Central air

Let freedom ring!

Happy 233rd birthday, America!

Our Fourth of July celebrations started Friday with a nice swim. The girls can't get enough of the water. My mom was there, along with my little sister Jackie.

That night we headed over to the golf course for the fireworks. The girls loved playing in the sand pits.

My brother-in-law, Beau, was among three skydivers who jumped before the fireworks. Beau is in shown below, having just landed. He had jumped with a trail of sparklers attached to him. Beau has done about 3,200 jumps.

Below is Dusty, the same guy who flew with me in the wind tunnel on my birthday. He has about 5,000 jumps to his name. He flew in last, carrying the flag. The masses of people were cheering. It's a very patriotic thing to watch.

We were right there on the sidelines, so everyone ran out onto the grass to meet Beau when the skydiving was over.

Allison couldn't get enough of the nearby pond. Every time she got the chance, she would tear away and run toward it, yelling "Wah-wah!"

Both girls loved the fireworks that night. Allison sat in my lap and watched the entire thing. Neither of them has ever been afraid of fireworks, which is nice.

Saturday morning, we went to the Clearfield parade. Olivia remembered past parades and came up with the idea to take a bucket for all the candy she was expecting to get. Smart girl -- she definitely needed it!

We did a daylight fireworks show at home before putting the girls to bed at 7 p.m. The previous night had done them in.

Joe had bought a few fireworks in Evanston when we passed through after a funeral last week. He asked the guy there for recommendations and explained that he only wanted items that were legal in Utah. (We're good, law-abiding citizens.) The guy gave him the "ladybugs" you see below and said they spin upward about 3 feet. Sounded cute for the girls, you know? Well, the sweet little ladybug flew about 60 feet in the air and sent us running for cover from its zipping and crackling. Dang Evanstonian! Needless to say, our Fourth of July was a blast!

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We love our apricot tree. It's the earliest to bear fruit, meaning the earliest one we get to enjoy.

Last year, we got exactly 13 apricots from our tree. That was its first year bearing fruit and we had thinned half of the fruit and kept half.

You have to thin the fruit to keep your trees healthy and happy.

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This year, our apricot tree seemed to go into overdrive, producing nearly 300 'cots. (Just so you know, nobody calls apricots 'cots. So don't copy that.)

I had my work cut out for me as the limbs began to bow under the weight of the small fruits. Here's just a sample of my labor.

And I feel pretty lucky that even though I've thinned 183... 184... 185 apricots from the tree, I'll still have well over 100 left to munch on this summer. Maybe I'll share with the family. Can't wait.

Getting paid to fly

It's really comforting to look out the window when you're 21,000 feet in the air and to see an F-16 pull up beside you.

The pilot is just there, kind of like your tough little brother, while you fly over the desert together. On the other side of the plane, there's another F-16. And you feel good, even though you're only flying over Nevada.

But what these F-16s want is a drink. And they get that drink from this bad boy: the KC-135 Stratotanker.

The Utah Air National Guard invited members of the media on a refueling flight recently, and I got to go. It was exciting because the KC-135 is also known as the "Vomit Comet" because of its use in weightless training.

Its regular job is that of flying gas station. But like I said in the story I wrote for the newspaper, the pilots hate it when you call it that.

From here in the cockpit, Zac Love and Brandon Taylor can monitor how much of the 200,000 pounds of fuel they can distribute to waiting planes, which can range from the agile fighters to the heaviest cargo planes. With all four pumps running, they can pump up to 8,000 pounds a minute.

A simple 300-pound refueling takes just a few seconds. And if you think that's amazing, you should take a look at the ground below from the boom operator's window near the tail section in the belly of the plane.

Then, the F-16 pilot maneuvers his plane below you. And just like that, he's had his fill and goes back to his training flight over the Utah Test and Training Range.

And at that point, I'm no longer just comforted. I'm in awe.

Wild blue yonder

We went to the air show at Hill Air Force Base this weekend. The weather was perfect, and the sights were amazing.

Below, Joe and Olivia are standing in front of a KC-135, which is used for midair refueling. Joe flew in one last week for work. He'll do a post soon.

As we were walking through the parking lot, we watched a little red aerobatic plane do its tricks.

For some reason, there were a few monster trucks on display, including the little one below.

When we got to the frontlines, the view of the aerial tricks was amazing. Below is Patty Wagstaff flying her Cirrus Extra 300S. In case you're wondering, I did not zoom in with my camera.

And then upside down.

Next, a C-17 flew over and let out a bunch of parachuters.

The guy below carried six smoke trails. We had never seen that many. They called him the chain smoker.

Below is the C-17 coming back.

Stroller girls.

