While that may sound like the start to an Irish proverb of sorts, the above turn of phrase is attributed to Albert Camus who was decidedly an outside-the-box kind of thinker, a characteristic I always appreciate.  Although our respective time in Algiers was separated by decades and I’m pretty sure he never made it to Bend, I think he was spot on and I believe I have found where I want to live next. Our whole family loved it as well, but Flight’s commute to and from Bend might prove to be an insurmountable challenge.

Permit me to give some background…

We had visited Bend five years ago over the 4^th of July. Our brief stay was nothing short of enchanting. We watched people hefting their flotation devices over one shoulder and sporting some local brewery product in the other hand as they purposefully made their way to the center of town to float the river. We rented a quad-cycle for the family to tour through town. Eight-month old WoodSprite was strapped to me in the red Moby Wrap and Keeper and Firebolt were appropriately garbed in red, white, and blue in the front two seats.

As we were cycling around Drake Park, a local pointed to the way we were headed and told us, “Watch out, The Freedom Ride is coming through any minute.” ??? Apparently hundreds of cyclists make a parade through town on Independence Day and, in seeing the front end of the wave approaching us, we promptly did a 180^o just before we were overtaken by the surge. Trying our best to look like we belonged, we simply joined in the parade, our kids high fiving townsfolk along the way and yelling, “Happy 4^th!”

After our incredible bike ride, we strolled through Drake Park where there was a market of sorts set up. Local artists and crafters were selling their wares. One of the local bagpipe bands was auctioning off a beautiful SUP board with glorious Celtic knot work artistry. And there was Scottish Country Dancing – seriously, did they know I was coming? If memory serves (and it usually doesn’t), we ate an incredible dinner and retired to our place at Mount Bachelor, basking in the enrapturing day.

I was a bit dazed leaving Bend five years ago, not sure really what happened but convinced that the place is magical. Flight and I spent the next stretch of our road trip wondering what it would be like to be in Bend some other time as clearly the city had donned its holiday finery to woo us. Would the charm then hold?

Five years later we (sorry, Flight, I…) know the short answer to that question is yes, unequivocally so.

The long answer is a bit more nuanced, mostly owing to the requisite (and potentially brutal) commute for Flight, yet our time in Bend was no less enchanting this go around. We spent several days exploring some of the bounteous and wide ranging outdoor activities in the area – and we know we didn’t even scratch the surface of all that is offered.

Unfortunately, we stayed well outside of town, actually closer to Sunriver than Bend. The campsite was fine and offered enough space to sprawl out a bit (see Flight’s picture below), hugely welcomed after our stay in the tight KOA construction site campground, but it meant some time in the Suburu for any outings.

Our first day was a hike along the Deschutes. Starting at the Benham West Trailhead, we followed the path the river had carved out, where it was sometimes gently flowing, sometimes intensely rushing.

It was awe-inspiring and I was thrilled to be surrounded again by the pure energy of a real forest, and by that I mean the centuries of massive growth topping out at more than 200 feet (I can’t wait to get to the Redwoods!).

The energy of such old growth seems to streamline my own and being surrounded by such trees is so perfectly centering. Oh, to live so near such a sacred space…

Just beginning our hike, the girls asked why we had to go for a hike and repeatedly wanted to know for just how long we’d be hiking. However, about a quarter mile into it, they left off that line of questioning and were eagerly foraging for their own hike souvenirs. Firebolt collected as many sizable Ponderosa pinecones as she could manage, momentarily depositing them on the side of the trail to explore a downed tree.

She then deftly retrieved them and surprised me by quickly rapid-fire launching them into the river to assess how fast it was moving. And then she announced she would collect more pinecones to see if the river was moving faster or slower in other places. The whole world is a scientific laboratory when you really think about it and I love that she sees it so as well.

Keeper loved being out and about on the hike, climbing some rocky outcroppings awfully close to the rushing river, which made his mother a little nervous. Flight reassured me that that’s just what boys do and I need to let him do it.  Hoo boy.

The ease by which Keeper has transitioned to thriving outdoors is very welcome to observe, especially considering he’s a far cry from where he was earlier this summer. At one point he called home from Boy Scout Camp to inform me and Flight that nature was attacking him and we should come collect him (which we most certainly did not). Apparently desert mountain climes suit our boy more than tick-infested humidity. Good to know.

We concur.  Is my joy obvious?

WoodSprite was entirely in her element. She found some bark discarded by the pervasive Ponderosa pines and we noted it looked like a computer representation of what bark should look like or maybe thick construction paper cut outs pressed together. Whoa! WoodSprite thought her selected piece would make a perfect umbrella for her miniature princess dolls.

With a nod to Dr. Seuss’ Sleep Book, I admit I didn’t quite, quite understand her vision, but she and Firebolt labored together to make it so when we returned to Davista. Exceptional engineers in the making those two…

After enjoying gourmet burgers (no burger is complete without avocado, bacon, grilled onions, cheddar or blue or goat or feta cheese, maybe some Trader Joe’s sauerkraut, or Pickapeppa sauce or homemade Guinness mustard, or any number of other less conventional condiments – we take burgers very seriously in our family) and fresh corn back at our campsite, I crawled into bed that night feeling as though all was right with the world.

The next day Bend upped the ante. We FINALLY got to float a river and our time on the Deschutes was accompanied by perfect weather and minimal crowds, save a wedding party we made it a point to paddle far enough past to not hear their boisterous renditions of Abba and the like. As he’s posted several times, Flight had been jonesing for this opportunity and I was right there with him. It was glorious to be out on the water and just simply be present while slowly taking in the passing scenery.

Still scarred by our paddle in String Lake, Firebolt announced she was going in the double kayak with Flight. Keeper went solo and I had the pleasure of toting WoodSprite and various princesses, because why wouldn’t you bring them if you have them?

I can’t remember which of the kids initiated the game of tag on the water, but Keeper was the one who became a tad too aggressive in his attempt to tag his sister and ended up capsizing. Doh! After he went in all I heard was a repetitive chorus of, “Cold. Need to get out. Really COLD water. Need. Out…” Ever the good father, Flight braced the Firefly so Keeper could climb back in it without ending up back in the water. Fresh mountain run-off, that’ll wake you up.

Up until we pulled our kayaks out of the river we weren’t exactly sure just how Flight’s retrieval of the car was going to go down as we were batting .000 in such endeavors. Fortunately a fellow who worked for the local community HOA gave him a ride to our put in spot and we were dry and happily bundled back into the Suburu in short order. Our day on the brisk water made for five hungry peeps, which brings me to our first dinner out.

The vast array of Bend’s gustatory enterprises had my inner foodie lamenting we’d only be here a few days. We had to choose very, very wisely with only two days to dine out. No pressure. Crux Fermentation Project is a brewery poised at the top of a hill and won our vote for the first dinner.

As we approached this mecca there was a wide-open field to the right that was lined by several food trucks and dotted with blankets and people enjoying picnic dinners in the retreating sunlight. This looked far too festive a venue for the everyday, so I pointed at this vision and said to Flight, “Shoot, do you think there’s an event tonight? Will we even be able to get in?” “I guess we’ll find out,” and he dropped me off to inquire within.

