September.
Rob taught me to love September.
Although it was easy to fall in love with the month of clear, crisp blue skies and quivering, quaking aspens waving their friendly golden leaves in a rustling whisper. A month of high mountain country full of nothing but an echoing bugle or soft cow's mew to her calf. A bounding mule deer in velvet disappearing over the ridge at dark. A sky so full of shooting stars and the milky way, that you can clearly walk across a meadow before daybreak. A month of following him, my Rob, around in the woods, meadows, mountain cliffs and scree fields, until he would always, ALWAYS, without fail, send me forward as point after a bull, while he dropped back to call. A month where we could have an entire conversation with just a glance or wink or nod. Where we could break out in whispered church-quiet giggle fits until tears rolled. And years of September months where he consoled my disappointed spirit until I (finally) got that first archery bull. He was so proud.
September was always a month for creating new memories and reliving the old ones around a fire, in a tent, on a mountain side or in the cab of a truck. For standing on a rocky outcropping at 10,000 feet with the forests and meadows spread out before us, the wind and sun on our face. Or hiking miles in snow so wet that everything on your bow freezes up and you try to stay warm by shoving hand warmers in every pocket....but the elk are bulging and you can't force yourself to hike back to the truck/camp/four wheeler.
By this time of September, he would most likely have an elk on the ground or else have passed on 10 of them to try and get me a chance instead.
Tonight, I find myself learning a new September.
Partly because we are in that stage of life, where kids have part time jobs and sports activities and school functions...
But also because he is in the September of his life.
So instead of leaving my folks in charge of the kids for a week and heading to the hills with my Rob and "the boys", I find myself in the spider infested land known as our crawlspace, while he sits patiently on the floor of our closet giving me instructions through a hole in the floor.
He is man enough to ask me to help, or to do what he considers to be "his job" as the husband and provider. He can man up to admit that he should not..and cannot...physically crawl under the house...while also recognizing the need to continue to take care of us and provide for us-by teaching me to do it on my own.
So I can man up and crawl down there (fully clothed and with my hair shoved in a stocking hat to keep the spiders out).
And I can turn off the water to the sprinklers and drain the pipe so he can try to blow them out tomorrow. I can duck walk over to the far wall and take pictures of some wet wood that concerns me. And...I can even pack out my fresh kills...got a double, boys! (No elk or deer, just a couple mice trying to make a winter home.) All while Rob waits anxiously at the hole into the crawlspace...hovering, rocking back and forth and rubbing his head because he wants to help and make sure I'm okay.
And...I am.
With our God at our side, I am.
Of course, I'd rather be on a mountain with my Rob of yester-years and our Septembers, but this is where God has placed us. And this new September will be okay.
(Even tho, I would honestly rather spook another griz off an elk carcass than deal with the creepy crawlies down in spiderland.)
Wow, everyone...so humbling to read these comments.
But the glory all goes to God...it is HIS strength covering our weaknesses.
We love you all. Thanks for being a part of our journey. 
Also - I would like to correct my statement that God is beside me/beside us. That isn't exactly correct - because HE goes before us - like the good Shepherd that He is. He leads us, He guides us, and He makes our paths straight. Either way, He is close to us, but I don't want to demote Him to Co-pilot when He is actually the captain of the ship!
