We should have set up the tent first. More accurately, I should have set it up. In the back yard. Before we were here, in this moment, and needed it. Such lack of planning and complete inability to look into the future is a hallmark of my personality. A quirk – a habit – part of the whole grand show that others enter into to when spending time with me.
“I thought you set it up in the back yard,” my then girlfriend but soon to be fiancé was saying.
“ I just took all of the parts out to make sure nothing was missing. But I never actually set it up.” I replied.
This was the truth. I had actually taken the tent out, and inventoried all the parts, then put it neatly back into the bag. I had also used the bag to hide the ring, so I had actually been back into the stupid tent bag hundreds of times by this point to make sure that the ring had not escaped. But there was no way I could have seen this problem coming without actually setting up the tent. And even then, I might only have noticed the problem at night.
So now we sat, the two of us, staring at each other inside of the structure which was complete and whole with no parts missing. Unless, or course, you consider more fabric a “part”. For now that we had set up the tent, turned off our flashlight and crawled under the meager covers we had “borrowed” from the hotel in Las Vegas to save money and room in the rental car, we could clearly see that more fabric would be a good thing. As I looked at and through the sides of this tent, the phrase “thread bare” went through my mind, and I remember thinking what an accurate description that was for this particular situation. The material which comprised the shell of the tent was whole – with no rips, or tears, or holes anywhere. The entire thing was just completely thread bare to the point where we could see people walking around the campsite outside.
And this alone did not create an entirely horrible situation. Now that we were aware of our transparency, we could simply keep our light off inside of the tent and not be leered at by passers by. We could also do all of the leering that we wished from this vantage point. If we had wished to, of course.
The real problem – the one that was quickly creating the horrible situation was that the temperature was dropping. Out here in the desert country of Arizona in October. And at that time of the year, the night temperatures commonly fall into the range of 40 to 50 degrees, even when the temperature at noon that day may have been 85 degrees. Sand and dirt and rock do not hold in much heat for long. It was now getting colder and colder under the thin blankets inside of our invisible tent.
Amazingly, I had prepared for the cold. I had been in this spot before, and I knew how cold it could get. This was only after insisting on a previous trip that it never got below freezing in this place, and then waking up, outside, in a sleeping bag, to a 25 degree morning. The audience to that show was less than amused by my performance. I distinctly remember getting no standing ovations from them.
So this time I had purchased a heater for us – just in case! We would be fine, just fine with the radiant warmth of the propane heater I had brought along. In fact, the thinness of our walls made death by carbon monoxide poisoning far less probable! My then girlfriend soon to be fiancé was not overly thrilled with this information, however, and needed some comforting around the issue of having an open flame which spewed potentially toxic vapors burning in our small, flammable hovel all night. She worried a lot more than I did about such things.
Luckily for her, I was there. Because I had camped in every type of weather and was often under the influence of many toxic substances at those times. And look! I had somehow survived with most of my brain cells continuing to operate. We would make it. There, there, my sweet love. And yes, I had to concede to her that the heater could in fact topple over and set the entire tent ablaze because I had not spent the extra ten dollars on the one that had the “safety feature” for that scenario, but my plan was to simply turn off the heater before we fell asleep once we were nice and cozy and warm. And if, for any reason, she got cold during the night, she could gently, lovingly wake me up and we would repeat the process until we warmed up again. But really, between the warmth of the heater, our body heat, and the fact that we were so in love, how cold could we get?
The night lasted forever. She woke me up the first time because I had fallen asleep while the heater was on. And she hadn’t done it gently or with what felt like much love. That would be the warmest time of the ordeal. From that point on, much of the evening has been pushed out of my memory to make way for happier times. I do seem to remember turning my body often, so that the parts in contact with the freezing hard ground did not become too numb or frostbitten. Just imagine sleeping in a rotisserie oven, like the chickens you see being cooked at the grocery store – the only difference with us was that the chickens were alive and were slowly being frozen. I think we started and stopped the heater over 500 times that night, but that number is purely an estimate. I am also convinced that a few of my ribs had hairline fractures from the ferocious elbow jabs they suffered by my chilly then girlfriend soon to be fiancé. She was relentless in trying to restore her core temperature to normal and then just as relentless in making me turn off the heater after I had, once again, fallen asleep with it running.