When asked how long the wait for a table might be, the twenty-something at the register (there’s no host podium at Crux) said, “Actually, it’s open seating, so if you find a table, you can grab it.” “Wow, okay, great. Hey, quick question, what’s going on outside?” “Oh, well, you can order here and eat out there (gesturing to the field), or you can grab anything from any of the food trucks, if you prefer.” “Seriously?” “Yep (big grin), that’s just kinda what we do here.” I love Bend.

From Crux we had a hankering for some gelato and headed downtown to Bonta Natural Artisan Gelato. As we made our way to our destination, we couldn’t help but notice yet another place festively illuminated, this one with streets open only to pedestrian traffic.  To get to our gelato required wending through Bend’s Oktoberfest.  I swear, they must have these celebrations just for us.  As we meandered, we even passed the gelateria’s kiosk, but bypassed it for the real store. Although I was disappointed they didn’t have pumpkin in the proper store (I was drawn to that flavor at the kiosk), Flight reminded me it was still summer and I shouldn’t be enjoying pumpkin flavored anything yet. Fine. Dulce de Leche & Sea Salt it is.  And it was heavenly.

Yet another blissful end to a delightful Bend day… I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings…

As under the radar as my time in Maryland had been, we similarly departed Park City most covertly. We packed up (Flight was well versed in doing so having moved to three campsites in as many days while I was away – !!!) and got on the road.   Our travels to Idaho provided sights unlike anything I’d ever seen before, even though I had routinely made the trek to Pocatello from the U for my NROTC Unit recruiting duties.

I mean, seriously, what is this?

There were several in caravan. Perplexed, I snapped this pic when they got off the highway. ??!!?! No idea.

Then the landscape evolved from Park City-esque to Napoleon Dynamite’s natural habitat in about 15 minutes.

Flight perfectly described how unpleasant our prospective campsite at the dunes was, but allow me to offer a few more pictures.

We tossed around the idea of getting out here and having a roll down the sand just so we could say we did, but in less than 30 seconds we thought of all the ways it could go horribly wrong (I would hate to break my coccyx) and chose to move on.

All the way to Boise.

On the way, there was even a sketchy (extremely narrow) bridge (it’s construction season in Idaho too) we had to traverse. I’m very thankful Flight was happy to drive and he even earned his Fly Ace designation while doing so (not while traversing the bridge).

Although there weren’t many, one highlight of this thankfully brief stay in the KOA was Firebolt’s reintroduction to the card game Golf. Although I’m not sure I want to play with her anymore. This picture shows the third round she managed with a perfect hand. I have never seen anyone score -10 points in a round so readily.

The other highlight was WoodSprite’s artistic endeavor. She was outside slaving away in the dark and came up with this lovely chalk drawing.

I would say that I’m sorry I missed the earlier drama with pushy children who snack on (or maybe just share) unfrozen Otter Pops, but that would be untrue. I was very thankful Keeper and I had been off to Trader Joe’s to restock the larder when all that unfolded. Flight is a rock star for deftly handling that mess.

And amidst the clamor of large pieces of construction machinery tirelessly working to build a new neighborhood, we sailed out of Boise as early as we could manage. Eventually I hope we can get back to see some of the hot springs littering Idaho. I know that the state has some beautiful places to visit, it just so happens not a single one presented itself on our transit through to Oregon.   Bummer…

 

I arrived in town to find our house exactly as we’d left it, save for the kind note from the realtor who’d hosted our most recent Open House the previous weekend.   That was weird (not the note), the way our house had seemed to stand still, patiently waiting (?), entirely untouched (indifferent even?) by our absence or the threat of a new denizen, alleged felon or no. Instead of feeling like a supportive anchor amidst all the changes we’d been experiencing, ones I was desperately trying to process in my short window of grown up alone time, the house’s nonchalance seemed to make light of my discomfort, which made me feel that much worse. Like I said, weird.

Although I was back in the place we’d made into a home for four years, it was a sterilized version of my recollection. In accordance with all the staging recommendations I’d read, nowhere did we have a family picture still adorning the walls. Most of the items that had designated it as our family’s home had either been brought with us in Davista or packed away in boxes. Yet everywhere I looked I was bombarded by poignant family memories, all of which only faintly matched the current reality. The disconnect was so overwhelming that I retreated outside to escape.

I spent the afternoon harvesting tomatoes and ground cherries from our garden gone wild in our absence. Cape gooseberries (the other name for ground cherries) are cousins to the tomatillo, with a similar dried husk indicating their ripeness but with a tangy sweet flavor. We first sampled them dipped in chocolate on our honeymoon in Venice – see, this theme was forming even before kids came into the mix. I also, for the first time ever, cleaned the pool because 1) it desperately needed it before the next Open House scheduled in two days time and 2) the mindless labor allowed me to postpone being in the house again while I tried to understand what my reaction to being in it again meant.

I think my processing went something along these lines, although maybe not necessarily in this order… Do I miss Maryland? It’s hard to say definitely yes or no with so much capturing my attention daily. Frankly I haven’t really thought much about that. Do I miss our house in Maryland? I think only the space we created in the basement, because, really, who doesn’t love a craft space steps away from the kegerator. What about the way of life we carved out? Since that’s definitely not how I want to live our next chapter, I’d have to say no. Do I skim first and then vacuum? Shoot, or should I let out some water first? I think it’s too full (apparently it’s been raining here while fires rage out West), I should probably text Flight for his recommendations. Is this overwhelming reaction because I am acutely missing my family? Hmm. I guess I really do like them and we have been together 24/7 for the last six weeks. I’m not sure when that’s ever been the case. How much was my feeling their absence compounding my reaction to being back in the house? 94%? I don’t know.

After getting briefed on Flight’s SOP for tending to the pool, I went back to harvesting more goodies from the garden while the siphon hose dumped our excess pool water under the trampoline generating the standard temporary swamp. Unless you want to buy our house, then it’s got perfect drainage…

Although it didn’t come to me until I am now typing this, the disconcerted feeling reminds me of the uncomfortable reintegration process following previous Navy deployments.   While deployed with a VP squadron you spend six months living with the ten other members of your crew. In addition to routinely flying 11-hour missions together (not including the preflight and post flight requirements), you spend much of your time traveling in a pack and there is very little alone time. I became so accustomed to living this way that returning to the quiet that comes with living solo in a small house really threw me for a loop. If memory serves (and it usually doesn’t), it took just over a week to find my stride again. Interesting parallel.

Not wanting to disturb the museum quality of our house and not having an operational refrigerator within (they’ve all been unplugged in our absence), I eagerly jumped on the opportunity to dine out.

All by myself.

