What a Girl Needs

My parents came to visit last week.  They come every summer for one week.  Sometimes we rent a place in the mountains, and other years we have a stay-cation.  This year we stay-cationed.  Since we are new residents to Parker, we decided it would be fun to show off our favorite town.

We spent a day shopping on Mainstreet, eating lunch at Portofino Pizza.  We took long walks on the Cherry Creek Trails and through the neighborhood.  We went to watch horse lessons, and dance practices.  We shopped some more.  And ate out some more.  We enjoyed meals on the deck, and sunset dips in the hot tub.

And then I had this brilliant idea to venture on a hike through Castlewood Canyon–a local state park.  I’ve hiked through the canyon before with no issues.  I knew my parents were in good shape, and I was certain it would be a nice memory to create.

It was. Memorable indeed.

As with any trail system, there are landmarks along the way.  I’ve gone the same way every time I’ve hiked there.  So when we got to the stairs, and I use the word “stairs” loosely.  They are more like uneven, dirt steps that park rangers probably carved out long ago.  I knew when we reached that landmark, we had a little less than half-way to go until we were back at the parking area.

We made our way down the steps and to the big boulders at the bottom, where a nice stream was trickling through.  It was a beautiful site.  We continued on.  And that was when I realized we should have continued up instead of straight ahead.

I pulled out the park map.

“Um, I think we needed to take that other trail, but don’t worry I know that we can get back on it.”

At least I hope so.

And that’s when it happened.  My dad must have sensed my hesitation. And being the only male in the group that day, he took the lead.  He could see the trail ahead.  It would take some fancy maneuvering, and possibly some rock climbing, but we were up for it—with him in the lead.

We slowly made our way out of the bottom of the canyon.  Izzy was first to reach the trail.  And she was the first to whip around and run into my arms in a panic.

“A snake, a snake.  A huge snake,” she yelled between sobs.

I saw it too.  A rather large, striped, six-foot long, snake, coiled in the middle of the path—two feet in front of us.  Yuck.  By that point he was very aware of our presence and striking a pose with his head held high.  I briefly remembered the warning signs around the park for rattle snakes.

Dad went in for a closer look and assured us it wasn’t a Rattler.  Whew.  But it was still a snake.

Brave me had checked out by this time, and been replaced by panicked me who was completely frozen.  The only way out was to go around the snake.

My dad assessed the situation.  Being the courageous father he is, he stood on a large boulder, and with one eye on the snake, helped each of his ladies up and around the scary beast below.

Several feet later, and a safe distance away, we breathed a sigh of relief.  We had made it!  On with the rest of the hike.  This time with a keen awareness of our surroundings—especially the ground beneath us.

I learned something that day.  As much as my husband is now the leader in my life and the protector of our family, my dad will always hold an equally special place in my life too.

What a girl needs?  Her dad.  Always.