A once in a lifetime adventure lay before my eyes on the atlas. I traced the tangle of colored lines trying to choose another exit or a continued route on I-29 along the Nebraska and Iowa line. My husband smiled while he waited for me to find and give the directions he requested. His smile seemed to assure me that the map had not changed since the last time I searched our travel route toward an anticipated destination in the Rocky Mountains.

The rugged south Missouri terrain back in our home state had eventually stretched out flat and wide many miles before it revealed high bluffs trimming the Missouri River at the farthest reaches of the state. Expectations were high as we made our way toward a backdrop of western countryside that would eventually lead to the Rockies. When we approached the edge of the Missouri map a few hours before a more pressing sense of disclosure overcame me and I announced, "I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more."

Picturesque Iowa wheat fields rolled gently along an expanse of endless waves and rose to meet the blue June sky. It was sometime before we reached the interstate exit where we would turn across the state of South Dakota. Just as we crossed into that state, the Missouri River skirted the highway and we hardly watched the road as speed boats and water skiers skimmed along the waterway beside our truck.

Beautiful lush green hills rolled on and on with the favor of cattle grazing everywhere. Close-set hills were like a softer rounded version of the mounded banks of Missouri’s strip mines that have long since filled with water.

Scattered few and very far between were small towns. This would not have been a good place to run low on fuel or need a hotel. People populated less of these expansive farm lands than cattle. Occasionally farm houses and ranches sprawled unexpectedly in this otherwise empty country. Beautiful. Untouched. I now understand a much greater appreciation for the term, ‘A lonely stretch of road.’ We felt weary from traveling but every new sight we encountered was welcome.

I once thought I would like to live in the rugged state of Wyoming, but I have an affinity for lots of trees and at least six months of green vegetation. I love the beautiful open country dotted with the butte but I could never be at home in Wyoming. A haunting beauty covers the isolated rock formations and eerie crags. The breathtaking views brought my camera out more than once as we browsed that state. The most difficult part of our journey was battling strong wind gusts while trying to drive upon a lonely high plateau somewhere north of the Colorado line.

Clouds pressed together in distinct layers blocking our view of the Colorado Rockies about the time we were finally close enough to see the mountains. We traveled another fifteen miles before we discovered the truth about the illusion of clouds before us. As we gazed into the shadows of the distant front range of the Rocky Mountains, we wondered at the increasing size and number of peaks ahead.

Five something in the evening we drove through Big Thompson Canyon. I was astonished at the color of the rock and the obliquely fallen appearance of these huge cliffs. As if the height they now claimed wasn't enough it was obvious they had long since fallen sideways into their current position from an unbelievably higher stance. The ruddy reddish brown glory of the exposed rock face seemed to come alive in its indescribable sunlit glow. My digital photos of this experience lack the translucent color and life that the raw rock had as the setting sun washed upon it. My response to this magical God made vision of grandeur was, "This is just too wonderful for me!" The sheer beauty of the light playing on the walls that stood hundreds of feet above on either side brought me to tears. I don’t see how anyone could see any part of the countryside that God designed and doubt His creativeness and omnipotence.

People fished from the river at the base of the mountain. I had an impulse to stop right there and sample the feel of rushing water beneath my fishing pole. The quaint cabins and resorts perched beneath rock overhangs at the roadside advertized the best fishing, cheapest rates, etc. Upstream Estes Park, Colorado greeted us with more exclusive cabins and vacation experiences. Shops and restaurants overflowed with people. Estes Park made a charming setting that brought us back to town later for treats and a walk through the specialty shops. Due to the shortness of time we had to press on seeking a place where we would camp for the night.

Just a few hours before darkness fell, we entered the Rocky Mountain National Park, bought our pass and inquired about the best camp for seeing wildlife. The mountain passes were cleared of snow just as we had hoped. We drove toward the top of the peaks and meandered up along tundra slopes all the while ever so close to the edge. Roadside overlooks and vistas invited us for a closer look. Elk at the roadside beckoned us closer than our good sense should have allowed. At the summit gnarled and twisted trees writhed into painful wind sculptures. They were hundreds of years old and yet they stood only a few feet high. We drove past each camp ground and then circled back to the one of our choice to set up camp for the night.