That’s become sort of a joke between me and Flight.  About six months ago we went to lunch at Lures in Annapolis. They always have fresh caught goodness served a number of interesting ways and boast a solid on tap menu for beer (and cider) geeks. Happily sated by our lunch, I asked Flight when he’d come here before as he seemed to know the menu. He mentioned he’d been to Lures three times previously. I couldn’t believe this was then only my first outing here and asked him with whom he had dined. “No one. I ate by myself.” “What do you mean by yourself? Who goes to a restaurant to eat alone?” I had always considered dining out an extravagance, something I would only do with company and certainly not while I was surrounded by plenty of food at home. “I do it all the time on the road. You should try it some time.”

So I did.

I went to Paladar and ate all five of my mini tuna tacos all by myself. They were crazy good and the experience was quite liberating. I believe I’ll be doing that again as soon as I can make it work.

The morning came way too early (I was still on Mountain Time) and I powered through my Navy Reserve day, no great hardship I assure you. I was intrigued by the opportunity to once again dine alone. I tried a couple other of my nearest favorites and found them all to have ludicrous wait times (apparently other people go out to eat on Saturday nights too – a lot of them and few are parties of one), so I grabbed some dinner at Whole Foods along with simple brekkie fixings for the next morning. I had the option to go to the Navy football game and/or visit with any number of friends in the area, but I realized I needed some down time of my own and savored my brooding in solitude.

The second best part about my brief stint in Maryland was that I was able to scour our house for several elusive items, most critical of which were Firebolt’s glasses (even though they had become her second back-up pair after a visit to the optometrist in Minnesota) and more long pants for Keeper (who donned them all as highwaters when we were reunited – shoot!). Truly the best part was that I got to dine with our cousins who live 1.1 miles from our house in Maryland. Our whole family has missed their gaggle (WoodSprite and their youngest were in preschool together the last couple of years) and, as they are part of GiGi’s brood, they are some of my favorite people.

And so I departed Maryland early the next morning still not really understanding how our residence seemed to have made no imprint on the sterilized husk of our house nor how being in it again evoked so much visceral turmoil. I’m just happy to be rejoining the rest of the family on this long strange trip…

Maybe I need to dine out again all by myself to try to sort it all out…

Flight already covered our dinner at his aunt and uncle’s house, but permit me to add some family history background. Flight’s grandmother was affectionately referred to as GiGi for Great Grandmother as she met 42 of her great grandchildren before she died at 102. She was an incredible woman who raised five amazing kids who have all raised delightful children, one of whom I was fortunate enough to marry. Seriously, on all counts.

I remember telling some of my friends I was going to my husband’s family reunion to celebrate GiGi’s 95^th birthday and most replied, “Oh, geez, have fun with that.” I had to further explain how this family is very unusual in that there is not a single bad one in the bunch. Most people have families that know to avoid Uncle Fred, especially when he’s had more than three drinks, or there’s a common understanding to not get Cousin Louise talking about her religion, her cats or her corns. In contrast, every single one of GiGi’s offspring is truly delightful to be around. Each is smart, engaging, and interesting, so it’s always an enjoyable time when we connect and this dinner was no exception.

Aside from the delicious food and equally delightful company, our kids had a blast. Flight’s uncle took them to the neighborhood golf course in a golf cart. And when I say “them” I mean ALL the second cousins at once:

They loved it!

We dropped Flight off at the airport before we scooted back up to Jordanelle. In his absence we spent the day breathing easy and going to the beach with friends. Although the beach was quite rocky, much to our kids’ dismay, its proximity to where we were parked was quite a luxury.

Our girls had been invited for a sleepover (and they gleefully emphasized “with NO parents”) at my third cousin’s (the same contractor’s daughter whose house we camped in sans Davista), which afforded Keeper and me some rare mother-son time. After we dropped the girls off in the late afternoon, we ran some Keeper-centric errands and were able to check out Stanza (a delightful Italian restaurant near the University) with my folks and my godfather. Keeper swore his lasagna was “the best anybody’s ever made.” He might be right.

The following day evolved into insanity (mine) owing to a host of challenges, the greatest contributors of which were the 102^oF heat down in the valley, our real estate brush with an alleged felon and sorting out the potential consequences thereof, and my overscheduling our family. Note to my dyslexic self, there are only 24 hours in a day. Not 42. Maybe someday I’ll get that straight. Sigh…

There were two dazzling bright points among the chaos, however.   First, after we collected the girls, the kids and I enjoyed our abbreviated visit to the Utah Museum of Natural History. The family engineers delighted in building earthquake proof structures and evaluating land mass erosion across the millennia:

After that we made our way to the Viking Exhibit, which was truly fascinating. While the older kids played Hnefatafl (try saying that three times fast), WoodSprite and I admired the reconstructed ship display (those are all the iron bolts used to pin the ship together which were all found in situ in a Norwegian burial site) and the penannular broaches, of which my mom has several of the Scottish variety.

We had also hoped to make room in the day to see my late godmother’s art exhibit at the Utah Museum of Fine Art, but time got away from us. Again, I’m surprised to learn there are only 24 hours in a day. Shoot.

We had to press on for yet another Family Dinner (I may have mentioned we’re related to half the Salt Lake Valley), this one back at my cousins’ place where the girls had just slept over. On our way we stopped at Cummings Studio Chocolates (perhaps you see a theme here, as we’ve made it a point to check out local chocolatiers wherever we wander) to pick up some chocolate covered strawberries (delicious yet somewhat ubiquitous) and chocolate covered grapes. I had never heard of these before my time at the U and was so thrilled they were still making such a delicacy. Don’t love ‘em ‘til you try ‘em. Seriously.

The second highlight was this third and final Family Dinner, and a bonus was that my parents were able to join us. Although they haven’t had nearly the years of experience in hosting such gatherings as our contractor relative, my cousins set a fine table.   Dinner was scrumptious and it was especially lovely to spend some time getting to know the younger generation of cousins, one of whom is getting ready to ship to Great Lakes Naval Training Center to begin his time in the Navy – WOO HOO!

The following day was a flurry of down time, which probably makes no sense. Permit me to explain. Flight was due back in the early hours and (thankfully) decided to rent a car for a day to come back up to Jordanelle, which was perfect since the kids (and maybe I too) were DONE with going up and down Parley’s Canyon (see picture above) and I could take it back to the airport for my departure. Originally I was to head to the airport that evening to fly back east for Navy Reserve work, but Flight and I had some serious debriefing and planning to do and, aside from meeting the pool guys who were scheduled to close our pool, I had no other obligations that might necessitate the red-eye arrival early on Friday morning

After spending the day getting our ducks in a row, doing laundry, unpacking (Flight) and packing (I), we went to one of our favorite places in Park City from back in the day. Our Park City friends joined us as well, all four of them this time since they now had a freezer full of venison (in the words of Napoleon Dynamite – “Lucky!”). Loco Lizard is perched on what the outskirts of town used to be in Kimball Junction, which is now bustling with activity. Near the Olympic Park, several new commercial areas have sprung up around Kimball Junction, including the largest Whole Foods in the U.S., which unfortunately hasn’t opened yet. The old one around the corner, however, was still more than adequate and suited our needs just fine.

