To begin with, I'm confused about the punctuation in Artists Paint Pots. Oughtn't there be an apostrophe in there, as in Artist's Paint Pots? But that implies they belong to only one artist, and then we'd have a fight over which artist they belong to, so Artists' Paint Pots is most likely the correct form.
Google gave me no assistance in this matter, as every link on there punctuated it differently.
After the Grassy Stream and before the day's official destination, we made a quick stop at the Artists' Paint Pots. My mother and her parents and sister visited 25 years before, so once again it was neat seeing what they saw.
I'll admit, I wasn't quite as impressed with them as I thought I would be. I always imagined lots and lots of colors, but it was mostly this off-white-gray color.
They were still pretty neat, though! Mom made the mistake of giving Dad her camera, so he sat there with it on 'continuous shot.' We could print a flip-book with all the pictures he took, and then sit there to watch the paintpot "bloop."
See, they weren't all the same gray color! This one, while not as paint-pot-ish as the others, was bright.
A view of the Artists' Paint Pots area from above. I believe the parking lot was behind those trees. I remember it was absolutely packed in the parking lot, but the trails weren't too full.
Oh look! More color!
I must say, some of the prettiest blues I've ever seen were in that park.
A hearty thank you to the unsuspecting tourists for loaning me their shadows. Mine is second from the left.
Me, Mom, Dad.
(Shadows are fun to play around with.)
Mom and I continued down the trail while Dad took (even more) pictures from the top. After sitting for a while with no sign of Dad, we began to speculate on what was taking him so long. He must have forgotten we were there, and that's why he wasn't down yet. Maybe he fell in one of them? Or he could have gotten lost...
Just in case he was lost, I whistled for him.
We have a dog named Bear. Sometime early last year, I came up with this little five-note tune to whistle whenever I called him, and now Bear knows that whenever he hears that whistle, he is to come. This also works on family members! It is quite convenient. Nobody else whistles in that fashion, so when we hear it we know it's one of us.
Anyway, about 2.5 seconds after I whistled, we heard Dad laughing right around the corner of the trail. He took this picture when we came in sight.
~Kiwi~
(I apologize for the poor formatting of this post. You-all may or may not care, but it's bugging me that not everything is centered. I tried, Blogger refused to change it.)
