Going to the mountains is going home. — John Muir

That certainly feels true for me. We spent last week in Breckenridge, and it was my first time there. I loved getting up into the high mountains, driving and hiking above the timberline. For me, it reminded me why I fell in love with Colorado two decades ago. I love the air. I love the sun. I love the drama of the landscape in contrast to the stillness I feel in myself. I love feeling small against the mountains. I love the solitude. I love the smell. I love the adventure. I love the discovery of flowers, animals and roads less traveled.

For me, it was a great way to finish Summer break. We were all together, in a beautiful place with lots of things to do — or do nothing at all.

We went horseback riding, we biked (for my first time since my surgery in May), Zach and Michael watched the perseid meteor showers from the hot tub Wednesday night, we back-to-school shopped, we did some off roading in the Jeep, we hiked, I did a yoga class, Michael and the kids did the Warrior Dash in Copper, we had a Euchere tournatment, we went to the Adventure Park at the top of the mountain via the gondola, we shopped some more, we had dinners out, we had dinners together at home, the kids swam at the rec center, I read in the quiet of our back yard in the sun, we watched “Ridiculousness” and laughed.

It was a great week. I’ll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.

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