A heavy dread settles on my chest whenever we approach the Rocky Mountains. They are just so massive — so — so — formidable.
Nevertheless, I can't help but be impressed by the sheer size of them. There is no way my camera can do them justice. Also, I'm snapping these from our moving vehicle, through the window.
Scott can't resist telling, yet again, the story of his cousin Alex who came from England to visit and planned to walk through the mountain range from Banff to Jasper. As if he'd actually come out the other side ... no, no, only his bones would be found. If even those. Scott gets such a kick out of this, because obviously English mountain ranges are nothing like these.
At the end of the drive, in Kelowna, I get to see my littlest sister Joan and her family, and Dad and Grace, and our friends Roy and Gloria, and that's as many as we can comfortably fit in, in two days and three nights.
Can you tell Joan and I are sisters?
We spent hours on two afternoons sorting through Dad and Mom's photographs, as he is paring down his possessions and lightening his load.
