Reflections and Memories of my father - "Bud" Johnson

I spent an enjoyable evening of dinner and conversation last night with Karl and Amy White.  I knew Karl in his late teen years and this was an opportunity to spend a quality evening sharing memories as well as current events in our lives. It was also a time to get to know Amy at a deeper level.  Part of our conversation focused on our fathers and the quality people they were / are.  I want to use this blog to share some of my memories and learnings from my father, Bernard H. Johnson, known as "Bud" in his adult life.  I have added a picture taken last night of Karl, Amy, and myself.

My father was a quality man and an engaged father.  I often knew, as we did things together that I wanted to do, that he was doing them for me, and to provide time for us to be together. I valued those times and have always valued those memories. I have three particular memories of the ethical and moral character of my father, that often influence my life and my decisions, even at this point in my life.

1.  "Don't Pay Too Much for your Whistle":  It must have been a time when I wanted something that I really didn't need, or couldn't afford.  I don't remember what, but I remember Dad told me the story of Benjamin Franklin when he was a child.  He had seen a whistle in the local general store that he really wanted and he had collected all the money he could find and gave it all to the clerk for the whistle.  Benjamin went out of the store blowing his whistle and continued to blow the whistle when he arrived at his home.  He managed to irritate his mother and father in his home and eventually became bored with his expensive whistle.  Benjamin learned from this experience and advice from his mother that he had, "Paid Too Much for his Whistle".

I googled the whistle story and Ben Franklin and found it almost as Dad had told me.  Without any other persuasion from my Dad, I chose to not buy the item at that point, and have often thought of the message of the story when I was about to "Pay Too Much ---for my 'Whistle'".

2.  Selling my used Comic Books:  Dad and I had walked down town in the little Eastern Oregon community where we lived and where I grew up - Ontario, Oregon.  I was a lover of comic books and had brought several with me to sell to a street vendor who would pay me 5 cents each for my used 10 cent comic books.  Dad waited across the street as I completed my transaction.  As I crossed the street, I looked at the money and said, "Dad, the man made a mistake.  He paid me too much for my comic books."  Dad made some comment  asking what I thought I should do about that.  I walked back across the street and told the man what had happened and gave him the money he over paid me.  Wow, how many times have events like that happened in my life.  I walked out of a grocery store the other day with an item in my pocket that I had put there out of carrying convenience and then forgot to pay for it.  As I reached for my keys I found the item.  There was no question in my mind as to what I should do.  Thanks, Dad.

3.  The Money Owed on the Cow: We lived on a small acreage when I was in my teens and had cows.  My responsibility was to milk the cows morning and evening.  Dad had bought one of his cows from an older man whom we knew from our church.  A few months later, the man, in a move of desperation, had taken his life.  Dad still owed him about half the purchase price of the Cow and only the man knew that.  I watch my father struggle with that fact and then go to the man's surviving spouse to pay her what was owed.

Dad and Mom were school teachers, having met at Albion Normal Teachers College in Idaho.  In the early years of my life, Dad had left teaching and was transitioning into a position as a fieldman for the Amalgamated Sugar Company.  During a year of transition he managed a Mexican labor camp on the banks of the Snake River in Weiser, Idaho.  We lived in a tent for most of a year.  It was an exciting adventure for my sister Donna and I.  Dad had arranged for a horse that we could ride, and the mexican laborers were always giving us candy and bringing stolen chickens to my mother.  I think my mother's memories of that partial year were probably not quite as positive as mine.

I was five years old and started my first year of school while we lived in the camp.  
The picture above is of Donna and me on that first day. Not sure what happened to me on my horse.  Dad wrote a poem that day, as he often did around the events of our lives.

                    OUR TASK

We tucked him in his bed last night, and found his dolly there
Beside him on the pillow, both asleep without a care.

These two have been together as good buddies ought to be
As shipmates to the Land of Nod, upon the dewy sea.

Full many a night they've steered their course, in fair and stormy weather,
And, though their ship has been near wrecked, they've sailed it home together.

Today, we sense a change in him; he's spent a day at school.
He's lost a bit of babyhood; he's learned his first hard rule.

It's difficult to see him start to change from babe to boy,
To place a task within the hand that's always held a toy.

But still, we will not change him course, not even if we can.
Instead, we'll pray, "Dear Father, help our boy become a man."

