Our family drove out to Colorado last spring stopping in South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore. We made our trek in my mother's old jeep with the right front door that creaks when you try to shut it. Packed to the gills with snacks, hiking poles, coats for the higher altitude, everything we might need- the great American road trip. Much has changed since I was last there as a child. Back then there was just a small platform. Now there is a grand entry with state flags, an amphitheater, and evening light show. The view though is the same, four stone gentleman, clearly befuddled by their closeness to each other. Except George, he is clear of the crowd and looking grandly out over the valley. I'm sure he can see all the way to the badlands. Now there is a trail along the base of the mountain. Even though it was late when we arrived and getting dark, we wanted to walk this trail with it's startling views of their chins and nostrils. A bib of rubble below their necks is dotted with pine trees and suddenly the scale is given.
For some reason I didn't draw George. I was sketching in a rather small book and I think the paper just wasn't wide enough.