shining mountains

Recently I told The Man that I was going to have a breadbox for our grandkids, the way my grandma had a breadbox.  I don't think it was necessarily for the grandkids specifically, I think it was for Grandpa and herself, but she certainly never turned us down when we wanted to get into it.  And it was always fully stocked. My grandma kept candy bars in her breadbox (just don't eat all of the Almond Joys, those are for Grandpa), and I fully intend to do the same.

I can't remember how this conversation started.  It might have been brought on by the recent funeral of West's grandma so we were swapping grandparent stories.  It got me to remembering...

I grew up next door to my grandparents.  Our backyard was one giant backyard, connected with theirs.  We had a swing set on our end, and they had a sandbox under an apple tree on their end.

I loved that apple tree.  Every summer in my childhood memory has that apple tree in it. 
It grew next to my grandparent's garage, and though we didn't make a habit of being on top of the garage, the times we did climb up there was by way of the apple tree.  I'm wondering with it really being so easy to get up there, why didn't we do it more?
We sat in the sandbox, digging, piling, burying toys, filling the box with water, all in the shade of the apple tree.  The only rule was not to get the sand on the grass, and since the explanation was given that the sand smothers and kills the grass, we were actually pretty good to watch out for that and kept the sand contained inside it's wooden frame.  I've learned from experiences like this in my childhood, that if I take the time to tell my kids why we have a certain rule, they'll be better to adhere to it, same as I was.  It wasn't just a silly way to control me, it made sense, it had logic.  We listened.
In my mind's eye I can still see the dapple shade on the sand, the rays of sun squeezing past in places. 

I remember Grandma, crazy hair standing straight up, standing on her front porch on Halloween night yelling "Merry Christmas" as she passed out candy. 

Or on a summer evening she would be out on her porch taking a picture of the Oquirrh Mountains.  She would tell me that "oquirrh" was an Indian word that meant "shining mountains."  She would click a few pictures and add, "And aren't they shining now?"
As a kid I would turn and look at the mountains.

Thanks to my sis in law Jess for taking this pic for me (she lives with my brother a street away from where we grew up)

And I would think in awe and wonderment, yes, yes they really do seem to shine.  And I thought the Indians were so clever to have named them shining mountains.

Until recently I discovered that the Goshute Indian word oquirrh actually means "wooded mountain"... now those Indians aren't so clever because it would seem they may have missed the times when the mountains shined.

But my grandma saw it.  And she taught it to me.