Our Fourth of July

No Parades for us on this day.
No picnics in the park (it was hot, so so hot, and I don't do hot any more).
The cool mountains beckoned, and so Brent and I gathered up our photo bags and went for a little photo safari courtesy of Cascade Springs.

Generally everywhere you head on the Fourth is pretty packed.   But this year, courtesy of a fire raging above Alpine and over the mountain into American Fork Canyon, the mountains east of us were closed.  The only way to get to Cascade Springs was up a very dusty, washboarded road coming west from Heber City and up over the mountain.  As a result, we enjoyed a very quiet afternoon just taking pictures to my heart's content.  There were only a handful of other nature lovers who were willing to make the trek to the Springs from that direction.



I decided to try a couple of things on this trip.  The first was to concentrate on the rule of thirds.  That's elementary, but that's about where I am with photography.

Other things I was looking for were interesting textures and contrasts.

Of course, a little wildlife is always interesting:

But the thing I was happiest about was that I took all the photos without using the automatic setting.  Some came out better than others, granted.  But still, I was manually focusing and working with ISO mostly.  I still need to learn more about aperture and time value settings, but one step at a time.  I was not in the 'green box.'   So the trip was a learning one for me.

And a gorgeous place to spend a hot summer afternoon with my very best friend and eternal companion who even smiled for my camera.

Everything there was green and beautiful.  But that was just because Cascade Springs is comprised of springs that come up from the ground.  Along the banks, the plants get lots of water.  But further up the canyon (yes, we were curious about the fire and went exploring a little higher) we found the ferns to be shriveled and brown, the underbrush everywhere gasping for water, even the trees and the shrubs looking so dry.  From the valley the mountains look green and lush as ever, but it is so deceiving.

As we drove out to Bill and Steph's to watch the fireworks at Thanksgiving Point later that evening, this is what the mountain above Alpine looked like.  At the base of the flames, you can see the tall pine trees in silhouette.  The flames were shooting at least 150 feet into the sky.

Quail Creek fire from Lehi,  July 4, 2012

With that kind of heat, and no rain in the forecast (around here a 20% chance of rain usually means 80% chance of no rain), in the dry conditions we had just witnessed, it almost appeared we would watch this fire consume all of our beloved mountainside. 

This is the same mountain I have photographed time and time again from our home.

And it broke my heart to see it consumed in flame.

Alpine Fire (officially the Quail Creek Fire) on Tuesday, July 3, 2012

The entire state has been burning.  Smoke has been heavy in the air.  Everything seemed doomed.  And then when this fire broke out on Tuesday, it almost seemed as though there would be no relief on any front.  But earlier, just the Sunday before, Governor Herbert had asked all the state, regardless of religion, to join together and voice prayers requesting God's help.  Many of us fasted along with our prayers.

And Thursday morning we woke up to a cloud-covered sky.  And then it started to rain and rain and rain.  I don't know who got the 80% without rain, but most of Utah had a sweet long drenching rain which is very rare in this desert state that is used to lightening storms and cloudbursts that rarely last longer than 20 minutes.  The daytime temperature plummeted from nearly 100 degrees the day before to 66 degrees on Thursday.  And Thursday evening, after the clouds finally lifted, this was the view from our home:

No smoke. Just clouds.  The fire is still burning, but it jumped from barely 10% contained to 50% contained within hours.  Today it is manageable.

Some may call it a coincidence.   Some may call it luck.

But for most of us, it is a miracle.

And we know its source.

And we thank Him for the sweet blessing of rain when we needed it so badly.