                                                   Bernard H. (Bud) Johnson - my father
                                                                                        September 1943

One day, about 17 years ago, Sharen had gone to Los Angeles to participate in
a Special Olympics Basketball State of California event at the UCLA Basketball Center,
that Jody,our oldest daughter was playing in as she began a long and continuing involve-
ment in Special Olympics in California.

I was home alone, so for me, that always means that my musical instruments are 
out and I play, sing, and write more -- without intruding on the space of another.
I was playing my guitar and singing - probably singing one of the old songs that
Dad used to play on his old National Guitar.  I had this strange sense, this sensation that someone else was with me  -- and ended up writing the poem below.

                    A FAMILIAR VOICE

Listen, there's that voice again,   And there it is -- again
     And --------- ah, ah, --- again.

It sounds so familiar - particularly when it's singing.

I know -- It's Dad's voice!  Dad?  Dad?  Is that you?

But you've been gone from this earth -- for -- 26 years

I've missed you -- so much
I've wanted to share my adult life -- with you.

I've wanted -- to talk to you -- about Mom  and -- the two of you.
I've wanted you to help me -- help me understand my relationships.
     Help me know God.

I've wanted to sing with you -- to play guitars with you --
For my children to know you -- and love you -- Like I did -- and do!

So -- why are you back -- now?  Why is your voice here?
     Where is it coming from?

Oh Wow! -- It's not your voice, is it?  Well, I mean -- it's not really your voice.
It's mine!  The singing is coming out of my mouth.  
     It's my voice -------- but it's yours!

I was thirty one when you left.  Now I'm fifty eight - and you're back.

Now I can sing with you.  Now I can play guitar with you.
     Now I can harmonize with you.

What a great gift -- for your voice to be mine.  
     What a pleasant way to be alone with you.

Thank you, Dad.  I will visit you regularly until we live together - forever.

I love you Dad.
                                                                                       R. Bernie Johnson (Bob)
                                                                                       December 9, 1995

An Hour at UU with Tom

Sunday Sept. 16, 2012  R. Bernie Johnson (Bob)

Let's see - tomorrow is Sunday.  What are my plans?
The choir is not singing - I don't have to go to church.
"No - Bob - don't use that language!  You don't ever have to go to church anymore in your life."

                                            ***************************
I go to the First Unitarian Church - because I want to;  I go to the Unitarian Church because I want to hear Tom's message;  I go because, without exception, I leave the service -- uplifted, challenged, thinking, questioning.  I never leave the service feeling guilty or shamed.  What an amazingly different religious experience!

So I did go to the 11:00 AM service on Sunday.   But my body always gets up early (the price I pay for spending my growing up years milking cows early in the morning), so there was time to play 9 holes of golf  The course is a shorter course, but I still played a 39 and a 47 on  2 balls.  There is a value of playing early with no one pushing you. (By the way, those were very good scores for this duffer.)

                                           *****************************
David Owens played  beautiful , peaceful music throughout the service and Tom Goldsmith spoke of Freedom and Liberal Faith.

Freedom from----------------  ?  Freedom for / to -------------  ?

What do we do with our freedom for or to---------------- ?  What remains when the disbelief is gone?

We surprisingly find a hunger in ourselves to be more serious --
 "THE CHURCH IS A SERIOUS HOUSE ON A SERIOUS EARTH."

What do we use our freedom for?
Freedom from ----------------  just gives us the opportunity to use our freedom for -----------------?

Tom's preparation and research addressed, as an example, how we think about sex and our sexuality, as well as what reading we are allowed to engage in.

The gift of our sexuality and sexual pleasure is an opportunity to add richness and pleasure to our committed relationships.  To allow ourselves to move beyond thinking of all pleasure as sin, also allows us to enjoy the richness of life.

To explore the world we live in through our reading - including writings that we may not currently believe in, or may even be offended by, allows us to think, to grow, to expand our view of life and the world.

I want to think of my attendance and involvement in UU, not as just an option, like other options to fill up time in my life.  I want to expand my vision and understanding of this life and to see ways to be of service to others, our community, our nation, and our world.

I want to think of our UU church as a serious church.

Thank you, Tom, for adding freedom to my life and for allowing me to challenge my beliefs and my "Bumper Stickers" and giving me permission to grow.

