My Favorite Place I Ever Visited

: The Time a Granola Bar Saved My Family in Sedona

If I had to pick my all-time favorite place I’ve ever visited, it wouldn’t be Paris, Rome, or anywhere fancy. Nope. It would be Sedona, Arizona—specifically the Enchantment Resort, which sounds like a place where wizards go for retreats but is actually a real resort tucked between giant red rocks that make you feel like you’re living inside Mars with room service.

I went there back in 1995 with my family, when I was still a young dad and all three girls were teenagers, which meant I was traveling with equal parts laughter, drama, and snack-related emergencies. I believed all vacations should be magical, effortless, and somehow planned by someone else. The resort itself sat inside Boynton Canyon like it was grown out of the rock—little adobe cottages with big windows and patios where you could sit with a coffee and pretend you were a rugged outdoorsman… even though the closest I got to wilderness survival was opening the door every morning for the guy who delivered our orange juice and newspaper.
Luxury does things to a man.

Arizona: Where Even the Air Is Trying to Kill You

Now, just for context, Arizona was in the middle of a record-breaking heatwave that year. I’m talking 126 degrees in Phoenix the day before we arrived. That’s not weather—that’s rotisserie.

But did that stop us from planning a big family hike? Absolutely not. Because we were from Pennsylvania where “a hot day” means 86 and complaining about it.

So the crew for the hike was me, Nan, and my two daughters for this story, Carla and Bree. My third daughter, Laura, took one look at the temperature, shrugged, and said:
“No thanks—I’ll be at the pool with a lemonade like a sane person.”

The Hike… and the Incident

We set off on the Boynton Canyon Trail with the confidence of people who thought they knew how to hike. We packed “essentials,” which in hindsight were basically useless. I think we brought only three bottles of water with us — total — for four people, in 100-plus degree heat. Hydration back then was something you talked about after mowing the lawn, not before hiking through a canyon that resembled the inside of a pizza oven.

But did that bother me? Of course not. I heard myself saying the famous last words of every clueless tourist who has ever wandered into Arizona:
“Don’t worry — this is dry heat out here.”

As if that somehow made it fine. Dry heat is still heat. Dry heat is what they use in a kiln to make pottery. Dry heat is what rotisserie chickens experience before they’re served at the grocery store. Yet there I was, smiling confidently, like a man who had absolutely no understanding of what was about to happen to us.

About three-quarters of the way up, Bree—the most energetic of the bunch—suddenly went from cheerful chatter to wobbling like a malfunctioning shopping cart. Then she melted down like the Wicked Witch of the West, right onto the red dirt trail — thank God she didn’t hit her head on the rocks.

She didn’t faint so much as announce it.

There she lay, sprawled out like a dramatic Victorian woman who had just heard terrible news about her inheritance.

Meanwhile I’m thinking, Great. People die in Arizona heat every year and here we are with half a bottle of water and one granola bar.

A Granola Bar Gains Superpowers

We sprang into action like a NASCAR pit crew that had no business being a pit crew.
I broke the granola bar in half as if it were some sacred relic. Nan poured sips of water into Bree’s mouth like she was feeding a baby bird. Carla flapped her hands in a motion that, while helpful to no one, did express emotional support.

Then suddenly—boom again—Bree sat up like the Energizer Bunny rebooting.

Color came back to her face. She started talking full sentences. She stood up.

That granola bar didn’t just help her—it resurrected her.

From that day forward, granola bars in our house weren’t snacks. They were life-saving medical devices.
If the FDA had walked by right then, we would’ve petitioned for emergency approval.

Back to Civilization (and Air-Conditioning)

We turned around and hustled back down the trail, suddenly aware of how poorly prepared we were, but also trying not to laugh because honestly? It was hilarious. We looked like tourists who tried to hike the sun.

When we got back to our adobe cottage, sweat-soaked and half-traumatized, there was Laura—fresh from the pool, glowing like a resort brochure model—asking:

“So, how was the hike?”

We just stared at her.
She looked at us.
Then she said, “Why do you all smell like burnt toast?”

Why Sedona Is My Favorite Place

And that—THAT—is why Sedona remains my favorite place I ever visited.

Sure, the scenery was stunning. The resort was magical. The mornings were quiet and peaceful.

But nothing beats the memory of the Great Granola Bar Resurrection of Boynton Canyon.

It’s one of those family stories that gets funnier every year, the kind that reminds you vacations aren’t about perfection—they’re about survival, laughter, and the people you get to drag along with you.