A Canyon Trip in Verbals

The View Outside My Frame

1I had planned our family’s canyon trip around one photograph: everyone standing at the overlook, with the entire canyon behind us. Before leaving home, I drew a rough frame in my notebook. My cousin Renzo thought the drawing looked like a sandwich. I ignored him and packed a spare camera battery. Getting the photograph mattered more to me than admitting how carefully I had planned it.

2At the first overlook, Aunt Saira studied the canyon instead of facing my camera. Squinting into the distance, she traced a thin line of shadow with one finger. She said the shadow reminded her of the narrow street outside her childhood apartment. Renzo leaned against the railing. Our guide unfolded a map on a nearby bench. I checked the battery and waited for everyone to turn around.

3Photographing the canyon required more patience than I expected. Each time I lifted the camera, someone moved or another visitor entered the frame. A folded brochure slipped from Dad’s pocket as he reached for his water bottle. I asked everyone to gather near the railing. They came, but Renzo’s expression suggested that I had called a meeting about homework rather than a family photograph.

4To steady the camera, I rested my elbows on the railing. Then Dad asked me to lower it for a moment. He wanted us to notice the changing colors along the opposite wall. I almost explained that I could study the colors later in my pictures. Instead, I let the camera hang from its strap. The distant wall held patches of gold that I had mistaken for plain brown.

5We found a shaded bench to rest on before returning to the parking area. Renzo began sketching the outline of the canyon on the back of our brochure. Watching him, I realized that his crooked lines recorded something my carefully arranged photograph could not: the way he had noticed the place. I stopped worrying about the people missing from my original frame.

6Back home, I selected pictures for this blog. My favorite was not the group portrait, although we finally took one. It showed Aunt Saira pointing, Dad looking outward, and Renzo holding his unfinished sketch. I had taken it without asking anyone to pose. Choosing that picture felt like admitting that a family trip could have more than one author.