Old Myths - New Truths

I have been rereading Henry David Thoreau's books - "Walden, or Life in the Woods" and "Civil Disobedience".  What a delight it currently is in my life to do the reading I want  instead of just what I have to in preparation for some duty or obligation.  I admit that sometimes the reading is the most recent John Grisham page turner or other such books, but often it is a book that causes me to think and reflect, or a good biography or historical novel that increases my knowledge of the world I live in.  With my current plans to go to Ireland and Scotland with my friend Stephen Fallon for a fun " Walk About" coming up soon, (I am leaving for Dublin in two weeks) I have been reading some great historical novels by Leon Uris.  I just finished "Redemption" and am now reading "Trinity".  It will be fun to walk through the cities and counties in Ireland that are the geographic settings of these books.

Thoreau's works take me back to exploring my own life and beliefs and discovering when I have chosen to change some of the beliefs I have grown up with. To quote Thoreau,   His works were "---responding to ---the decline of people's sense of creative autonomy.  (we must) resist a weak and servile received wisdom and search boldly for a more stable and dependable truth."  I wrote a poem back in 1985.  We lived in Danville, California and I was the clinical leader of the Employee Assistance Program (EAP) for Chevron.  My office was at 225 Bush in San Francisco.  Chevron had just purchased Gulf Oil, whose main headquarters were in Houston, Texas and we knew we would need to have a presence there.  After some thought and consultation with Sharen, (probably not enough) I volunteered to move my family to Houston to take on that integration task.  My thoughts and justifications at the time were that I would have an opportunity to be more visible, to be on the leading edge of our program, and therefore soon have the opportunity to return to San Francisco as the corporate director of the EAP for Chevron.  As I revisit this decision, I suspect that some of my real motives were coming from a "Geographic Cure" to solve all the needs and problems of my family and my marriage.

I made an initial trip to Houston to meet management, make arrangements for office space in their current medical department, and to begin the search for a family home, anticipating that Sharen and I would return to Houston soon on a house hunting trip.  As I flew home after spending several days in Houston and accomplishing what I wanted, I was looking out of the window of the plane as we reached our flying altitude and thoughts came to me that became the poem below - "Old Myths - New Truths".  Just another peek at the change and growth process in my life.

OLD MYTHS / NEW TRUTHS

When did it start - I thought --
When did my view of the world change?
I wonder who slipped the new filter - over my lens?

Even as I look at the patchwork of fields beneath me on the ground -
They create different images than they used to.

I think - maybe - it was when I traded my telescope for a microscope.
But - I never did really trade it in!
Sometimes when my microscope is teaching me things
I do not want to know - or can not accept - yet,
I just rummage through my closet and find my telescope.

And then everything is a little further away,
And purposely a little out of focus
Then I can fantasize what I want it to be - or what it "Ought" to be -
Instead of what my microscope is telling me it is.

WELL, I WONDER WHICH IS RIGHT?

I suppose I bought my first microscope
When I fell in love as a 16 year old boy
But the eye piece didn't fit very well, so I would switch back - every month or two -
And create some distance - so I didn't have to look too close - too long.

I picked up a new microscope when I went to college,
And wore a couple out during my 2 1/2 years in New Zealand as a Mormon Missionary.
(So many things to look at and so many beliefs that began to fit less comfortably)

And then - I met her - and for 23 years (now 50) I have been
In the laboratory of life - and love.
The technology of microscopy has advanced - over those years.
Sometimes the view is so close, it is startling.  Sometimes it's really ugly.

Life - and love - do that to you.
They provide you with the substrate to view yourself -
Or someone else really important to you.

I find - these days - I spend much more time with my microscope,
But it's comforting to know that my telescope is still in my closet.
Please don't ever let me throw it out

                                                   R. Bernie Johnson July 1985 - (Somewhere over Texas)

So, just sharing one more writing describing my life's journey.   Enjoy!

"Love, Loss, and What I Wore" - Our Journeys in Life

I attended an outstanding reading  of this work, "Love, Loss, and What I Wore" created by Nora and Delia Ephron, at the Salt Lake Acting Company this evening.  Nora has written and directed a number of well known, and respected scripts and movies, and in this case has written women's stories which remind us of our own stories - both women and men - and she encourages us to define and express them.

To quote Nora, "Whatever you choose, however may roads you travel, I hope that you choose --- to find some way to break the rules and make a little trouble ----- on behalf of women (and men)."