That evening, Flight told me he wasn’t going down in the Valley even once while I was gone, except to collect me on Monday.  He further offered he thought he might not even leave the campground. I didn’t blame him. I had overbooked us plenty in his absence and he (and the kids) could certainly use some down time while I was sporting my Navy poly-wool uniform in Maryland for the weekend.

I’ll explore my seemingly alternate-universe trip to Maryland in the next post…

Saturday morning we packed up camp and made our way to where our friends were housesitting. Upon arriving at the house, we disconnected the Toad and I again gave my thanks for being married to a skilled pilot, one who can coax Davista into the nookiest of crannies. Despite the driveway’s steep slope and curving nature, Flight backed in with no issues – it’s like he’s used to flawlessly driving large pieces of gear, which, of course, he is.

Flight took the girls over to the Sundial to check in and Keeper and I followed with my friend and her girls. We were all going to take a welcome dip in the hotel pool as it was solidly in the 90s, rare for Park City. I thought it must be blistering in the Valley’s triple digit heat and was happy we wouldn’t descending below the smog layer until Family Dinner tomorrow.

After grabbing luxuriously long showers at the hotel (in the words of Ruff Ruffman uttered upon unpacking non-frustration-free packaging, “Sorry, environment…”), we rejoined our friends to make dinner and savored our time with them at this gorgeous home (see Flight pics below). As Flight said, their father was out tracking a deer in the desert (we were getting updates through his wife) and wouldn’t be joining us until he had found it so he could return home loaded with venison. I mentioned to her that we’d heard we’d be getting the official contract to sell our house any minute now and she said she’d been saving a bottle of bubbly for when it becomes official.

We grabbed a few necessities for our hotel overnight and headed back to the Sundial Lodge to sleep in proper beds. The next morning we enjoyed a bit of a lie in and popped back to Davista to collect new necessities for this evening’s overnight before heading back down the canyon. We were sleeping at my cousins’ house after celebrating Family Dinner at her father’s.

I should explain what this particular Utah custom entails. When I first moved back to Utah in 2000, my father told me I should make the opportunity to go to Family Dinner. He told me about the weekly Sunday evening gatherings he first went to at my grandmother’s first cousin’s house (the same we drove by in the Avenues a few nights ago) and, the way he described the quaint gathering, there were roughly a dozen people around the table enjoying together dinner, fellowship, and the occasional musical recital en famille. My grandmother’s cousin taught music and everyone in the family played at least one instrument. Wait, what?! My father assured me the musical recital business was likely a thing of the past and I could go to Family Dinner at my second cousin’s (once removed) without any performance anxiety.

Imagine my surprise when I walked in my cousin’s house to find 47 people would be dining together for my first Family Dinner. When I expressed my feeling a little overwhelmed to my 9-year old cousin given there were so many people here, she (rather unsympathetically) added to my flummoxed feeling saying, “Yeah, and you’re related to all of them.” !!! Since the days of my father’s regular attendance, the family has clearly grown exponentially. My grandmother’s cousin’s four children have had 20 children among them and many of them have gone on to have their own children, the oldest of which have gotten married, including the helpful former 9-year old. The years between their family’s generations span far fewer than between ours. I later learned that particular night was so heavily attended because it was the night of the Oscars, which they make into quite an event, and normal attendees numbered only in the high 20s. And they do this every week. Great googlie mooglie!

Flight has expressed the same overwhelmed discomfort in that setting, so I guess it was no surprise when Keeper squirreled himself away in the car for some alone time before dinner. Our girls, however, had no problem blending right in with the chaos and disappeared into the pandemonium upon arrival. Every now and then they’d make a giggling pass through the house to remind us they were still within its walls.

In addition to my eleventy billion shirttail cousins, my parents were able to join in Family Dinner festivities. They arrived about fifteen minutes behind us toting fresh pies (purchased, not made) while I slaved over our appetizer dish of similar requisite preparation time. Flight’s sister shared this recipe with me and it’s so deliciously easy (and easily (and maybe even magically) delicious), I thought I should pass it along. From Trader Joe’s, purchase a package of cooked lentils, a package of bruschetta topping, and a container of crumbled feta. Open all containers, dump into a bowl, stir until mixed, and serve with pita chips. Like I said, delicious. I would know because I ate most of it.

To help illustrate what Family Dinner is really like, I should explain that my second cousin once removed is a contractor. He built their house SPECIFICALLY to accommodate hosting Family Dinner. For example, in the kitchen there are two built-in dishwashers (I have never had more than one in any place I’ve lived, including Davista where I currently serve in that capacity), an enormous stove that would make any chef salivate, and an equally sizable fridge capable of storing Baskin and Robbins sized ice cream tubs in the freezer.   The dining room was built adjacent to the kitchen, separated by a pass-through counter space with cupboards above to hold dozens of plates, glasses, and serving dishes. This space was designed to be large enough to hold an impressive table that can seat 20 (or so), yet still fit other tables where the younger generation can dine.

No matter how many times I have been to Family Dinner, I am still always surprised (impressed?) by the amount of food that comes out in short order. This evening’s menu boasted roast beef (prepared two ways), cream cheese mashed potatoes, salad, bread, and several varieties of fruits and veggies and lined the counter that doubled as a buffet. After saying a blessing, everyone collected dinner and I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with my cousins (and my parents) around the table, which meant I was far too engrossed in conversation to take any pictures.  However, most fortunately for everybody involved, I was not called upon to play any music.

After loading up on pie, we made our farewells and zipped across town to stay at yet another cousin’s (a third cousin straight up, not removed – you’ve got to keep up, genealogy is serious business in Utah) house where the daughter of the contractor and her family make their home. This particular third cousin and I were fast friends from my previous time in Utah and, as per norm, we were up until the wee hours chatting away.  She is notorious for having some sort of a black hole/time vortex swirling about her, which means time passes at a ludicrous pace in her presence.  We haven’t discovered the exact mechanism by which this works, but we have often been surprised by the sky’s lightening when we had only just barely (Utahism) started our conversation/scrapbooking/etc.  After I awoke from my brief nap, we enjoyed a lovely Family Breakfast before heading back up the mountain to move Davista back to Jordanelle, where the Angel was waiting for us.

More on that in the next post…

I’m sorry. Where were we? Right, our time in This is So Not the Place…

First, I guess I should dedicate a few words to Jackson, WY, which was our lunch stop on the way from Grand Teton National Park. We enjoyed an insanely good brunch at Persephone Bakery. After seeing how tight the streets were looking to get there, I recommended to Flight that we go directly through town, find a place to park Davista for a couple of hours, and pop into Jackson proper in the Subaru.

Our kids opted for a sweet breakfast creation and the Bread Pudding French Toast was crazy good. Flight had the Summer Grain Bowl with heaps of smoked salmon and veggies topped with a poached egg. I had a Truffled Egg Skillet, which was all sorts of delicious goodness on top of a cheddar scone and smothered in a heavenly concoction involving Dijon mustard and cream, lots of cream, and truffle oil. It was sublime.

