No, I didn’t travel to New Zealand, but you know where I did go? Washington, as in the state, not D.C. like I did last year. Which reminds me, why is it that when I say I’m vacationing in Washington, people look at me like they’re waiting for me to finish my sentence? For example:
Person: Oh, you’re going on vacation! How exciting. Where to?
Person: *lifts eyebrows and blinks expectantly*
Me: *sighs* The state of Washington.
Let’s all pull out our world atlases and look at the United States. See Washington? It’s Washington, right? Not the State of Washington? Can you find Washington, D.C.? If I was going to Washington, D.C., I swear on my life I would add the D.C. part right after I said Washington. Okay, /rant. I’m usually sooooooooooo easy-going, but that makes me want to light my face on fire.
Anyway. Let’s move on to the actual vacation. We flew out of the Denver International Airport, and let me tell you something: If going through security before made me feel kind of guilty, like maybe I was hiding something and I didn’t even know it, now it makes me feel like I’m definitely a terrorist. Security makes you walk through a new scanner thingy where you have to raise your arms over your head like you’re about to be arrested. Guess what? It beeped when I walked through. The buckle on the back of my shorts was made of metal, and I completely forgot about it. So I had to be patted down while I turned fifty shades of red.
Yes, I understand the point of increased security. I really do. But if I had taken that buckle off, my shorts would have fallen to my ankles and everyone would have seen my granny panties. No fun for anyone.
Okay, back to the vacation part. My parents were the reason I was vacationing in Washington, and my BF reminded me why I’m definitely their daughter. My parents are hobbits, you see. They live to eat, but neither are overweight. They live in a cozy home with a fireplace and walls full of bookshelves. They go a lot of places, but they prefer to stay at home with their books and cheeses and cakes. They don’t, however, have big hairy feet. Yep. I’m definitely my parents’ daughter.
Oh, and we also went to Mordor. It was a perilous journey full of climbing, hiking, dodging snakes, and following the leprechaun to a patch of four leaf clovers. You might think I’m kidding, but I’m really, really not.
I didn’t get a picture of the snake because I was too busy running away, in case you were wondering.
Okay, so we weren’t really going to Mordor. We were actually in Wallace, Idaho, which is close to where my parents live. The largest forest fire in the history of the United States swept through this small town and destroyed a third of it in 1910. Wallace resident and forest ranger Edward Pulaski saved thirty-eight men from the fire by leading them to safety into an old mine. The path we walked winds around the above stream and leads close to the mine. On the way there, we saw towering trees with black marks scorched right up the sides of them.
We also visited Manito Park in Spokane, Washington. It was gorgeous.
Since I come from a family of hobbits, it should come as no surprise that we ate. A lot.
It was so much fun to visit with my parents, but because I’m a hobbit, I also enjoyed coming home.
Have you gone on any summer adventures? Do you know where any hobbits live?