An old house, a giant K, and food.

When I was a small boy, about four years old, I lived for a summer in a dusty, one street town, tucked in a remote corner of northern Arizona. Nestled against the Juniper studded hills, a few miles north of Pipe Spring National Monument, Moccasin, Arizona is a place that holds many fond memories for me.

Even though I may have only been four years old at the time, I still remember catching toads and lizards, sinking glass jars tied to a rope into quicksand, swinging on the old rope swing at the pond, and getting cactus spines on every single inch of my body! I remember the decrepit chicken coop at the top of the hill, where a lone hen found a suitable place to lay her eggs. I remember the watering trough across the street, where the horses used to douse their thirst, the perfect place for little boys like my brother and I to throw rocks. I remember cars and trucks getting stuck in the soft dirt at the end of the street, and what seemed like giant boy-eating snakes slithering through the tall grass in the backyard. I remember fearing for my life, as a mountain of a bull stared at me, my brother, and my friends with it's cold black eyes. Although it probably posed no real threat, I remember laying down in the dry yellow grass, hoping it wouldn't see me, and waiting for it to slowly meander away.

The front porch of "The Big House"

The back of the house, from the backyard.

I remember the old house where we lived, once lived in by my great grandfather Heaton, built sometime before 1875. This house is now, and has for some time, been in the tender care of my mother's parents. My grandpa and grandma Schmutz. Countless hours have been spent in and around this home, painstakingly restoring it to its former glory. This house is known as "The Big House", and back in the day, it was shared with many travellers to and from Kanab, St. George, and the surrounding areas.

A couple weekends back, Shayla, Max, Isla and I spent the night in this house. We were joined by my brother Steve and his wife Moe. As we drove up the old dusty paved road to the tired house at the end of the street, many of these memories came flooding back. It was good to visit this old place again. Max loved it here, and before we left he began calling it, "The old brick house", despite it's wooden exterior.

The granary at the old house.

We couldn't have picked a better day to visit. When we stepped out of the car, the air smelled fresh and clear, with the faint hint of the farming community that surrounded us. We walked down the street, to a horse corral on the other end of town. The horses were young, still skittish and wary of our human presence. Max loved trying to feed them nontheless. After making it back up to the house, we walked across the street to the small school house. A little playground in back was the perfect size for Max, and he loved playing on the one new slide, it's plastic gleaming against the backdrop of the old metal toys, swings, and weed filled basketball court that composed the rest of the playground. His favorite however, was the old ride-on train, it's spring barely able to keep it upright and it's paint worn from years of childhood use. Max also made friends with the locals, a few pigs on the other side of the playground fence.

Playing at the playground.

That night we explored the house as it grew dark outside. We found old treasures like books from the early 1900's, a calendar from 1897, and old rusted nails. The next morning, we left the sleepy little town in our dust, and headed for the big city, Kanab, Utah.

A few of the many trinkets that have been found during the restoration work.

The big porch at night.

My grandparents, the same who have been working to restore the Big House, invited all of their children, their children's children, and their children's children's children over for a grand reunion!

The day started off with a bang as we strapped Isla to Shayla's chest and Max to my back and headed up the K Hill. We made it to the K, once molded from old twisted boards, painted white in stark contrast to the red mountainside. Now, the eleventh letter of the alphabet glared up at us in solid concrete. Still beaming from countless layers of white paint. Sitting near the middle of the mountain, we pushed on, up to the top of the hill. After a steep, braided ascent, between, through, and over dirt, rocks, and trees, we found ourself on top of the flat plateau, looking down at the cowboy town below.

Hiking up the hill.

Small raindrops freckled our skin, and dark bellowing clouds bagan to form across the wide valley. We decided to turn back the way we had come, and make our way down the mountain.

The rest of the day was spent lounging around my grandparents house, playing games, overeating, and running around the backyard. It was a great weekend, and on the drive back home Max kept asking if we could go back to "The old brick house".

My grandmother has this old, Native American baby carrier, called a cradle board or a papoose, which we strapped Isla into, and she quickly fell asleep.

Lunch Time!

An old Wonder Bread trailer behind the small schoolhouse in Moccasin.

Max and a horse in Moccasin, trying to figure each other out.

They made quick friends!