After looking for reasonably priced Jackson Hole t-shirts, we split up and I headed to the local yarn store while they recovered the car. I found exactly what I was looking for, so once I finish knitting a Christmas present, I can begin what is sure to be my new uniform sweater. I use “uniform” not because it has USN stenciled inside it, but because I know I will wear it all the time. I have one such sweater that I knit using alpaca yarn (it is with me now because it is a uniform item) and it has logged many hours in 9 short years. I hope to finish this new one just in time to have a need to wear it.  Although we didn’t spend much time in Jackson, aside from the astronomical price tag associated with available real estate, I really enjoyed our brief stop for lunch and necessities (yarn absolutely falls under that category).

At last, we made our way to “Sin City,” as the folks down in the Valley refer to it.

In truth, Park City is very different from the Salt Lake Valley. The smog doesn’t make it past the Wasatch Mountains, the desert heat isn’t nearly as stifling, and there’s a different type of energy emanating from the town. There is a huge focus on taking advantage of the mountain lifestyle and everyone’s daily exercise (and I mean everyone’s, not just that of the elite athletes in residence) involves celebrating the outdoors regardless of the season. And it’s only 30 minutes from the airport. All good things… Hmm…

Despite the holiday weekend, we managed to secure a spot at the Jordanelle State Park for Thursday and Friday nights, but on Saturday and Sunday we were out of luck as they were full up. We turned in early to try to figure out where we’d call home the remainder of Labor Day Weekend.

The following day we went into Park City, into the town itself I should say. While the food was delicious, the best part about our lunch at Bistro 412 was the separate table accommodations. The girls played “Another Version of War” with Firebolt’s mini-deck of American Girl doll cards until their meals came and Keeper, Flight, and I enjoyed a quieter lunch with good conversation. Check it:

From there we meandered down the main drag and I found a long-sleeved t-shirt I really liked. You’d probably like it too, but not maybe for the bargain price of $185. It stayed on the hanger, but I admired it all the way out the door.

We did take the opportunity to make it a school outing as well and made our way to the Park City Museum. We had been there about eight years earlier, but I didn’t remember much from our visit, likely because I was in the thick of the newborn parent fog with Firebolt. The kids really enjoyed the exhibits on the town’s mining history (there is a spot to simulate dynamite detonation), various treasure hunters (oooooooh, pirates!), and the old jail (“This is where they put the bad people,” observed WoodSprite).

Before we returned to Jordanelle, we stopped by the Park City base, which was hopping. Our purpose in checking it out was two fold: 1) to see if we might park overnight for the weekend (we just did so at Grand Targhee for the eclipse) and 2) to check out all the summer activities they boast. First and foremost, they have an alpine coaster and an alpine slide, both of which are totally legit. We chose to all ride the alpine slide, WoodSprite in the same sled with me. If you’re not familiar with these, you sit in a sled of sorts and control your speed (joystick forward to accelerate and back toward you to brake) as you wind down the mountain.

The ride up the chair lift was beautiful. I might have managed to take some pictures were I not hanging on to WoodSprite for dear life. I have mentioned my having issues with vertigo in a previous posting. Watching things move in my periphery while receiving no confirming input from my proprioceptors (dangling legs) really sets my world adrift. Feeling as though I might be falling off the chairlift or, worse yet, that WoodSprite was about to plummet to the ground 30 feet below made for a very long, albeit aesthetically pleasing, ride.

After the wooziness on the trip up, I wasn’t sure how WoodSprite and I would manage the ride down. Fortunately, she was a little tentative about the whole evolution and I felt no need to maximize our speed to go tearing down the mountain, potentially pulling a Digger (Flight’s cousin) and jumping the track.  Flight was kind enough to share this picture as we made our way to the end.

WoodSprite was beside herself excited when we dismounted from our sled and, while I heard a repeating chorus of “Let’s do that AGAIN!”, I looked around for Firebolt to make her appearance. Exuding (excessive?) caution in response to some rather surprising triggers, Firebolt will occasionally refuse to participate in an activity, even once underway. “That’s was AWESOME, Momma! Woo hew! Let’s do that again!” WoodSprite sang.  Still no Firebolt.  Flight and I made eye contact and both silently wondered which of us would need to hike up this hill to retrieve her. We looked up to the top of the run. Neither hide nor hair of Firebolt.  I think I was mid-sentence asking a fellow who worked at the lift how he might best recommend collecting a child who may be frozen on the run when she methodically came into view. Never mind. As she made her way down I saw that she wore a look of deep concentration mingled with a perplexed expression, which I didn’t know how to interpret. I was quite relieved when it transitioned into a slow smile accompanied by a reticent, “That’s was fun.”

Phew. I hadn’t realized I was literally and figuratively holding my breath and exhaled deeply in response to her restrained joy.

Before we left the resort, we stopped in and asked at the information desk, “Hey, we have an RV and were wondering…” at which point we were cut off. “No. No overnight parking. At all. Nowhere in town. You might try Walmart out by Kimball Junction, that’s the only place…” Um, okay, I guess we’re not the first ones to ask…

From the base we headed down Parley’s Canyon to enjoy a Thai dinner at Red Basil in South Jordan with my parents, my aunt and uncle, and my godfather.   Sadly, my godmother passed away two years ago, after which my parents have been routinely making the trek to Salt Lake to help manage my godparents’ estate. This week was one such trip and it was lovely that our time in Utah overlapped.

In their earlier years, both my father and my uncle used to celebrate their Indonesian heritage by eating insanely hot traditional dinners. The result? My father especially can no longer stomach anything remotely spicy (he told me he thinks he must have “burned out his system” and what I know of East Asian Medicine makes me think he’s right) and seemed to watch Flight order his dinner (“Thai hot”) with a mixture of envy and maybe mild admonition.

It was in the middle of dinner, actually, that we heard from our realtor who told us the buyer had officially accepted one of our counter offers and we could expect the formal paperwork over the weekend. Upon learning the news Flight and I were a little awestruck and Keeper immediately and respectfully excused himself to go outside to process. We gave him some space and Flight went out to check on him a few minutes later, coming back in to report, “He’s fine, just a little overwhelmed.” Me too.

From dinner, we made our way to my godparents’ house in The Avenues, right near the University and only about four blocks away from my former office in the Department of Naval Science. Because we made our approach from South Jordan more speedily than my folks, we took a longer tour through the Avenues and spotted the house that my father had first called home upon immigrating to the United States, as well as the one where I spent my first few years. Our kids were far less interested – I got a half-hearted look out the window, “oh, cool” in between Geometry Dash runs – but I was happy for the brief glimpse down memory lane.

I’m always a little nervous about having our children set foot into my godparents’ house. My godfather is the former Dean of Architecture at the U (his friendship with my father dates back five decades when my father was a very young tenured professor in the same department) and maker of beautiful furniture (seriously, two pieces of which are on display in the Smithsonian) and his late wife was also an architect but is better known for her art. Their house resembles an actual museum in all the ways our Davidsonville residence does not, most notably that both his one-of-a-kind chairs and tables and her intellectually meaningful and mathematically relevant artwork are on display throughout the house. Considering everything we currently live with is made to careen down 8.2% grade at 60+ mph, our kids don’t presently live where they need to be especially mindful. Like I said, I was a little nervous.

