On July 1, 2008...

My dad invited me to go with him to his doctor appointment and hiking afterwards in Jump Creek Canyon. Jump Creek is an obscure little desert place in Idaho near the town of Marsing (which is another obscure little place—I tend to like places like that). In my un-makeuped and frizzy-haired condition, I consented.

We parked the car in the gravel parking lot and walked in on the little trail to the waterfall. While my dad stayed below, I climbed up the rocky ridge to the top of the waterfall. You can almost straddle the top of the waterfall up there, it’s really just a simple creek that falls over a rock and becomes something beautiful.


I looked down and waved to my dad.
He waved back.
I explored a little bit and placed my hands in the cold, clear water.
Then I looked down and waved to my dad.
He waved back.

Each time I looked down, my dad was a little further back on the trail--heading toward the car. He would stop and look at me and wave, then continue on his way, always at a greater distance than he was the time before.

Assuming that it was time to go, I went to climb down over the small rock face I had climbed up. I turned the rocky corner facing the narrow space between two rock formations and was surprised to be facing a sweaty, backpack-laden, supposed-to-be-10-hours-away-in-Washington Peter, about 7 feet below me. My mind went blank and I stared.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement.

When I noticed the roses sticking out of the backpack up over his head, I knew.


I then proceeded to ungracefully climb/slide and ultimately fall down the rock face where Pete tried to catch me and I nearly knocked us both over (quite romantic, I know). I don’t remember the dialogue too well at this point…it was probably me asking a lot of questions trying to understand when and how he got there, and how he didn’t get lost.

We continued in a half-climbing, half-sliding fashion down the rest of the rocky ridge and once on the trail found a little cave below the waterfall near the creek.


Here, Pete pulled sandwiches and snacks out of the gigantic backpack and we had a little picnic. We ate and we talked and I waited (by now I knew what was going on). He continued pulling thing after thing out the backpack—things that wouldn’t normally be put into a backpack: roses, a bottle of Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider, a fancy glass...

and I kept waiting.

Finally, he turned toward the seemingly bottomless backpack and said “Well, I might have one more trinket in here.” He pulled out a little box with a beautiful, scintillating ring—the prettiest one he could find at Wal-Mart :)

Then he cried a little bit and asked me to marry him.

And I said yes.

Looking back, I’m amazed that after driving over ten hours to find me on a rock in the desert looking kind of like I belonged there (dirty tennies, no make-up, frizzy hair, sweaty faced), he still wanted to marry me!

Two years later, he never ceases to amaze me.

Happy Anniversary!