You are Holy, You are Mighty, You are my Salvation, You are the Creator, You are the Artist... You are my God. The words running thru my mind as we marched silently through His creation to celebrate the life of my father's parents. Oregon is breath taking. It's our Tower heritage. It's memories. It's my grandparents home. The McKenzie Bridge. A son passes on it's name. Two grandchildren do the same. It has great meaning...it's more than a name. And so we return to it's cold, slippery banks, where I remember fishing as a child with my grandfather. Years ago...but it's beauty never changes. It brings back memories of him. A master at fly fishing, known for miles round. A carpenter by hobby. A decorated captain in the USAF. A tall, quiet, strong man...his personality is echoed in my father. My father shares his love for flight, his skill in the hand, and his quiet strong presence. Memories of her. My grandmother. Sophisticated, utterly strong, loyal, brilliant in music and poetry. She brought grace and style to a river house. She was giving, always giving. She loved photography. And she loved my father deeply. My father shares these traits. He has her eyes, her strength, her loyalty resonates in him, but most of all my grandmother taught my father how to love us deeply. Thank you grandfather and grandmother for the legacy you leave behind.
A legacy remains...
And so it begins...
I believe this is a lid to a big dumpster...in the middle of a National Forest.
Waiting for my sister...
The hike to their special place
It's beautiful
First sight of the McKenzie
It was an overcast day. No sun. As my father began to speak, the sun briefly peaked out and shone on us for a breath of a moment. We didn't see the sun again for another couple days. I love how God does that.
Brooke McKenzie's look when I said 'Brooke, this is YOUR river!'
Ice cold beauty.
As BJ said, 'together once more for a moment...' And a promise fulfilled.
Drew standing as I stood as a child.
From the moutain top to the coast of Cannon Beach, OR.
A parade on July 4th. A military drummer walked past Opa (my mom's father) stopped abruptly, stepped back. About turned. Stood straight. And saluted a veteran of WWII. A pilot shot down. A survivor of the war and of cancer. A SURVIVOR. A west Texas wildcat...an oilman. An intellect. Opa returned the salute. And the man turned and resumed his march in the parade. A dream and a prayer, Lord that my boys would appreciate their heritage of flight and respect the deep sacrifice of our military. As my Opa says often...'Rachel, remember me to your boys.'
Oregon has cliffs of crashing waves upon the rocks.
We participated in a sand sculpture contest...we won. It's the story of Abraham and Isaac.
A meaningful, beautiful, perfect Tower Family reunion.
Till 2012... 