We had planned to make our descent in the Canyon before the sun rose. Having both been up for most of the night, the sound of my watch’s alarm going off was a welcome relief. A chance to leave our ice kingdom after the endless night and to sit in the tiny rental car, heater full blast, for a short while before reaching the trail head. We needed the flashlight to guide our way as we started our hike, and despite the cold and the darkness, we could feel a tremendous energy and mysterious ancient life force ebbing from this miraculous place and surrounding us with each step.
Hiking the Grand Canyon is different than any other hike you will do on our planet. The first half of the journey, which consists of walking downward on a seemingly endless dusty path of thin switchback trail, is really the easier part of the hike. This inversion of incline goes against the traditional rules of hiking, where the ascent is made first, followed by the downward trudge back to one’s starting point. For this reason, coming back to the rim of the canyon from the bottom can take twice as long. Add to this the fact that the most brutal part of the day – the part with intense desert heat and little shade on the trail occurs during the second half of your hike, and even experienced, healthy hikers are in for a challenging day. This was not my first venture into the canyon, and I knew that ill prepared hikers have found themselves out of time, energy, and/or water and other vital supplies during the harder second half of the canyon hike. These poor souls wind up crouched to the side of the trail in small, shady pockets, being tended to by Park Rangers that supply them with water and energy bars and wait for the dehydration to pass. Most of these hikers will eventually return to the rim on their own power. They don’t have much choice. But some will end up clutching the neck of a donkey and riding back up by joining one of the many mule trains that go up and down the canyon each day and include extra burrows for this purpose. I really did not want one of us to become an ass rider today. It would ruin the memory completely.
So I took this hike seriously, and we were both well prepared. That is also why we left before sunrise. I knew that the average hiker, in decent shape, will take about four hours to get down and about six or seven to get back out again, making it a ten to twelve hour day on the trail. My hope was that we would be well on our way out by the time the real heat of the day came. As the pink and amber hues of first dawn began to appear over our heads and to creep slowly down the canyon walls, I was reminded why this sacred place must really be experienced and not studied or observed at a distance. It is one of those places I have been to, and seen, and felt intensely in nature – but which I am completely unable to describe. It is pure oneness and spirit and connection.
A side note here: I have yet to feel anything close to this level of connection while sitting in the Visitor’s Centers, or driving along the asphalt accesses, or standing in the easy access pull offs, or riding along in the over priced expensive contraptions that offer a quick “drive through” experience of these natural wonders. For this reason, I suggest that if you go, really go – leave the buildings and the roads and the cars and anything that promises to make the trip easier. Walk away from it all for as far as you can and sit in silence and wait. I’m willing to bet it will be worth the effort if you do.
We were walking further and further away from it all now. I don’t remember talking much on the hike, but my internal dialogue was nonstop. Over and over I rehearsed the lines I would soon pronounce to her as we trudged, together, down the dusty trail. I kept obsessively checking my pocket for the ring, convinced that it would somehow bounce out and be left for another hiker or curious donkey to find. Time and again I would find it there, in my pocket, safe and waiting. So much of the trip up to now had been about planning, and packing, and doing. Now the moment was almost here. It was a moment that would change everything forever and always, and I found myself now concentrating on the deep love I had for the woman in the boots and ponytail and bright red backpack in front of me on the trail. She had explained that the backpack’s color would ensure that the rescue crew could find our vulture eaten corpses if we fell headlong to our deaths in the canyon. This was the lady I adored, the one I was choosing to spend the rest of my life with.