I knew that my godfather was a fan of gelato, but I didn’t really understand what that meant. In his freezer there must have been nearly a dozen pints of the really good stuff with flavors like basil, honey-lavender, and anise-hyssop, along with the usual suspects. Following our dessert, the girls favored us with one of their shows with Firebolt singing (impressively making the song up as she goes) and WoodSprite dancing (similarly choreographing on the spot). The gelato and the prolonged visit well was worth overcoming my initial appprehension and I am happy to report that nobody broke anything.

As we navigated back up the mountain Flight and I talked about our options for the next few days, unable to even contemplate what the upcoming weeks may hold. Upon check out tomorrow, we still had no idea where we’re going to be parking this thing. We happen to be Marriott Rewards members, which means we can occasionally get a night’s accommodation for free. I asked Flight if he thought we could maybe stay at one of the Marriott places in Park City and stash Davista in the parking lot during our stay. We’d previously checked into such an option at Great Wolf Lodge and they had been very accommodating with such a request. However, by the time we got back to Davista and did the bedtime dance with the kids, a room at the Sundial Lodge (not Marriott) was the only place available and their idea of where to park an RV didn’t quite marry up with ours. Fortunately, our Park City friends let us know they were housesitting a beautiful place with a treacherous ascent to a perfect, level spot and were happy to let us park there for a couple nights before we could return to Jordanelle.

Okay, impending crisis averted, let’s tee up the next one…

Although I navigated airplanes for the Navy for a while, my grasp of 2D geography and relative distances, especially in the western US, is a far cry from exceptional. For example, I still have a hard time believing the 20 minutes to get anywhere in LA doesn’t include San Diego. Anticipating we’d be journeying in Davista for a good part of the day, I was surprised to learn I had significantly overestimated the length of our trek from Yellowstone to Grand Teton National Park. The boundaries of the two are actually only nine miles apart. !!! And to think, my skills have improved.

We stayed a ways out from the center of the Park (at Headwaters Lodge RV Park), but had a space we could expand into – a very welcome change from Yellowstone’s cramped accommodations. The Clam again saw some play and we busted out our two hammocks, a first on this trip. Our goal with living in Davista is to sleep within yet find ways to sprawl into the outdoors to minimize feeling cooped up. The Clam, the outdoor cooking area, the picnic table provided at most campsites, and the hammocks have all eased our (or at least my) feelings of confinement and alleviated any (mobile) cabin fever.

Once camp was set up we made our way to the Colter Bay Visitors Center, where Firebolt and WoodSprite were insistent on getting the Junior Park Ranger Books first thing. The girls were on a mission to complete their respective Junior Ranger Programs and knocked out their requirements in one day, in just a few hours really. Fortuitously, half an hour after they had books in hand, the same Ranger who gave them their books presented a talk on birds in the Park. We learned about the tiniest birds in the park (the calliope hummingbird, recognizable by the magenta patch at its throat) to the largest (the trumpeter swan, who mates for life). Although he didn’t appear to want to pay attention, Keeper, too, offered answers to the Ranger’s questions throughout her talk.

Keeper was having a tough go. Lack of connectivity has been tricky for us in trying to sell the house as we had a very interested potential buyer who was threatening an imminent offer (more on that later). This certainly posed challenges for Flight and me, however, being cut off from his friends back in Maryland was extremely demoralizing for Keeper. Of the three kids, he is the one who has most expressed his dissatisfaction with the whole notion of departing Maryland and his friend network. The main reason we had purchased him an iPhone prior to this adventure was so that he could text and Facetime to his heart’s content so as to maintain his friendships while on walk about. He had been cut off for almost a week, save occasionally driving through haphazard snippets of 4G comms in the Yellowstone, which is an eternity in the world of a 6^th grader. We made it a point to get lunch at a GTNP café that boasted Wi-Fi and allowed him some space to catch up with his friends.

Not unlike Yellowstone, anywhere we wanted to explore involved a commitment to a car ride, during which the kids were constantly bickering and whining at each other, much to our dismay. After doing such mini road trips first in Yellowstone and again in the Grand Tetons environs, Flight and I expressed our deep gratitude for having chosen a Class A motorhome instead of a 5^th Wheel, which would have necessitated all five of us in the tiny cab of an enormous truck for all of our transit time. I can think of no more grating self-inflicted hell – unless we then stayed only on Montana’s washboard back country roads.

Our first day on the other side of the Tetons ended with a family “mountain bike” ride around the campsite. In truth it was just a scenic outing along a hiking trail, hardly technical, but it was the first WoodSprite had managed. At one point, she (in her own words) “ate it” but dusted herself off and continued the ride. Pretty awesome for someone who is still averse to using her actual brakes and, when faced with coming down any hill, will use Fred Flintstone methods to slow herself to a manageable speed.

The next day we went to String Lake and (most of us) kayaked. We have four very different inflatable kayaks that we carry with us in Davista’s belly so we can explore any waterways we encounter: two two-person kayaks (one specifically made for fishing and one just for tooling around) and two one-person kayaks (a sporty one made for whitewater kayaking and another also highly maneuverable one).   Shamefully, this was the inaugural paddle for our trip, and so, understandably, we were all eager to get on the water.

The elevation of String Lake (6870’ – !!!!) made inflating the kayaks rather taxing, especially for Flight because he was mostly flying solo with that. As I had never participated in their inflation, I was on “running young ladies to the port-a-potty” duty to change into swimsuits and tend to other necessities, and never in one fell swoop it seemed. Keeper had enthusiastically jumped in to assist Flight and immediately blew out one of the pumps. After swapping pumps to further inflate his kayak, we learned that Keeper’s FireFly (highly maneuverable single) had a hole along one of the seams, one that needed a patch and 24 hours of curing time. Bummer.

Often our children impress me with their compassion, wisdom, and wit (maybe not while in all riding in the backseat of the Suburu), but I’m always blown away when they demonstrate the true meaning of team player. When Keeper learned we were down to kayak seating for four, he said, “That’s okay – while you paddle, I will swim!” and swim he did. Although some of his “swimming” involved barnacle operations dragging off of either kayak, he did so joyfully and made it all the way to the other side of the lake. Flight told him he’d trade out on the way back. I’m hoping Keeper will offer his own summary of the experience.

On the far side of the lake, we made landfall amidst downed trees in the water, using one as a dock of sorts. Keeper was already on the log and the girls had disembarked and were making their way up the bank when we heard, “pshshshshshshsssshssssssh.” Crap. That’s really not a sound you want to hear in an inflatable kayak. Looking down for the offending weapon, I saw a pointy, broken off branch poking out just above the water’s surface. I put my hand down and felt where air was gushing out of my ride, a few inches above the waterline. Crappity crap crap crap. Now we were down to one kayak and seating for two.

