The Highest Peak in North America

I am finally beginning to play around with my Alaska photos--this shot of McKinley( far right) taken from Talkeetna River ( Tanaina Indian name meaning "river of plenty), one of the best views I have seen of the big mountain. I am connected to this land, perhaps it is true what they say about places getting into your blood.  I lived in Alaska from 1969-1974 and I have lived in Texas from 1974-to 2011, and yet when I return here I feel like I am coming to my place of origin, much like the salmon returning to where they were spawn.  Texas is home, and I love Texas and the life my husband and I have built, yet it this place where I return year after year for a visit that grounds me. There was snow on the ground the first week of May, and the river was swelling with water, I stood and watched my family walk this beach, my father, my sister, my husband and my niece search for flat stones to skip across the river.    I was memorized watching them.  I remembered being 6;  my fathers hand guiding my arm showing me how to cup the stone, to swing out, when to release the stone, and me holding my breath, counting the skips.  When my daughter my seven I watched my father guide my daughters hand; instructing her on the Art of Rock Skipping.  I wanted to hit pause--to stay in this minute a wee bit longer--to gather these memories together, to hear the laughter of my niece, my fathers good natured bellow, my sister relaxed and smiling, to record the quiet murmur of conversation of my sister and step mother, to hold dear the image of my husband as a child, intent on skipping stones.