And then, suddenly, for the first time since this whole “engagement thing” began in my mind, I started to wonder if she felt the same way. I knew she loved me and everything, I mean, she told me she did enough, but the rest of her life – her WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE – with me? I know if I had a choice about being with me for that long, I would at least want to think it over for awhile. I touched the ring in my pocket again, but this time it was for a different reason. I was thinking that maybe I shouldn’t ask her now. Maybe after she had a better night’s sleep. Maybe when we got back to Las Vegas, at a really nice buffet. Maybe doing this at the bottom of the Grand Canyon was a really, really stupid idea. It certainly would make for a long, quiet,awkward walk back up if she said no. And maybe that was the true reason I chose the bottom rather than the rim to begin with! Perhaps I was stacking the odds in my favor a bit – trapping her into agreement by putting her in an isolated, vulnerable position out here in the middle of the desert.
I wanted to believe now that she knew I was going to propose down here, that she had known all along, but I had no tangible, or even circumstantial evidence to base this wish on. She had given me absolutely no indication that she had any clue I was going to propose today. Even at this moment she was commenting on the surprising amount of donkey feces left in the trail and asking again about when and where scorpions are most likely to appear. In my mind these comments emphasized the fact that she was clueless about what was to come.
I spent the last hour of the hike in an internal battle in my mind about what she would say and if I should hold off entirely. And then, just like that, we were at the end of the trail. The moment had come. She was sitting on a rock outcropping, taking in the miraculous view around as I approached and dropped to one knee.
“I love you very, very, much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
I finally released that ring from my pocket and opened up the box for her to see.
I saw something that resembled shock flash over her face. At least, I hoped it was shock and not fear. Or panic. Or revulsion. I hoped it was anything other than revulsion.
And then, just as quickly as her look had become completely unknown to me, it transformed to one I knew very well. Openness, and beauty, and love.
“ Yes. Of course. Of course I will marry you!”
I put the ring on her finger and we grabbed each other tightly with nothing around to witness the moment but sun, the wind, the water, and ages and ages of rock. .
I don’t know if the place where people ”pop the question” makes that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. I have met many couples through the years, and the deciding factor on whether or not they will make it as a couple seldom seems to be the place or manner of their marriage proposal. As for me, I know this will be my one proposal experience during this current lifetime, so I never plan on doing it again in a new location or with someone else. I don’t need to. She said yes. Without even thinking it over for awhile.
I do not offer this story to boast, or gloat, or to brag. I offer it as a Valentine story and a testament of real, authentic love to my bride, my one and only, my forever. And I also hope that it might bring to mind for some of you couples out there that pivotal, wonderful moment in your lives when everything changed. For me, it was there, in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, surrounded by miles and miles of seeming endlessness, in a very small spot on our huge Earth, at a time that was gone in seconds amidst an aging and ever expanding, limitless universe.
But for that one moment in that small space there was nothing that mattered but us. And the greatest gift of all is that I can revisit that moment at any time by gazing into my wife’s eyes. It is there – forever. In that one moment, and in those eyes, I can feel the vastness and the mysteries and the unknown parts of life dissolve and disintegrate and crumble down into minute and petty matters. Everything that exists uncomplicates and there is only us. We are the be all and end all of what is and what matters. Pure love.
Another wonderful story with humor. What a great gift for everyone this Valentine’s Day. I’m so glad Suzanne said yes. She has brought so much love into my life, and your whole family is an example of true love. God bless.
Thanks Mom! And thanks for your help in picking out the ring!
I’m glad you asked….I’m glad she accepted…..I’m glad I didn’t know about the dangerously threadbare tent, and the flimsy heater without the “safety feature”!
Great love story. Thanks.
~Chris
Anon – I’m glad too! Sometimes ignorance can be bliss…
Chris – I bet you guys have one as well! Hope you had a great V- Day!
Brian,
Great story… I’m glad you didn’t bring the portable gas stove you used to have, that would have been disastrous!!!
Once again, please keep up the good work….
Bill – good thing you knew where the fire extinguisher was. Mama said she had never seen you move so fast! Thanks for the props!
I believe, I believe, how could you not- love has so many aspects
and every one of them are bewildering at times. I love Suzanne and your love history, it has started me thinking of Mark and my 42 years of history- Thanks as always for inspiring me to think.
Noreen – Many blessings on your 42 years and the great love you have shown to those around you!