The more I read; the more I explore the creative thoughts and words of others, the more I realize that I have been on this journey of exploration and questioning all my life.   ------ so have you.  Living in New Zealand as a Mormon missionary and beginning to explore and question my beliefs;  being married for over 50 years to Sharen, a wonderful woman who has questioned all her life; raising six children, three with special needs and becoming aware of how unfairly the world treats those who are different and/or vulnerable; living, working, and consulting  internationally and cross-culturally.  Each of these experiences has challenged and  required thought, and given me opportunity to examine my beliefs, my view of the world, my values.

As I have searched, found, explored, read and thought about the poems and writings I have made through out my adult life it has been interesting to relive my journey.  The writing below was written in 1996 when I was at a conference for a week in Vancouver, BC. and during a troubling time in my life.

A WALK THROUGH THE PARK
                                                          By R. Bernie Johnson 10.20.96
I expected Sun, so of course, it rained.
But, today as I sit on a wet log, in the middle of a NW forest,
With a glint of light sparkling on the fresh drops of water on the lush fern,
How grateful I am -- for just how it is.

The trail is quiet.
Those that have ventured out are hardy and not complaining.

A squirrel has just walked up - welcoming me to his home.
The trees are tall and majestic.  Some have lived - some died -
Each providing life for another in whatever state they are in - right now.

The tall pines protect the ferns - from the heat of the sun.
The rain helps the fallen trees -
and needles - and leaves - become compost to support new growth.

There is such order -
in this seeming disorder - and disarray

And I - I prayed to God this morning -
That he/she would create what I wanted in life.
I gave him a list of "to do's"
So there would be no death - or uncertainty - or rain - or compost.

The sparrows need not take any thought for the morrow.
Sufficient is the task - of the day.
But we humans?  We're better than the rest.
We must diagnose, prescribe, dictate, control -
And then be frustrated, when it doesn't turn out - the way it "Should"

I think I need - more walks in nature.
I think I need - to observe and listen more - and control less.

***********************************************************
Thank you - for the rainy, dreary day -
That kept me off - my fast, unobservant bicycle
And allowed me to journey - on foot -
On natural, but foreign paths.
To learn - from the natural order of all living things.


Enjoy every moment of your journey.

Prospective Immigrants - Please Note

I found a poem written by Adrienne Rich, a few years ago,  and have often reflected on the message of the poem and also often shared it to others. The title of the poem is the title I have chosen for this post, "Prospective Immigrants - Please Note."

Wow, what are our options when we are confronted with a problem; when a new opportunity appears in front of us;  when our expectations are unrealistic and therefore not met, when things are just not what we planned?

One writer has stated that "Every problem has a gift in its' hand."  Sometime that is kind of hard to see, isn't it?  It certainly has been for me, at times.

I spent several days on site at Vectra Fibers in Odenton MD in February of 1982, as a professional person of support, as Chevron was closing the site after many years of operation and its recent acquisition by Chevron.  In some cases, there were three generations of workers at the site from one family.  I did some writing and some thinking during those days which included many conversations with the individual employees, as they were receiving the message that they would be leaving Vectra Fiber and struggling with their confusion, their anger, and their options..  I quoted in an earlier blog, one of the poems I had written, "Apostasy or Enlightenment", and now add another:

On Losing - In Retrospect
                                                                                                    R. Bernie Johnson Odenton, MD 1982

The words keep bouncing off my ears -
I don't hear what they are saying.
I heard at first, "The PLANT is closed,
We'll pay you well for leaving."

The plant is closed!  The plant is closed!
I can't just walk away.
What right have you to make this choice?
What if I want to stay?

But you did -- have the right,
and I did -- have to choose.
Not the choices
I would like to have made,
But choices far more reaching in my life
For which I felt helpless - and afraid.

________________________________

I marvel as I look back now,
on that painful, frightening day,
The fear, the pain, the uncertainty -
have now all gone away.
But that took time - and reaching down
for resources oft not used -
that helped me identify my strengths, and function less confused.

I found that "I", apart from "job", 
was a wholly functioning person.
I could live and breathe and problem solve -
and that was a powerful lesson.

So I say, "Thanks, old boss, for what you've done,
I've grown because of you,"
I had to get in touch with me,
and work some feelings through.

But I've done that now, and I'm ahead - 
that's true for others too.
I wonder, though, what will come next - 
to strengthen me and you?

And now - Adrienne Rich:  "Perspective Immigrants - Please Note"

Either you will go through this door
     or you will not go through.

