helps me see more clearly what I should be looking for. When I view myself as a future mother that changes who I am trying to become.

My sisters have become hay bale bucking, barel racing, 4h dominating, cow castrating, milk maids! Everytime I go home I am amazed by their agricultural acumen.

On Sunday I had the rare and unforgettable treat of helping them milk Tess* and Zellie, their minature dairy cows. Wearing a pair of borrowed muck-out boots I followed Mary and Katherine out to the battered army green Kawasaki Mule. The girls, our black teacup pug Turk, and I jostled and bumped our way through the pasture to the milking pens.

From the time I was young my mother and hollywood have tenderly cultivated a romantic vision of farm life. I have often envisioned myself walking out the back door of my rural cottage-style home. Birds converse in the fruit trees and my feet brush through the cool dew laden grass as I stroll through my early morning sunkissed garden. After gathering the fresh earth colored eggs from under my sleepy snowy white hens I head out to the barn where gentle old bessy placidly waits for her morning milking.

Something anti-magical happens when events make the journey from the glimmering shrine of my imagination into the raw realm of reality. The Sabbath communion with my sister's travel sized dairy cows was a far cry from the pristine, soundtrack worthy scene from my mind. (I've often thought that life should be accompanied by a soundtrack. Something to make a mental note of for later...much later.)

Tempting Tess into the milking shoot with a bit of grain and a few flakes of hay, my sisters effortlessly squeezed streams of florecent white milk from the boarderline microscopic udder into a glistening child's sized milking pail. I felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, surrounded by munchkins and mini livestock . Turk watched us with a condecending look from the driver's seat of the mule.

Standing in our cow pasture on that cool September evening a wave of awe and respect for the dairymen and women of the world swept over me. Trying to make the frothy white milk flow from a cow's udder is nothing less than an act of magic. It requires a slight of hand and wrist that rivals anything Houdini every did. Mary and Katherine were only too eager to let me attempt this feat.

Words fail to describe the unpleasant sensation that shot through my hand the instant I grabed one of Tess' teats. Nothing from my imagined milking sessions with old bessy prepared me for anatomical reality. Luckily Tess wasn't offended by my reaction to her anatomy and the girls got quite a kick out of it. I was able to coax a couple drops of milk from that black softball-sized udder. Its a good thing I decided to stear clear of dairy farming as an occupation from an early age!

*This cow's name has been changed. I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how to spell her name in our modge podge language without success.

The pictures in this post were generously created and donated by Shayna Nelson.