Let me stop here for just a moment to make my point. We are tent campers. We like the whole experience of camping outdoors and waking to the sounds of nature. Sure an RV is more comfortable and the more adept hard core campers sleep out under the stars. Nevertheless, we are satisfied to pitch a tent, build a cook/camp fire and rough it. We considered a camping trip to Yellowstone but friends warned us away from pitching a tent among the grizzly bears. Reassured of our safety we chose a campsite but pondered the situation again when we read the rules concerning food storage to keep bears away.

Lodgepole Pines sheltered our camp site. Small gray rodents squealed and flitted from branch to branch above us as we set up our tent. Groups of boy scouts had successfully raised their dome tents and were huddling near the cold stream watching their mates fish for trout. We started a fire and grilled burgers before donning sleeping bags and layers of warm clothing. We worried for the warmth of our child in her sleeping bag layers but we soon snuggled her in and her soft rhythmic breathing was a reassuring sign of a cozy uneventful night. In the early hours the sound of bugling elk awakened us. When I stepped out of the tent, a cow elk accompanied by her calf was casually sauntering up the rough hillside across from our encampment. The western sun rose to warm the day for us while we waited near the fire watching our breakfast bacon and cooking eggs to go with our coffee.

Crowds gathered to watch the elk herds just off the road. My family passed the moment by and headed back the mountain to get another look at the tundra and hidden mountain lakes. The bears sighted in the upper portion of the park had moved on before we arrived to see them but we walked right into a rare pond side appearance of a young bull moose. The underwater foraging of the moose left moss waddles swaying from his lower jaw. He gave no attention to the crowds watching from the bridge above and we stared in amazement until we felt an urge to explore a new wonder.

By midmorning we found ourselves hiking a trail across the Great Divide. Walking up into the cold mountain forest we spent time photographing elk and stepping across the stones by the waters edge. When the passage between the river and the rock ledge became too narrow and slippery for our comfort we held hands and made our way toward the flat open meadow below. Giggling, our child eyed us because we were still holding hands long after we returned to the safety of the trail. It had warmed up by 10:30 and then later in the afternoon the usual daily rain storm set in.

Close lightning strikes and approaching storm clouds frightened me. Electricity flashed before our eyes on the road ahead. The thick white clouds enveloped us during the beginning of the storm. Later we could not see beneath us at the top most point of the mountain. The clouds were two feet below us at the place where there ‘should’ have been a guard rail. Oh for just a few moments we were daredevils. This time when I looked down at my hand I found my daughter clenching it tightly in her own. Our lives passed so close to the edge and then a moment later the clouds that obstructed our vision dissipated. The road was still there. Talk about a road trip. We were literally on the Rocky road trip of a lifetime. I was on top of the world. Never could I have imagined the raw beauty and incredible experience that these mountains brought to me. They moved me to tears at their majesty and my joy in the Lord reached the peak of the mountain before I did.

Treed hills and ravine throughout my native Ozarks have often lured me from Missouri across the Arkansas state line for scenic road trips and camping. Feelings of joy have always overpowered me when I am deep in the wooded regions of the Ozark Mountains. It is a place and a state of mind that I miss when I am far from the southern region of this state. Nothing in my past Ozark experiences could have prepared me for the mountain country of the Colorado Rockies. For a moment I compared the two as I watched the tiny ribbon of the Colorado River far beneath me. I thought of how these Rocky Mountain ridges made my favorite Ozarks scenery seem like stepping stones.

I am changed from my experience in the Rocky mountains. My thoughts and impressions slightly altered by the days and nights surrounded by something much bigger than I. Was it the moment I stood at the edge of the Continental Divide skipping smooth stones into the Colorado River? Maybe it was the wonder of stepping close to an enormous bull elk resting beneath the trees of Never Summer Forest. I think it was simply the awe of seeing Gods fingerprints upon the mountains and being filled with the joy of praise for Him there.