Lots of people read the Love notes from our Creator

October 9, 2016

On a recent Sunday afternoon, we picked up my Mom and drove the Alpine Loop. Several friends had mentioned that it was the place to go for fall color in these parts, so we decided to give it a try. When my mom was being courted by Bud Arnold, he invited her to drive the Alpine loop on a date. She got a little sentimental when we found the spot where they parked their car and got out to breathe in the spectacular vistas.

Personally, the thought of driving that narrow, winding, cliff-side road with Bud Arnold is enough to shiver-me-timbers. Bud was a great man and I grew to love him. But I’ve never been more scared for my life than when I drove (on level highways and streets) with Bud Arnold.

Most of Utah residents were out on the Alpine loop that Sunday.  There was almost a steady stream in both directions like a gigantic snake slithering among the timber. We drove from the south to the north, which seemed a little less crowded. The line of cars waiting at the mouth of American Fork Canyon was almost a mile long. A ranger was metering the flow somewhat.

The Loop runs between Provo Canyon, up past Sundance, winding through Aspen and fir and then slithers down American Fork Canyon. Much of the way, laughing streams gurgle beside the road.img_6216

And it was truly so amazingly lovely that I decided that if Jeff failed to navigate the next turn and we plunged to our death, there wouldn’t be much change between where we left this earth and Paradise.

 

This earth is glorious and beautiful!

 

 

 

 

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This aspen grove has a crooked trunk gene. I’d never seen that feature before.

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We stopped the car for this vista. I don’t know why they’re such low resolution when I put them on the blog.

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This is the view from the parking lot where Mom and Bud stopped to gawk at the scenery on one of their first dates.

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1 Comment

  • Reply Nellie Fuller October 9, 2016 at 5:22 pm

    Such a lovely story and breathtaking scenery! I love hearing about your Mother.

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