Ever the pilot, Flight immediately assessed the situation and was working through his emergency procedures decision tree to come up with the best solution to our predicament. I asked Flight where the patch kit was – I knew we had one as I’d just seen him use it. “In the car.”   Well, shoot. I wasn’t sure how much help that might have been anyway, having just learned a full cure requires 24 hours out of the water (I have since learned that would have been fine temporarily to get us back across the lake. Noted.).

Ever the Girl Scout, I mentally reviewed our stores. Four cans of LaCroix, almonds, half a canteen of water, a few iPhones and car keys (all in dry-bags), and our “Go Bag” (contains a basic first aid kid, acupuncture needles (because ya never know…), homemade lip balm, homemade “Bug Off,” hand sanitizer, and antibacterial wipes) that goes everywhere with us. If only we had a holocaust cloak… No such cloak, but we did have waterproof Nexcare bandages as part of our “Go Bag.” When I volunteered one, Flight said, “Give it a shot. I’m not sure it’ll hold, but maybe it’ll slow down the leak.” I dried the site as best I could and placed the bandage squarely over the hole. Pssshsshsshhsshh – and silence. Leak secured or better yet – wait for it – Band-aid applied to that problem. HA! Woo HOO!

We rallied the girls who were busy being pioneer women exploring their new homestead. They were sorely disappointed to have their playtime cut short, but we had no idea how long our innovative use of the wound-care bandage might hold. Flight had Keeper kayak back with Firebolt, who was keen to get out of the kayak with me – apparently I dripped too much water on her while she wasn’t paddling. WoodSprite and I paddled back while Flight happily swam back. Every dozen yards or so, I’d look back and check in, “All okay?” “Yep, just trying out all the different survival strokes.” He totally rocks.

Hot-wash of first kayaking adventure yielded the following lessons learned: 1) much as they’d probably disagree, the girls don’t NEED paddles and their having them is probably more detrimental than helpful in forward propulsion; 2) always ALWAYS bring the patch kit, or at least Nexcare bandages; 3) LaCroix is no substitute for just plain water and we should bring more of the latter and probably none of the former; 4) children get over their disinterest in raw almonds once all the more interesting snacks have disappeared; and 5) ensure “Go Bag” is replenished and always well-stocked with Nexcare products for their versatile use is limited only by one’s imagination. As Flight said, it was a really good thing we had this trial day on the water before we tried to float the Snake River.

Which brings us to the next day…

We got an offer on the house, although it was for significantly less than we’d hoped. We went back to the same café for lunch (and cell phone coverage) and contacted our realtor and came back with a counter-offer, well two counter-offers really. We split the take home difference for us with their initial offer: 1) we came down in our asking price, but offered to pay the closing costs up to 3% (as they had requested with their original offer) or 2) they pay a lesser amount, but without any help with the closing costs. Either option was roughly the same amount to us. Our realtor agreed to pass that along to theirs to see if we could come to an accord.

Holy crap, it’s really happening. We’re going to travel back to Maryland, pack out our trash, store it who knows where, and have nowhere to call home in the event this whole deployment thing goes south. Much of the early afternoon was fraught with evaluating “what if” scenarios (and laundry), sorting out how we might get the kids to Flight’s parents’ house in the Bay area, leave Davista there too, while Flight and I would fly back to pack out the house in Davidsonville. Throw in the mix an upcoming work trip for Flight, a Navy Reserve weekend back in DC for me, and Flight’s folks being out of town for two weeks in September. Needless to say, our minds were spinning as we did our best to plan for every contingency and iron out where we’d be for the next few weeks to optimize our flexibility for what may or may not be coming down the pike.

Originally, we were planning to go to Park City (also on the short list of where we might end up) from Grand Teton National Park, but only for a couple of days. We learned that my parents were going to be in Salt Lake City for a week beginning just before Labor Day, our own accommodations for which we had yet to nail down. Surprising us not at all, most places were already booked up for the holiday weekend.  We were able to get in at Jordanelle State Park for Thursday and Friday night, but they were totally booked for Saturday and Sunday night. Considering we just barely (HA – that’s a ridiculous Utah saying that makes me crazy, using barely incorrectly as a temporal reference) made this change of plans, we’ll have to sort accommodations out upon arrival.   Since we recently (proper use of the proper word) stayed in the parking lot at Grand Targee Ski Resort, we might be able to do the same at one of the resorts in Park City. If not, there’s always the Walmart Parking Lot…

After this whirlwind of mental gymnastics, it was about 3ish in the afternoon we got to the put in location on the Snake River. We (it was we this time) inflated the kayaks, and Flight took off to park the car at the take out location. Our game plan was to have him hitch a ride from the car to us and then we’d get on the river. However, as Flight noted, apparently it’s 2017 and enough people have seen any number of movie versions of “The Hitch-Hiker”, which means few drivers will actually pick people up, especially “a middle age dude in a weird hat.” His words, not mine.

Fortunately, we had a rare cone of connectivity for both of us. While Flight was lamenting not bringing one of the girls to increase the awwwwwww fer cute/sympathy factor to maybe generate a ride, I could update him on breaking weather conditions. Now I barely (correct use of the word, as it was not last week and I did almost fail) passed my meteorology class in Flight School, but even I can recognize a rainstorm gathering energy. Just days ago we had discussed virga with the kids, but that quaint sublimation was not what was inbound. I texted Flight that the sky was about to open and dump (official meteorological term) as I was watching the storm stalk us across the valley. And then it was upon us. I gave Flight further updates from under one of the upside down two-person kayaks.   The kids were troopers, actually they thought it was great fun to be sheltering under a kayak. Flight called our training evolution complete, mission aborted, returned to the car and drove back to us. He trundled us all into the car so we could warm up while he deflated and packed up our non-float flotilla solo and in the driving rain. I offered to assist and he declined. Like I said, he totally rocks.

Back at our campsite and in a fresh change of clothes, we packed up most of our gear after the rain passed and got ready to head to Park City in the morning. Owing to its proximity to a major airport (facilitating our respective upcoming commutes east) and lots of family (I think that between Flight and me, we are related to half of the Salt Lake Valley), we made the call to stay in Park City longer than everywhere else we’d been so far.

I left Grand Teton National Park feeling as thought we hadn’t really seen much of it.   When I voiced this observation to Flight, he said, “Most of what you really should see involves backcountry hiking and camping.” Ah, okay, so that’s not exactly in line with our current SOP.  I’m guessing Grand Teton National Park is one for us to further explore when our kids are much older and need no carrying to get up mountains.

Onward to Park City…

Flight captured our time at the Hegben cabin perfectly. It was a lovely place to visit surrounded by great company – I am so stoked to have reconnected with our Park City friends. They had just hosted some Dutch cousins at the cabin and in discussing their visit we discovered that our family histories are eerily similar. Her maternal grandmother and my paternal grandmother (as well as my paternal grandfather, father, and uncle) were POWs in Japanese Prison Camps in Indonesia during WWII and had moved to the Netherlands following the war.