We walked through a C-5, which is a massive aircraft. It felt like a whale had opened its mouth to let the fish -- us -- mindlessly filter in. When you look at the picture below, keep in mind that Joe and the girls are probably 50 feet in front of it.

We missed the show's climax, the Thunderbirds, because Joe had to go to work. Still, it was a good time, especially for being free!

My roots run deep

At the last minute, my sister and I decided to tag along with our aunt on a little family history tour of Cache Valley this Memorial Day. We're glad we did! We are amazed by the lives our ancestors led, and we're grateful for their legacy.

The first stop was Hyde Park, where the Grant side of my family is buried.

The next stop was Casper's Ice Cream Factory in Richmond, home of the Fat Boy.

We then made our way to Trenton. The farm my grandpa grew up on is still there and still family-owned.

Below is a video of Allison reacting to the cows.



Below are two new babies.

Below is the Trenton Cemetery, nestled at the base of a mountain. It is beautiful and serene.

Below is a headstone of people we do not know and are not related to. Joe just enjoyed their names. My profuse apologies to the deceased.

Our last stop was Clarkston, where the Griffin side of my family planted its roots in Utah. Below is the headstone of my great-great-great-grandfather. He was a polygamist. I come from the line of his first wife, Martha.

Here is part of a letter Thomas wrote to Martha while he was on a mission in Tennessee in 1883. She was at home in Clarkston with two small children.

"My Dear you must fix up for winter. I want you to buy yourself some flanel garments to keep you warm. You know, you will not have me to snugel up to keep you warm nor to go out in the storms and fetch your water and wood in and many other chores that I shall do for you when I come home. Therefore you must fix up the Best you can."

I had no idea people talked about snuggling back then!

Also at the Clarkston Cemetery is the grave of Martin Harris, who was influential in the founding of our church.

Who's the new kid?

Olivia asked me to straighten her hair the other day. It's kind of weird to see her like this, but it was a fun experiment. Her hair looks so thick when it's curly, but it's actually quite thin. That night she said, "Mommy, can I take a bath? I want my curly hair back."

Heartbreaker

Happy Mother's Day

"There is no role in life more essential and more eternal than that of motherhood."

~M. Russell Ballard

Hazard pay?

FARMINGTON — The normal warning signs for people don't apply to firefighters. Take smoke, for example. If you see smoke pouring out of a home, you generally don't try to go in.

But firefighters don't care. See, they have breathing masks, helmets, protective gear and massive hoses.

And they had me. But I didn't help. I just got to watch.

The Farmington Fire Department is burning down a couple of homes on purpose this week for training, and because I was writing this story, they let me tag along.

Here's what I looked like:

The boots were too small, but everything else was quite comfy. And it's hard to explain what a relief it is to breathe pure, clean air when your vision is obscured by thick smoke. But I saw first-hand why you crawl below the smoke layer if your home catches fire.

You know how the movies show firefighters, or whoever the hero is, charging into an engulfed building? Not. When firefighters go into a smoky home, sometimes they have to crawl in. And we spent a lot of time on our knees.

See:


When I was playing fireman on Wednesday with these guys, they let me come inside the home they were training in for three fires: a basement, a bedroom and a garage. It was pure awesomeness. And I actually thought, "I could do this."

I would love creeping through a house and watching the fire's behavior — its animal-like appetite, the way it breathes — and then putting it out because water beats fire. But these guys are also EMTs and I don't really want to save people. (It's the intubating that bothers me.)

But I loved being there for the beginning of the garage fire and to see how an aerosol can explodes when it gets too hot. I loved watching flames lick the vaulted ceiling and creep toward where we were standing. The next two pictures show inside and outside the garage afterward.

During one of the interior fires on the upper floor of the home, Rich Love, the department's training officer, pointed to the window behind us and said if things get too hot, that's the window we'd be jumping out of. I told him I didn't think that would be too fun.

But he said it's better than dying. So my mind was on that as the flames leapt out of the bedroom across the hall from us and over our heads. The firefighters in the hallway put it out easily, but it was eerie to see and feel the soggy insulation raining down on us.

The Farmington Fire Department is mostly made up of volunteers, and some of them don't get much fire experience. So training like this is critical to show the newer guys how fire behaves so they can protect their city.

I pretty much reeked of smoke after a few turns of being inside the burning rooms. But I swear something there smelled like toasted marshmallows.

When I told Marie what I was doing for work, she made me promise to call her as soon as I was done, as long as I wasn't calling from the hospital or from the grave.

I think she said she would be mad if I got hurt. But once I assuaged those concerns, I had time to reflect on the previous few hours. And I came to one other conclusion: I love my job.