I‘m taking part in a 30-day writing experiment. The theme for me is “personal, not pretty.” See Kale & Cigarettes for details and the Facebook Group to read stories by other 500-words-ers.
In my ongoing quest to make the most of Utah, I bought a Groupon to something called “Ice CastlesTM” in a little podunk town called Midway that’s an hour east of here. I bought the tickets about a month ago, and had to commit to a date in advance, which is always a dicey prospect with twin babies whose schedules change constantly, my fluctuating workload as a freelancer, and Jon’s distaste for having a booked calendar.
So when the day came, it naturally wasn’t the best day for a major field trip. I was nanny-less, busy with work, and Jon was grouchy about not being able to ski. And lately, Phoebe has been tres fussy in the evening.
Nevertheless, we pushed on through and went to the Ice CastlesTM.
We drove up over Parley’s Summit, past Park City, through Heber, and deep into the hills of Midway, where we parked in a big ol’ lot and then walked into the event. “Event” is not really the right word. It’s basically like a big disco igloo full of kids. I’m not going to lie; it’s cheezball. But it’s a cheezball full of heart.
The dude who started Ice CastlesTM, Brent, (via the story on the website) came from California and, quote, “…wanted to do something exciting in the new found [sic] cold weather.” (Note to self: Contact Brent about hiring out my editing services to him.) SO naturally, he built a CASTLE MADE OF ICE in his back yard. Exactly what I would do. After, you know, first debating whether to even leave the house for the entire winter and then worrying that if I didn’t, I might get rickets from the lack of Vitamin D. Do you get rickets when you’re deficient in Vitamin D? Or is that scurvy? I forget.
Anyway, Ice CastlesTM (why is this plural?) was neat. We spent about 14 minutes there. It’s an ice castle. Got it.
Actually, the drive up was pretty phenomenal, though. It was a stunning dusky, mountainous sort of drive, and I wish I had gotten a good photo, although of course, it’s impossible to photograph an accurate depiction of a landscape at sunset. Cameras—particularly camera phones—just don’t see depth and the nuances of color the way our eyes do. The land was mostly shades of white, dotted with assorted black things—horses, fences, chimneys; the sky was a sublime pink; a low icy fog rolled over the fields. Ominous, poetic, contemplative, et cetera.
Also, the girls were fast asleep, and Jon and I were listening to my new favorite band: Phosphorescent. I love this band, but hate that their names makes them sound like something I discovered at a rave on the Playa. Bad naming job, guys. I have a reputation to protect.
The drive home was equally nice. We stopped in Heber at a decent restaurant called Spin Café and had beef brisket and a glass of wine. We sat in front of the fireplace; the girls were delighted the entire time. We fed them shards of meat like for-real carnivores—and broccoli, and beans. The ride home was, er, gassy.
