Celebrating Father’s Day in the Village of Radium Hot Springs
It rained last night. In the morning, a cold chill lingered until the misty air gave way to reveal blue skies. We cooked breakfast with sweaters on and steam rose from our coffees beside the reawakened fire. In the distance we watched the bighorn sheep on a ridge above us catching morning rays. We marveled with envy at their ambivalence to our presence below in the cold shadow.
Leisurely we ate a father’s day breakfast of fresh berries on pancakes with whipped cream and maple syrup. The bacon, cooked on our stove outside, was the cherry on top. Gifts from small children with no value except to the beholder and the giver were unwrapped. It was a good moment.
Dirt Biking. Young and Old. Skilled and beginner. We all participate. We drove the trucks up a seemingly random road only to find others of our kind at the cow pasture parking lot. Within minutes we are immersed among dry pines on single track with good soil. The dust permeates our being as the fine particles sift everywhere. The sun is bright and dominant now radiating heat and light. It’s time for the pool.
We arrive back at camp and lunch turns into an unexpected but opportune siesta on green grass and a lawn chair pillow. The pace of vacation time takes hold and we find our peace with it. This is the life.
Tricks are elevated as more of our group join the impromptu diving board competition spurned by ambitious eight year old boys. Three sixties, back flips and a few slaps are intertwined between young first timers getting coaxed off the edge. The fun goes on and on until it is backlit by the evening sun that sends a yellow light on the sprawling stone walls. It’s timeless sensation to look around and imagine the countless moments of enjoyment that have happened here.
The air chill peppers our wet skin and shaking lips lead to slow dashes to the hot pools. The warm water is striking against the cold and the adjustment is a sizzling expression of ahhhhs as we submerge ourselves in it. We lie back and look at the sheep far above and wonder how on earth they get up there.
Marshmallows by the campfire are the anti-routine. The sugar sends its spike through the recipients and long after the light has disappeared our little ones finally expire. Finally the adults have uninterrupted conversations over glowing ambers and hot drinks.
Blog written by @SummitCommunications