Last day of our little weekend jaunt. What is rotten about a weekend trip is that you get home Sunday night then have to hit real life again real hard on Monday morning. We thought for a split second about being practical and driving straight on home so we could get home at a decent hour tonight, but why start being practical now?
So instead we detoured to Dead Horse Point. Dan and the girls had never been before. I went once as a kid, and remembered it being impressive, maybe because my brother picked me up and dangled me over the edge, which I remember being a much more traumatic experience than he does. Probably because I was the one that was dangling. Anyhow, it is still beautiful and totally worth the drive.
Our second detour of the day was the Scofield Cemetery, to satisfy the history nerd in me. I just finished reading a book about the Scofield Mine disaster in 1900. It was written by Dan's aunt Carla Kelly. So when I saw the sign on the freeway pointing to Scofield, I knew we had to stop. It was cold and the cemetery is very neglected, but cool, and it was sad and fascinating to see row after row of old, weather beaten wooden headstones with the date of May 1, 1900.