"Really? You need another mountain rescue? Really??"

The title of this piece is my guess at God's reaction to our latest predicament around 5pm tonight in the snowy mountains above our house overlooking a reservoir named Mantua (pronounced man-away) Today's bright sun and warmer temperature beckoned Rod to his favorite place way up the mountain. The woman at the bank told him, "Be careful - I hear people are getting stuck up there with the melting snow." To which he confidently replied, "Well, I have a Jeep," which was meant to convey that absolutely nothing could ever get in his way and he'd be just fine, thank you very much! But, I'm getting ahead of the story because I can't explain this event without first explaining the other two that occurred in the very same area, with the very same Jeep within the past six months.

First, there was the late summer evening when Rod was up there target shooting and three gang-like dudes approached him, "Hey old man, nice Jeep, got the keys?" Well, they seemed to completely miss the fact that he was target shooting which includes a firearm and upon his action of merely holding it up in the air they were heard screeching away in their old beat up Vega. Whew - that was a close one.

Second, there was the early fall evening up in the same area with the regular characters of Rod and the Jeep plus our two dogs, Shasta and Tahoe. We had brought Shasta into our home from the streets of Tacoma ten years ago and she was quite a runner at that time. Nothing like having your dog lick you through the backyard fence and a mere second later darting across the front yard on her way across Proctor Street to Jefferson Park. Ah, then there was the time she got out of the backyard at 11pm to chase an opossum across the street in the dark. Fun times on the streets of Tacoma. In any case, we thought her running days were over until that fateful night in the mountains. She gave that old telling look to Rod and flew out of the Jeep towards the underbrush. Rod searched and called for her for up to an hour as darkness fell. We went back later that night yelling for her under the full moon and bright sky. We went back the next day, too, and walked the trails calling for her stopping to listen for her bark or whimper. Nothing. Absolute silence. We figured a mountain lion, a bear, or a pack of coyotes had gotten her. The third day we really gave up hope. Then my cell phone range - a call from the local vet, "We have Shasta here." What? Earlier that morning a group of people had driven up Willard Peak Road to see the view because the road had been inaccessible for years due to potholes, ditches, etc. Thanks to the stimulus funding it'd been repaired and when the carload drove up the mountain they saw Shasta sitting by the side of the road. When they started down the mountain two hours later she was still there - waiting for her ride. They scooped her up and took her into the vet. A conservative estimate is that she travelled around 10 miles up hill over those two nights. No one ate her, no one took a chunk out of her, and she survived. Unbelievable miracle. And one of the men in the car happened to be a member of our church, but didn't know she was our dog.

Now back to the event, the third one, of this evening. Rod drove up that road like he always does, leaving the pavement where it ends and entering the dirt/snow road to go further up. Everything was great and he was having a good time until, whoops, what was that? Oh, just a little slippage, he thought. Remember, Jeeps can go anywhere! However, not today and he was good and stuck in the snow. (What did our friend say at the bank?) Anyway, removing snow from the around the tires with his bare hands wasn't going so well when another Jeep came down the road, "Are you stuck?" "Yea - don't get too close to this area." Well, the nice rocket engineer in the other Jeep only went a few more feet and was stuck, too. Great. That's when Rod called me - one of those calls husbands never, ever want to make to their wives - and I started his direction from my meetings in Logan. When I arrived, at the end of the pavement in the mud, he and the engineer were still working on the situation. I sat there waiting and waiting when suddenly a big pick-up was in my rear-view mirror with a puzzled driver. He wanted to turn onto the long muddy road to our right, but I was in his way. I got out to talk to him and amazingly enough I discovered this was someone we know! They were trying to get to his mom's house down the muddy road - the very last house on the way up the mountain. I explained the situation and he said he'd be back with his chain, if needed. In the meantime, the nice engineer drove out and said Rod was on his way. I walked down the sloppy road a piece and got in the Jeep with him as he continued to slowly move backwards, Whoops - what was that? Another slip, another deep slushy snowbank and we were stuck again. Kyle came back, helped Rod try to dig it out, but there was no success. This time was more precarious, too, because of that really big cliff on the left. These mountains are close to 9000', after all ,and cliffs have been thrown in for good measure. Kyle finally hooked his chain around the rear Jeep axle and very slowly pulled Rod and the Jeep to safety.

These three crazy, unpredictable, scary events in the mountains above Mantua in the past six months all had good endings. On the one hand I'm not too sure about Rod and the Jeep pairing up for anymore adventures, but on the other hand I'm so grateful for the graces that saved him and our little family three different times. It's very good to have him home tonight, the wayward Jeep in the garage, and the meandering/senile dog in her bed. Thank you, Lord.