        If you go through
   There is always the risk
 of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly
 and you must look back
  and let them happen.

If you do not go through,
       it is possible---

       To live worthily-
To maintain your attitudes -
   to hold your position-
         to die bravely.

But much will blind you
   much will evade you-

     At what cost - who knows?
The door  itself makes no promises -
               it is only a door.

Enjoy every day, look for the brass ring in each situation.  Look for and find the gift  waiting in the hand.  Thank you for being part of my life.   Bob  09/08/2012

Alpine Loop - prep for Ireland & Scotland 090712

Thinking about the time Steven Fallon and I will spend in Ireland and Scotland in the next few weeks,  I have been  considering  pictures that I want to be sure to capture while I am there.  I will take my Nikon CoolPix Digital camera.  It is  a good, quality camera but does not have all the bells and whistles or the options of various lenses.  I does take good pictures and has the advantage of being small and convenient.  Then I thought, 'Why don't I take my Olympus 35mm  filmcamera with just the wide angle close up lens attached'.  That will allow me to capture wide views of the great landscapes, coastlines, cliff shorelines, etc. of Ireland with the wide angle lens on film.  I decided to use up some film in the camera to make sure everything was working.  Glad I tried, the batteries were dead and the camera did not work at all.  Since I was driving the Alpine Loop, I took some pictures with my Digital camera.

The colors have not changed to the fall shades yet around the Alpine Loop even though they clearly had changed when Mark and I were in Emigration Canyon on his Motorcycle a few days ago, but it was still a nice drive and helped me identify something I needed to attend to on my 35 mm camera.

I love the seasons of Utah.  It is fun to have four different views and moods of our living context and our world.

I wrote a poem 20 years ago during one of the times that I was provided a differing view of my life and the world I live in.  It is included below.

 Apostasy or Enlightenment

There was no question in the past,
Black and White were color fast, 
And choices were made to last and last --
What's changed?

Absolute truth was the norm for the day,
So it was easy to judge a man by the way,
And to always know the right thing to say,
But no more!

One calls it maturity, another apostasy.
Some say, "Hooray!", while others say, "You'd better pray."
But as I seek knowledge from others, it's obvious to see,
That answers, when available, will come within me.

And something interesting happens as the boundaries flex,
And I look beyond color, creed, or sex.
I find other people more real and more whole,
and a huge burden of judgement's released from my soul.

Friends can be friends and labels erased,
I can care for myself without feeling disgraced.
That lets me like you, without expected change,
Like free moving antelope on the open range.

There's pleasure and pain in this new found view,
But  the price is well worth it -- I've made contact with you.

R. Bernie Johnson
Odenton, Maryland
3 February, 1982
(Closing down a factory where 3 generations of families have worked their whole lives.)

Enjoy each day of your life and the events that come to you.

Yamaha 950 Mark Bob Emigration Canyon 090312

Mark and Pam bought a beautiful road bike - 2009 Yamaha 950 with only 500 + miles.  The bike has spent its life in a garage so it is show room perfect.  How fun.  And what a fun way for them to spend some time together.  I was just finishing a 25 mile Bicycle ride this morning when Mark called with, " Would you like to go for a 1-2 hour ride with me on our new  motorcyle?"  It took 5 seconds to say yes and then an hour to get back to my car on my bicycle.

Today is a beautiful day - Labor Day- a holiday in the U.S. so we saw many people riding bicycles and Motorcycles as we rode up Emigration Canyon, by the reservoir, and to the top of Big Mountain.  What a fun ride.  The sun was just warm enough and the wind blowing into my face through my helmet just added to the feeling of movement and the excitement of the ride.  The colors are turning into the Fall colors of orange, yellow, and red up the canyons, which then was part of the great experience of our whole ride.  We stopped and took some pictures and also had time to share stories with others who were using the long weekend for a motorcycle ride.

How fortunate I am to have adult children who include me in their lives and share the things they love.  Because my father, Bernard (Bud) died at age 62 after more than 10 years of the ravages of Parkinson's disease, we had very little opportunity to share adult life together and almost no time for him to know Sharen and our children.  I am truely  grateful for my good health and my family.

Our ride today reminded me of another bike ride Mark and I took in the year 2001, a few months after their daughter Sophia was born.  Mark and I rode our Mountain Bikes up Mill Creek Canyon.  I didn't take a camera so do not have pictures but I did write a poem about the experience of Father and Son.  That I will share below.

