Summer hours.

Tonight, we went up Millcreek cabin to build a fire, roast hot dogs and make s'mores and check things out:



It was my daughter's idea. We had a fine time--D was ecstatic about throwing rocks in the river, ate his s'more but not a hot dog, and, in the end, could not be persuaded that leaving the river was a good idea. A small, strategic sucker placated him:



So, it was the historian and me; my daughter, her husband, the boy who liked to throw stones in the river, and their little dog; and my son and his wife as well as this charming young man:



I'm deliberately not focusing on the part where one of the cars (not ours) spontaneously combusted, necessitating a tow back down the canyon. It was a lot of fun to hang out with a little guy by the banks of a creek, helping him find small stones and enjoying his joy as he hurled them into the river, watching the dog try to conceptualize a running creek by snapping at it, and feeding a little watermelon to the baby. Then we put out the fire and went home.