Thursday, March 26 (continued)
“Let’s go to the hot springs!”
That gets the attention of the crew.
“C’mere, Reggie. You don’t need that sweater on. ”
I toss Bridget and Reggie into the Perfect Tow Vehicle, put their drink dish on the floor, and run inside the Best Little Trailer.
It’s noontime and the day is warming up nicely. I spread peanut butter on a slice of bread, squeeze honey on it from the plastic bear, slap another slice on top, grab a bottle of water, the camera, and a few other items, and we’re off to the hot springs!
On the way out of Dave Deacon Campground, I note that there still is no sign of the lost dog.
We bump along the washboard road west toward the Grant Mountains.
Then the road turns southward and I spy the rooftop of a restroom. Hmm . . . . I bet this is the place!
The road ends at a parking area next to the vault toilet house. It’s only a peanut-butter-and- honey sandwich away from the campground. (That’s one mile in standard measure.)
I park next to an opening in the fence.
I set the crew on the ground.
“C’mon, doodleheads. . . . I want to see where this trail goes.”
A very short walk and there it is!
The hot springs pool!
This is exciting for me!
I’ve never seen hot springs before, let alone soaked in any. The first thing I notice is how clear the water is. In the photo below the water is about four feet deep, yet the sandy bottom can be seen perfectly.
With the crew on-leash I kneel and dip my hand in the water. Oh, lovely! This feels like water drawn for a bath! (The wildlife management area’s website says it’s 90 degrees.)
I give the crew a little time to explore before taking them back to the PTV.
“Oh boy, this is gonna’ be fun!”
I make sure there’s water in the crew’s dish, crack the windows, grab my things, and lock up the PTV.
I don’t own a swimsuit. I’m wearing a black tank top, knee-length jeans, and my waterproof KEEN sandals. I have a towel and a de-tangler comb for my hair.
I set my glasses, keys, towel, and comb on a rock and slide into the pool.
“Oh my gosh! This is so nice! I LOVE this!”
The water comes to my shoulders. By crouching a bit I’m submerged to my chin in delicious warmth. Aaaahh. This is heaven.
I hold my nose and shut my eyes. Under I go, wiggling my head to swirl my hair. I swim from one end of the pool to the other. I doggie-paddle. I float. I crouch-march with only my head out of the water.
After a while I stop playing and look around, listening. . .
The pool is edged with rocks. Upstream and downstream the banks are lined with a thick growth of reeds and dry grass.
No one is around.
It being afternoon, the birds are quiet. Acres and acres of sage. The only people are a few guys fishing quietly somewhere way off.
I wave my arms through the warm water, sweeping forward and back, like a butterfly unfolding its wings to leave the cocoon. The silken warmth caresses my arms. I relax.
I can’t believe how wonderful this is! The warmth, the naturalness, the desert all around, the snowy peaks of the mountains, the perfect silence, heavenly . . . .
Just then a frog downstream croaks and I laugh.
I laugh and I laugh and I laugh. I look up at the cloudless sky, a great dome of blue, and I laugh.
How did I get to this glorious place? Gee, the times I’ve envied those who had swimming pools and here I am in a pool all my own, the perfect temperature, natural . . .
Suddenly my laughter turns to sobs. With warm water up to my chin and wet hands over my face, I cry and cry . . .
The frog croaks and sobs melt into laughter again.
“Thank you, God. Thank you! Thank you for everything you’ve given me!”
I shut my eyes, hold my nose, and let myself fall backwards and under. Rising into a float, I look up at the sky again and vow never to forget this moment, the soothing warmth enveloping me, the wonder and joy of being here.
I comb my wet hair and soak a while longer.
Okay, now to get out. In a minute . . . Well . . . better go back to the crew. . . The air is about 70 degrees. I’ll grab the towel and make a run for it.
I hoist myself onto the rock, grab my stuff and take off, scrubbing my hair with the towel as I go.
Gee, no shock of cold. Oh boy, I’m going to come here every day. . . I love it!
I reach the parking lot.
I’m not going into that ol’ toilet house. Nobody is here. I can see if someone’s coming a mile off by their dust plume across the desert . . . .
I open the driver’s side door of the PTV, tuck the towel in the slightly opened window to form a screen. Standing with the door open and facing the seat, I whip off my wet top. Before I can slip the sweatshirt over my head, Reggie spies an opportunity.
Two of them actually . . . .
He jumps onto the driver’s seat and zeroes in on my right breast.
“Reggie! Get away, you little devil!” I laugh, pushing him off the driver’s seat. “I’m not yo’ mama!”
The sweatshirt feels oh-so-good. I tuck the towel across the seat, and climb in with wet jeans and squishy sandals.
Soon we’re bumping along on the washboard road back to camp.
rvsue
NOTE: Normally I don’t write about things of a religious nature on my blog because of my diverse readership, and I discourage religious discussion in comments in consideration of everyone.
I bent that rule for this post because my gratitude is an important part of the story of this day. I’ll bend the rule for you in comments, too, if you want to respond to the spiritual portion of this post. However, please no preaching, long Bible passages or testimonials. Brevity is the key! Thank you. Sue
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Thank heaven for nap time