A little aside… If you weren’t aware of this aspect of history, Clara Olink Kelly beautifully documented her own similar experience in The Flamboya Tree .  I had the privilege to meet Clara with my father and I can’t recommend her book enough.

Both my friend’s family and my own immigrated to the Salt Lake City area in the late ‘50’s (they were nearly on the same boat across the pond!), staying with recently converted Mormon cousins. Furthermore, their family, like ours, spent time in the Netherlands last summer reconnecting with their roots. They are getting ready to go to Hawaii for a year where they plan to homeschool their girls. I find it pretty amazing that we’ve been unwittingly journeying in parallel – so great to rekindle our friendship!

So, on to Yellowstone… Super thankful we spent five days here exploring the wide range of things to see in this incredible National Park – and there was still so much more to see. We stayed in the Fishing Bridge Campground (it was centrally located in the Park) and it was tiiiiiiiiiight (worse than sardines), had no picnic tables at the campsites because we were now in Varsity Bear Country, and zero connectivity (wouldn’t be so bad if we weren’t trying to sell a house…). Apparently we’ve gotten spoiled with only chipmunks mucking about. In retrospect, Flight and I both noted that the National Park Service has quite a balance to strike between maximizing the number of folks coming through the park (mostly during the summer in Yellowstone) and enhancing everyone’s experience. We would have preferred to be camped next to fewer of our fellow visitors, but in truth didn’t spend much time at the campsite.

Just after we pulled into Fishing Bridge and did an abbreviated set up (no outdoor kitchen needed and no room for the Clam), we did some initial exploring nearby. We did our first family bike ride over to the campground’s namesake, where you can no longer fish because there are no longer any fish. The girls were eager to go hiking on the many trails that fanned out from the river, but we held off as we hadn’t yet purchased bear spray.  I was just excited to be biking around as a family and exploring the beauty of Yellowstone.

The next day it got real. We first went to the Visitor’s Center and got “Junior Ranger Program” books for all three kids. Awwwwwwww yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahh! The girls took their requirements very seriously and systematically knocked them out. Keeper was less inclined to do so.   Then we were off to the Mud Pots, which really everyone should see. As we watched, the Dragon’s Mouth Spring randomly belched out sulfurous steam, calling to mind a jumble of images ranging from Dragonslayer to this season’s Game of Thrones. Still haven’t finished watching it, so no spoilers please!

The highlight of the day was our hike to see the falls at The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. The fact that I didn’t even know that was a thing is indicative of how preoccupied I was during our last visit to the Park. I was happy to get out and hike at last, but wasn’t keen on the vertigo I experienced as my brain tried to wrap itself around the magnitude of what we saw.

And I think I sprouted at least a dozen new grey hairs. Woodsprite (looking a little put out in the picture below) climbed up on the rocks that served as a barrier to the sheer drop off immediately to the other side.

Then, when we hiked down to see the falls, Firebolt dropped her Yellowstone Junior Ranger pencil (see above) and started crawling under the wooden fence (yet another boundary to separate the quick and the dead) to retrieve it.

On our return to camp we saw bison – herds of them. Glad to see I hadn’t been imagining them on our last breeze through…

One of the requirements for our Junior Rangers in Training was to attend one of the scheduled Ranger talks.  We chose to attend one under the stars. If you find yourself in one of the National Parks, I highly recommend making the time to take one of these in. Each evening discussion is Ranger specific and the one we attended was all about the history of Yellowstone and how it came to be the first National Park. We learned about the initial exploration (Lewis and Clark bypassed it entirely) of the land and how the natural resources had been devastated before the cavalry stepped in and served as the first official stewards of the park. It was a very eye-opening look at both our nation’s history and our earlier leaders’ wisdom to protect her treasures for generations to come. Even the kids enjoyed the discussion.

The following day we geared up for two more big sites: the Grand Prismatic Spring and Old Faithful. I was unprepared for the eye candy at the former and, after last summer’s visit to Iceland, was underwhelmed by the latter. The colors at the Grand Prismatic Spring were so striking, combining the deepest turquoise blue hues with odd mustard and rust. While it was rainbow-esque in its chromatic representation, its overall impression was made especially rich with the highlight of these complementary colors. Although I had no desire to stick my hand in the 165^oF water, I felt compelled just to stare and be. It was glorious.

On our way to the world famous geyser, Flight pulled over next to the river because he wanted to dunk his head in it.  We had been in the car for a stretch and it was hot.  He even convinced both Keeper and WoodSprite to do the same.  Firebolt and I abstained.

Old Faithful, shmold faithful. While we (and the rest of the Park’s visitors) awaited the major geyser’s rupture, we got a preview in the distance from Beehive Geyser. Firebolt was intent on finishing up her Junior Ranger Book, which had a page for predicting the next eruption given the time of the last. There was an average (and motivational) 94 minutes between eruptions and Firebolt was dead on in her prediction. We made it back in time to make a quick bite before hitting the sack.

Our next day was a scheduled down day, rife with planning (route, school, meal, event, etc.) and laundry. Keeper finished his Junior Ranger Program and we went to another Ranger-led program that had received great press, especially from other Rangers.

The Ranger was a retired high school science teacher from Washington State and did a great job presenting material on the hike. At the start of the walk he let us know he wanted us to view all that we saw through the perspective of a 12-year old Native American girl whose family came to hunt in the Yellowstone caldera centuries ago. When we made it into the forest, he called on Firebolt to help identify the difference between fir (flat and friendly) and spruce (short and spiky) trees using just the needles, assuring us we would all prefer to use the former to make a bed. We learned why fires are so critical for the health of Yellowstone – not only to clear out the dead stuff, but, because the iconic lodgepole pines have seeds so tightly bound in their cones, they actually require the heat of fire to release them so they can multiply. Who knew?

Our guide also called attention to all the signs of wildlife in the area, which, were we that young girl needing to feed her family, we would have shrewdly observed in a few seconds. Everything from the obvious bison scat (which the Ranger said doesn’t smell when dried out (Keeper was mortified to observe me pick up a pie and put my nose to the test) and burns well) to downed whitebark pine cones and accompanying needle tops indicating squirrel activity to hearing marmots whistling their shrill warnings. We learned that there are tons of hot spots throughout the caldera that remain free of snow in winter and where older bison can be found lolling about and easing their joints from the angry cold. Cool!

Because I’m into this sort of thing, I asked the Ranger what someone who may not necessarily be a hunter but can gather with the best of them might collect along our path. The Ranger pointed out the ubiquitous sage, the also prevalent (and medicinal powerhouse) yarrow, and, WoodSprite’s newest favorite, dwarf huckleberries. Actually, WoodSprite was so taken with collecting and sampling her meager but delicious harvest, we fell behind the group and almost missed the Ranger’s closing story about finding a lost toddler who had crawled away from the family’s campsite in the middle of the night. He concluded his two-hour talk by thanking us for being part of the 3%. The Ranger gestured at the cars obliviously passing by on the main road and mentioned that 97% of Park visitors don’t even get out of their vehicles to hike the innumerable trails. That number surprised me and I am so glad we made the cut this go around.