Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows there's this place with a really dumb name where my family goes every summer. It is arguably my favorite location in the world, which may or may not tell you a lot since I haven't really traveled, but regardless: Dinkey Creek (yep, there it is) is home.
My grandma's dad built a cabin (built; not bought) in Dinkey Creek a trillion years ago, so she spent her summers there as a kid. When her and my grandpa were "going steady," he started visiting Dinkey as well. Soon after they're married, having 7 kids, (my dad being #5), and lugging the entire family to Dinkey Creek year after year. Grandpa remodeled the cabin somewhere in that period, but don't let the word "remodel" trick you into thinking it's this grandiose building with all the amenities of cabins in...Tahoe. The walls are plywood, the stairs are dangerously steep (and that's after he re-did them, so I can only imagine what they were like before), the rooms upstairs are separated only by curtains...and everything about it is absolutely perfect.
So anyway, as Grandma and Grandpa's kids grew up and began having families of their own (that's where I come in!), a new group of Severins were introduced to Dinkey Creek, and the rest is history. My dad brought my mom to Dinkey when they were dating, my brothers and I have each been there since before we were actually born, and yada yada yada...it's just this weird and awesome and meaningful thing to our family.
Dinkey Creek is probably why I love the mountains so much. I've grown up rock-hopping and jumping off gorges and riding natural slides and going under waterfalls...this might be cheesy, but I don't really care: I feel alive when I'm there. And when I get back from Dinkey (this happens every year, so dumb), I am incredibly sad. I hate leaving. I hate coming back to reality. It takes awhile to readjust. But I guess when you've spent an entire week doing nothing but eating amazing food, laying in the sun, going on adventures, reading books, drinking coffee, sharing stories, hanging out with your family (this is like, the only week of the year my family and I are together for any extended period of time)...it's understandable being sad upon returning, right? Right.
There's this old saw mill we hike to every couple years, and since this year was only a few weeks after Jeremy and Jessie's wedding, Jessie's dad and brother drove up to visit. We took them to the saw mill and even though I've taken pictures and walked these grounds several times, it never gets old.
The sequence of events during the hike never vary much. We approach the saw mill, walk inside the saw mill, and immediately Sherman starts singing Italian opera (aka Josh Groban) at the top of his lungs, and it echoes all mightily and you can hear it from outside the structure, and he loves it. Like, borderline giddy.
What is it with men and their inability to take a serious picture?
Okay, Jeremy redeems it here. Da newlyweds.
Until next year, Dinkey Creek. Miss you already.