The Rim of the Grand Canyon by Catherine Brophy
The Rim of the Grand Canyon I’m puzzled by people who put limitations on their lives. And more puzzled when they boast about it. “I’ve never been outside X (insert town/county/ state)” they say proudly as though people who travel are denying their roots. “I’ve never read a book in my life.” They boast as though that makes them salt-of-the earth. “Pop music is rubbish.” They sniff as though that means their musical taste is impeccable. I’d have thought that life flings us enough limitations without inventing more They remind me a woman I met on the rim of the Grand Canyon . We were travelling in the western U.S. We’d been to Yosemite, Mesa Verde, Monument Valley and our eyes were sated with beauty. Next stop the Grand Canyon . But we hadn’t booked a room and as it was the start of the tourist season we feared that the hotels would be full and we’d have to keep driving. We drove all day and at last began to see signs saying “Viewing Ar