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As our plane begins its descent into Albuquerque, the man seated by the window lifts the shade, exposing the desert landscape below. “Wow, where did all the trees go?” asks Marshall, my

11-year-old grandson, from his middle seat. Marshall has spent most of his life in the eastern United States, so the dusty desert landscape peppered with cacti and towering treeless

mountains stuns and delights him in equal measure. Our highly anticipated trip to New Mexico is finally underway, with many more exclamations of “Wow” to come. Marshall in Monument Valley.

Courtesy: Terri Marshall For several years I promised Marshall a one-on-one trip without his older sister, Katherine, who previously shared such a special experience with me. For myriad

reasons, including COVID-19, our getaway kept getting delayed. But finally, we have embarked on what promises to be an epic adventure together. Sharing my passion for travel with my three

grandkids pleases me more than anything, especially since I live in New York, more than a thousand miles away from their Florida home. With limited time together, each moment takes on more

significance and brings me (and them) so much joy. Yes, seeing new places serves as the catalyst for these journeys, but a treasure trove of memories emerges, and bonds strengthen. Traveling

to Aruba with Katherine, I witnessed her excitement in obtaining her first passport stamp. On a crab safari in Charleston, South Carolina, I watched my youngest grandson, Benjamin, taste

fresh steamed crabmeat for the first time, boldly declaring it his new favorite food. On a deep-sea fishing trip in Clearwater, Florida, with all three grandkids, we squealed with delight at

spotting a sea turtle beside the boat — a first for all of us. Precious memories like these last a lifetime — memories my grandkids will remember with smiles long after I’m gone. THE

EXPLORING BEGINS After we pick up our rental car, Marshall and I waste no time setting off for Bandera Volcano and Ice Cave near the tiny town of Grants, atop the Continental Divide, about

80 miles west of Albuquerque. As we motor along this highway running through miles of uninhabited land, Marshall’s entranced by the burnt-orange sandstone spires and the wide, flat

steep-sided mesas. I lose count of the number of times he thanks me for bringing him here — and our just-the-two-of-us getaway has only begun. Marshall and TerBear celebrating hike survival

with a selfie. Courtesy: Terri Marshall Arriving at the volcano park, we pick up a trail guide and start our hike up to the edge of the crater formed during the volcano’s eruption nearly

10,000 years ago. As we walk over ancient lava trails strewn with twisted old-growth fir, juniper and Ponderosa pine trees, we marvel at the magnitude of the explosion that occurred here. In

anticipation of our trip, Marshall researched the menacing New Mexico wildlife — poisonous snakes and the like — that we could possibly encounter. As we hike along he keeps a watchful eye

out for such dangers, prompting me to thank him for all he did to ensure our safety. “I did that for me, TerBear — you’re on your own,” he jokingly responds, amused at this opportunity to

playfully rankle his grandma. Reaching the edge of the crater, we scan the horizon for the additional 29 volcanoes that make up the El Malpais region. We spot 12 in the distance, resembling

mountains sparsely dotted with Ponderosa pines. Hiking back down the loop trail, we descend into an ice cave, where natural layers of ice glisten in shades of blue and green from the

reflected rays of sunlight. Throughout our hike, Marshall has paused frequently to read the trail guide, intent on not missing anything important. Watching this preteen take such an interest

in seeing his geography lessons at school come to life in this environment so foreign to him, and be so enthralled by it all, warms my heart. I think to myself how grateful I am that I can

give my grandson this gift he’s clearly appreciating.