Sophia is now almost 12 years old (Birthday Nov. 13, 2000). A beautiful, intelligent young woman approaching her teens.   I have added a current picture of Sophia and her Dad, taken today.  Thank you, Mark, for being my son and for you, Sophia, being my grand daughter, and for you, Pam, for being a delightful daughter-in-law and helping make all of this happen - and for each of you including me in your life.

                                                             MILL CREEK CANYON
                                                                                                     R. "Bernie" Johnson 07/31/2001

The sun was hot with a gentle breeze, On that day in June when we flexed our knees -
And unloaded our bikes at the base of the hill, to test our strength and endurance and will.

The ride was special for me - the Dad.  I was with my son - the first I had.
We were doing those "Man" things that make you sweat - and grunt and fart and other things
                                                                                                                             like that.

The Hill was long and went straight up, or so it seemed for the "Older" pup.
But I set the pace with Son behind, and started up the hill to climb.

I went TOO fast - I suppose it was pride.  I could not go slow with my son by my side,
And in a few miles my lungs they burned, and I signaled to stop for a rest - well earned.

I was ready to ABORT, "I can't go on.", I said to my son with a face that was long -
and breaths that were shallow and quick, like those that would come from one that was sick.

"Let's rest for awhile," said my son with a smile, "We may have hit the imaginary 'Wall' already
as we peddled too fast and to strong and too steady - long before we were warmed up and ready.

And my son, of course, was right. As the minutes went by we were ready for flight -
And continued our ride up that beautiful canyon, enjoying the smells and the sounds as companions.

Our return to the valley was a different meter - 42 miles per the hour was much sweeter,
than the snails crawl up at 4-6 miles per,  with the frequent stops to lick our fun.

But going down our pedals flew, and my blond locks reached to the sky - though just a few.
"What a gift." I thought as we reached our truck, that we could have this time - Dad and Son -
                                                                                                                       this good luck
To play together - to enjoy good health - to share a new babe - an enormous wealth.

All of the sweat, the tears and the pain , the fearful planning for young lives - not in vain.
Each child has chosen a path of her own, and each path has brought the young adults back home.
To share their lives and their love with each other - to enjoy their parents (Mom and Dad) like
                                                                                                                             sister or brother.

I hope for more rides and as many more smiles - and probably some tears as we travel the miles-
that our lives provide us as family and friends - during these years as we approach the end -
of one fine existence and reach for the other - where brother and sister and father and mother-
and friends that you care for and those you have served - will meet at a new mountain canyon - well
                                                                                                                                     deserved.
Another great ride with a new bike beneath you, and the excitement, with friends, of a new life to
                                                                                                                               great you.

                                                                                              R. "Bernie" Johnson, 07/31/2001

Soldier Hollow Shepdog Championship 2012

My friend and work colleague, Liz Blaylock, called the other day to see if I would be interested in going to a Sheep Dog competition in Soldier Hollow, near Heber.  She knew I had lived in New Zealand and had been amazed at the ability of sheep dogs and their handlers in managing and controlling herds of sheep.  I had heard of the competition and had wanted to see it, so readily accepted the offer.

What a fun day.  It was raining in the early morning as we left, but the weather ended up being perfect.  There were beautiful clouds in the sky.  The weather ended up being comfortably warm but not hot - mediated by the cloud cover.  We watched sheep dogs and their handlers move groups of 5 sheep around, through gates, into enclosed areas, separated into separate groups, and finally herded into a small holding pen.  The dogs were amazing and the handlers just as amazing.  It reminded me of an experience I had in New Zealand when I was a Mormon missionary for 2 1/2 years.  We were friends with a man who had been converted to Mormonism and, as he tried to clean up his foul language, found that some of the commands that he used with his sheep dog had to be changed, which was confusing for his well trained, and conditioned, sheep dog.

In addition to the competition with the sheep we were also able to watch a "Splash Dog" competition, where dogs competed in their ability to jump horizontally and vertically into a water pool  We also met a man who had his Alaskan Husky dogs there on display.  He provides a service in the winter to go on sled rides in the snow and also has a sled with wheels that he uses to provide rides in the summer time.

An added gift was that the fall colors are already apparent  in the Heber area.  Fall is clearly my most favorite time of the year in Utah. My pictures will show some of the Fall colors.

Thank you Liz for the invite.  I'm sure I will go again in future years.