Somehow from someone at some point in raising us kids my parents got the idea Lake Powell would be a cool place to hang with your family.
So they did some research and decided to pack us up and head down to that gorgeous place.
I think part of their research involved the realization that renting a houseboat would be way cheaper on the off-season. So they thought, “why not go for Easter?”
So we did.
And we loved it so much it became a tradition.
Now, I will tell you from experience that Lake Powell is not a place you want to leisurely swim and ski in March or April. It is a giant pool of ice water.
I’ll also tell you from experience that it knocks your breath right out when you jump into it from the top of the houseboat.
And in the mind of a teenager/kid getting your breath knocked out by doing something daring like that kind of rocks.
We didn’t have a ski boat anyway. We were all about the ambiance. And the card games. And the being together.
I wish I had been into photography back then.
I wish I had gorgeous pictures of the sunsets against the red cliffs.
Or the day our houseboat got stuck on a rock one year and we had to wait and wait for a giant tug-boat to come pull us off.
Or when my 10-year-old brother almost hit a cliff while driving the boat.
I wish Elle could make up one of her little wing-dinger videos of us listening to our “Big River” sound track and climbing up big huge walls of red sand.
And I also wish I had a better memory to remember everything.
And the fact that I already wrote some of the highlights of this part of 110 toes back here.