Camping at Black Canyon of the Gunnison on the north rim is a peaceful experience – though the storms this time of year can be fierce. We rode a wind/hail/flash flood storm out for the first hour or so in camp. At first our handy awning gave us a front row seat to the gathering storm, but eventually it was no match for the elements and we retreated to the car to stay dry.

We got a little sample of what happens to everything liquid within sight of the rim of the canyon – water roiled in ditches through every part of the camp in a race to the edge of the canyon and over. Gravity chases the bottom, the Gunnison River, here and that is an ever-moving target.

The storm passed and we had a nice cool night on the rim, appreciating this narrow gorge and its power and beauty, but beginning to feel the pull ever eastward to home. Wandering through these special places is a powerful experience for us and it establishes us in a way. We know something of our own place more precisely with every trip. Home is different after these trips because of that. It is both richer and more defined in its role in our lives. To see the country’s wonders is to show in plain light the wonder of a good home.

We won’t make it home today. Kansas will have to do for the night. There still some wandering left to do – but we can feel home, we can see it with a slightly newer set of eyes, and we can begin to taste the next journey.