A Reason to Smile

Neither of these four photos would win a prize in a photo contest—but they’re gold to me.

One of the biggest joys in my life has been the opportunity to spend quality time on the road with each of my seven grandchildren. Introducing them to the world beyond their door.

Death Valley is a place we’ve visited twice. This trip was in 2018 with our two youngest granddaughters—Margaret and Genevieve—better known as Maggie and Evie.

Because Maggie lives in Arizona and Evie lives in Indiana, they haven’t had many chances to spend time together growing up. I loved watching them share this adventure. I hope someday they’re able to tell their own children—or grandchildren—about it.

Maggie had seen parts of her home state, but mostly just short day trips. This was something bigger. A full two weeks on the road.

We left Tucson on a long loop: up through Four Corners, into southern Utah, and eventually west into California.

I’ll admit, I was a little uneasy about the route into California. The plan was to cross Death Valley National Park—and that raised a few “what ifs.” What if the car broke down? What if we ran into trouble? I was responsible for those two little girls, and I didn’t take that lightly.

I knew it would be hot. But neither of them had experienced that kind of heat. One hundred and twenty-nine degrees. And dry desert air, the kind that sucks the water from your body.

They both thought that was cool—although, “cool” seems like the wrong word, doesn’t it?

They weren’t the least bit deterred by the idea of getting out of the car.

We had a full tank of gas and plenty of cool water. (Can you tell I was just a little nervous?)

And then the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes came into view.

They saw the dunes just off the road. Other people were walking from the parking lot out into the sand. And of course—they wanted to go too. I was happy to hang back just a bit, camera in hand.

The scene was stunning. Beautiful, but not exactly welcoming. The kind of landscape that says: look, but don’t linger.

But they didn’t want to just look.
They wanted to feel it.

There’s a kind of beauty in the desert that doesn’t ask for your attention—it just exists, whether you notice it or not. That day, two little girls noticed. They stepped into the silence, barefoot and curious, and gave it life. And now, every time I see that photo, it gives me a reason to smile.

I kept checking the water, the gas gauge, the temperature, and everything else a grandpa can worry about. They didn’t care. They had sand in their shoes, laughter in the air, and a story they’ll tell someday that starts with: “It was 129 degrees, and Grandpa let us out of the car…”