Yellowstone and on

After showers and a night in real beds in Sheridan, Wyoming, we drove over the Bighorn Mountains and into Yellowstone Park. Mom and Dad had a camping site reserved in the Bay Bridge Campground, a stone’s throw away from Uncle Harlan and Aunt Marcia’s site.

Harlan and Marcia camp here every year, usually for about ten days. They’ve seen the wolf packs from year to year, they’ve walked paths along the shores of Yellowstone Lake, and they know where to find the rocking chairs too. So we had our own personal hosts! Marcia served us chili the evening we arrived, and one morning she made eggs benedict for the five of us. Camping at its roughest! Sitting around the table in Marcia and Harlan’s little trailer, I heard stories of old Wausa I’d never heard before.

It’s been a long time since my childhood visits or the trip here with my own daughters, and I’d forgotten how magnificent Yellowstone is. The wildlife, the rivers, the immensity of the land, and all the bubbling pots. The stink of sulphur still fills the air!

On our first day in the park, Mom and Dad and I played tourist. We drove a loop around the park, we watched Old Faithful erupt, we stopped to photograph the bison. The north rim along Yellowstone Falls was closed, but we viewed the falls from the south rim. We ate our picnic lunch beside a wide stream while an elk stood in the cool water along the far bank and fly fisherwomen cast lines that glinted in the sun.

We expected low temperatures at night, so Mom and Dad situated their tent in the open to get the morning sun. I staked my tent in a cove of trees. We all kept cozy and slept well. Maybe I’m just accustomed to wet and cool Kodiak, but it seemed that each sunrise brought immediate warmth.

Our days in Yellowstone were a new kind of family time. Just me and my parents and the aunt and uncle I grew up with. On our last night together, the five of us dined at Lake Lodge, overlooking the area where I’d spent the afternoon exploring with Harlan and Marcia while Mom and Dad relaxed on the big veranda.

Then Mom and Dad and I hit the road again. So many mountains, summits, forests, rivers, and miles of road. Traveling through the West puts a person in proper perspective. Little dots on a sea of sagebrush. Moving west out of Yellowstone, we drove small highways across Idaho that are definitely the roads less traveled – lots of open country, few cars. We were heading for the Sawtooth mountains – Melvin country, we called it, since my dad’s cousin Melvin told him we should check it out. It was new territory for my parents as well as for me. We picnicked beside a lake in the Sawtooth National Recreation Area, spreading the red and white checkered tablecloth on a picnic table and pulling sandwich makings and chips and salsa and carrots out of the cooler.

These picnics with Mom and Dad are calm affairs compared to the feeding frenzies of the past. The roadside picnics in Hawaii come to mind, when twenty-one members of the Hult-Olof-Merle-Craig-Munter clan gathered for Mom and Dad’s 50th anniversary. Almost nine years ago! I especially remember our picnic above Waipio Valley – a blur of hands reaching over the picnic table, everyone hungry and jostling and laughing, refueling for the next adventure.

Speaking of family, it was so fun to pull up this blog for Mom and Dad and find messages here! Kristy, Elizabeth, Melissa, you made my day and Grammie and Grampie’s too. Hooray for nieces and granddaughters and Coleman Pipers!