One year ago today, my grandmother, Maureen Bentley Hansen passed away. Two weeks ago, my grandfather, J. Kimball Hansen joined her. From the time I was little until the days they died, they were a constant presence in my life. Their home of rammed earth in southern Arizona was our primary family destination. Our trips to the Sonoran coast of the Sea of Cortez introduced me to the landscapes that I still dream in. We spent
hundreds of days together and they changed how I see the world. They changed who I am.
I don't know how to write about them right now, but here are some pictures I've been looking at since my grandpa's death.
I don't know how to write about them right now, but here are some pictures I've been looking at since my grandpa's death.
Getting ready for a trip to the caves.
You couldn't be sour enough to keep this woman from smiling at you.
The first trips I ever took with Grandpa were to Lake Powell. He built a houseboat out of WWII drop-tanks (parked in the bottom-left of the picture).
Grandpa was gruff, but if you could stand his constant criticism, he was as fun as anyone I've ever met.
When I was 12 or 13, we started going down to Mexico. This was somewhere between Puerto Lobos and Desamboque, picking our way down the beach in Grandpa's homemade dune buggy.
Director and cameraman.
Not a tourist for 200 miles. Just like Grandpa liked it.
Sam took this picture of me water-skiing from the dune buggy. Because the dune buggy was on the shore making no wake, you could ski on just inches of water and see everything below you. Grandpa always wanted to coordinate a turnaround without the skier having to restart, and Sam almost got it once.
We would move camp at low tide because the beach almost disappeared at high.
Back in Benson after Grandpa got back from home teaching.
Grandpa and Grandma built this house on 40 acres in the high desert south of Tucson.
When I first met him, he was a round man, but after a heart attack he lost a lot of weight.
This is maybe how I remember him most. Planning, packing, building, improvising, exploring, learning.
35 mm selfie.
Yelling at me for wasting time with a picture when we needed to be covering ground. We were totally self-sufficient for the whole trip, which sometimes lasted two weeks. One time he did run out of Digoxin and we followed the road until we found a Red Cross shack. They actually had the medicine. Expired and free. Just the way he liked it.
There weren't any established roads to the beach and we never took the same way down twice. He had a marine GPS, but I only ever remember him following his memory and instinct.
We spearfished and ate seafood every night. Mainly trigger fish but also stingray, puffer fish, and some blue/black algae eater that tasted like algae.
Grandpa always woke up before me. He was so excited to be at the caves, so far away from distractions and rules, that he didn't want to miss any of it. He would stay up late watching the stars and wake up before dawn to go swimming or fishing. Ironic pose with a baby needlefish.
We would always stop outside of town so he could wash up and put on a clean shirt.
Grandma died of Alzheimer's, but she retained her personality until the end. She made you feel so special and included.
They raised desert tortoises on their Rancho de las Tortugas.
All of our kids, except Naomi, met them several times. Caspian takes after Grandpa in build and disregard for the rules.
Grandma was a scholar of the gospel and an example of Christ's love.
I found that hat in the bottom of the Provo River. Grandpa patched it until it wouldn't take any more patches.
The smell of their house, the sound of the insects at night when we would arrive.
Our first trip with Henry.
My cousin Rachel Frandsen and I went on several trips together, including this one with the big dune buggy (a modified Volskwagen bus instead of the normal bug). Grandpa would stop in Caborca on the way down and buy a big pack of wheat and corn tortillas. Egg and fish burritos with tapines to top it.
Just a man, his Aerostar, and a hat he got for free at a booth in downtown Magdalena.
Grandpa took this picture of me one night after a long day of spearfishing and playing music in his cave by the sea. We played lots of songs, but he liked Mr. Tambourine Man and How Great Thou Art best. He told me I had something different than most artists, and I still think of that.
Ingrid returning some of the love Grandma so freely gave as she came near the end.
On his last day, we sang Mr. Tambourine Man and a hundred other songs with Mom, Malachi, Kathy, Christie, Paige, and Sam. We sang How Great Thou Art at his funeral.
Together again. As I believe they are now.
And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted frightened trees
Out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky
With one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow
