St. George: In Which I Inadvertently Herd Some Cows

I said the waterfalls were my favorite thing about this trip, but I think maybe the house we stayed at was actually my favorite. Maybe it's because even though I love traveling, I also just like being at home. And staying at a rental house is like being home…but a more interesting, more exciting home than our usual home. The picture above is looking over the road down into Gunlock. So remote and beautiful!

I wasn't sure how it would be staying so far away from St. George (we were 35-40 minutes away, I think). There are a zillion rentals closer to town; condos, even some with pools…but they all look the same and you know I always like staying somewhere with a yard…and places to explore…and somewhere for the kids to play…. Anyway, we settled on this place and it was even BETTER than I anticipated.

Here is one of the cinder cones in Veyo, which is the neighboring town to Gunlock. This is not the one we hiked up. We called this one "ours" because we could see it from our house.

A number of entries in the guest book mentioned how "surprisingly good" the pie shop in Veyo (one of about…oh…five? businesses in that tiny town) was. We tried the pies and agreed! The one on the left is a "Veyo volcano" pie with chocolate and caramel layers. Super yummy. And the one on the right was even better—sour cream lemon! I love a good sour cream lemon pie.

The house itself is on a huge ranch. We met the owners and they are SUPER NICE. They said we could wander anywhere we wanted as long as we closed the gates behind us so no cows would get out! 

The boys put up their hammocks on the porch.

There were so many animals! The children were in heaven, especially Ziggy, who is very big on making animal sounds these days. We saw—let's see—cows, horses, dogs, bats, bunnies, frogs, lizards, wild turkeys, and lots of birds.

There was a baby horse too.

This tiny frog (and his two friends) made little chirpy croaking sounds in a little pond outside our bedroom door every night. We loved it! You can't see just how tiny he is. He was only as big as a beetle! I didn't even know frogs could BE that tiny! The ones we have at home in our lake are big, and make low humming croaking noises very different from this guy's cute croaks.

This sort of shows his size. As big as a thumbnail! Or smaller!

There was a stream running through the property, with those dramatic lava-black cliffs behind. SO beautiful. And the stars at night!! I couldn't IMAGINE there possibly being as many stars as I remembered, once we were back home again.

There was a trampoline, which was a huge hit with the children—

and a playground—

and even a little playhouse! Ziggy loved it. I was overcome with the cuteness of it all.

And there were the friendliest dogs ever. Even my apprehensive kids couldn't find a way to be scared of them. When Junie hurt her knee on the trampoline and was sitting on the grass crying, this dog went up to her, snuggled into her arms, and licked away her tears! I couldn't believe he'd be so sweet to someone he barely even knew.

My very favorite thing was going running in the mornings. The ranch itself is huge—I can't remember how big he said it was. 1000 acres, I think? So there was tons of space to run, and all kinds of inviting trails to explore. Abe and I ran together one of the days, and alone on the others. Sebastian is in cross-country this year, so he was out running on his own too. It was fun to compare notes on our runs.

I passed by these cool old carriages one day.

Another day, I ran along the bottom of a little ridge for awhile, and then up a long steep hill (I was dying, of course) and then I was on top of the world to see the sun rise! It was amazing!

You can see that cinder cone in the distance.

I saw a family of wild turkeys—parents and babies, I assume. Cute!

Looking down into the narrow valley

There was a bridge to cross the stream.

It wasn't the…er…most reputable-looking bridge. A little scary, in fact. But cars clearly crossed it, so I hoped that it would hold me too! It did.

The last morning of our trip, I was treated to this beautiful sky as I headed out. I usually don't bring my phone on runs, but everything was SO beautiful here, I kept taking it with me, and I was so glad I did!

As I rounded this little pond, I saw a cow looking at me. This far-off picture does not capture the intensity of her gaze. I could see that behind her was a large herd of cows—maybe thirty of them. All standing there on the trail. Looking at me. I slowed and then stopped. I seriously considered googling "Are cows mean?" on my phone.

I wondered if I should turn back—I didn't want to cause any trouble with the cows! Or for them to cause any for me. Ha! I don't know anything about cows or how to treat them! But this way was the prettiest way I'd found to run, and I wanted to keep going. So I walked verrrrry slooooooowly closer. As I approached, the "head cow" (as I had begun to think of her) suddenly wheeled around and started to run—and all the other cows started running too! It made quite a noise. They were mooing, some of them, too. I didn't even know cows COULD run! They seem like such slow, placid creatures. 

I followed—tentatively. I was hoping they would turn down and go back into their field where they had always been before. But it was not to be. They just kept running along the road! After a few minutes they slowed and began to walk again, and I kept slowly running along behind them. When I got close, the head cow mooed her signal, and they started off again, running.

This went on for some time, me seized with remorse for disturbing the morning's bucolic peace, but unsure what to do about it. I guiltily herded the poor cows for nearly a mile, while they ran and walked and ran and made mildly reproachful mooing sounds. I felt ridiculous, harrying them along like that! Who did I think I was, a sheepdog? To make matters worse, one cow, separated from the group, nearly gave me a heart attack by running breathlessly up behind me, and I didn't know how singleminded she was going to be in rejoining the others (would I be merely an obstacle in the way for her to trample?!), but she swerved off the path and went up the steep hillside to avoid me, which was a relief but also made me feel even guiltier. For putting her to all that trouble.

Finally the road turned as we reached another field, and the cows ran into it joyfully, while the head cow returned to her favorite pastime of staring me down. I was so relieved! It was a nice green field. Surely they would be happy here. Surely they wouldn't resent me for imposing upon them their most active morning in years? Surely they wouldn't look after me with baleful glares and bitterness in their cowish hearts?

After a couple more miles, I doubled back, feeling a bit on edge (there were other cows to pass by, and horses, and at this point who KNEW what might happen!), but still overwhelmed by the beauty of my surroundings. It made me wish I could run in this beautiful area every day! 

We had been delighted by Bunny Sightings during this whole trip, especially in the mornings and evenings, and the morning of the Cow Incident I had seen five bunnies on my run. When I got back near the house, I saw three more all at the same time! I thought it was only two, but then one hopped out from behind a bush. I took a picture and was excited to show the kids and report my new record (previous record being only three bunnies).

When I showed Sebastian the picture of three bunnies in one place, he said, "Four." 

"No, there are the two on the dirt, and one behind the cactus," I said. 

"There are three in the dirt," he said.

"That other thing is a rock," I said.

But we zoomed in on it—and he was right! It was another bunny. Looking just like a rock. That makes NINE bunnies that morning! Must have been my lucky day.

There was a little picnic area about a quarter-mile from the house, with a firepit and two teepees! The girls played Pioneers and Little House on the Prairie there, of course. Teddy would have joined them, but he had a fever off and on for the last couple days, and all he wanted to do was sleep—poor lamb. He hiked out to the teepees one afternoon and then started to cry because he was so COLD, and because of the sand and rocks on the trail that were too hard to walk on, and so his sisters took turns carrying him back home. Which was very Pioneerish, after all.

And the reward for everything—the 98-degree days, the dusty hikes, the sand in the hair, the cuts from the lava rock, the hot and sticky clothes and shoes covered with dirt—was the blessedly cool water of the swimming pool when we got back "home." It was heaven.

Really, we could have spent the entire trip right here and been completely happy. But all the other stuff made it even better.

Such a beautiful, serene spot. (When not unintentionally herding cows, of course.) I tried to go back (in my head) to this spot by the river, a few weeks later as the dental hygienist scraped away at my teeth. It's one of those places you long to return to—even while fearing it can't possibly be as good as it is in your memory.