Yellowstone: Misadventures

There’s nothing quite as fabulous as camping with kids: campfires and sparks, s’mores, giggling in tents, starlit nights filled with guitar and fiddle music, old friends mixed with new friends. Then there’s the really good stuff… the freezing, tear filled nights, and the vomit, we mustn’t forget the vomit. It’s the stuff of dreams.

Yellowstone is a place I’ve always wanted to visit. Somewhere in my nomadic childhood my parents missed Yellowstone; in favor of Palenque or Coba, I imagine. A good trade by any measure, but why not see both?

The thing that surprised me most was the amount of the park that has burned over at some point in the not too distant past. Charred and gnarled fingers reaching toward the sky through a blanket of fresh green fir boughs or carpets of pebbles.

Yellowstone struck me as a patchwork quilt, thrown haphazardly over a mountain top, made of the left overs of the last world’s best memories in emerald greens, inky blacks, glowing golds and chocolate browns. It’s edges embroidered with jewels in the form of prismatic pools, electric orange stream beds, bubbling mud pots and opal toned steam eruptions mixed with sun or moonlight. The whole thing stitched together with hoof prints: buffalo, elk, mountain goat, wild horse, and the boot prints of thousands of explorers, from the leather soled moccasins of the last great civilization to the Nike clad Japanese tourist who bowed slightly when edging around me to photograph Old Faithful.

The children loved every minute of it, from the predictable, if over done, gushing of the geysers, to the buffalo crossing the road in front of us, to the elk bugling in the darkness.

They chased Jorge, our Spanish bicycling friend up and down the hills, vying for his attention, practicing their Spanish and playing tour guide for all they were worth. He patiently toted Jessie on his shoulder, wrestled the boys and marveled at Lois and I in our ability to keep the plates spinning and smile (most of the time.)

When he parted in the chilly twilight after dinner last night he clasped both hands to his heart, “Thank you, from the deepness in my heart. I am a richer man for knowing you. Before now, I didn’t want children, now, I understand.” Is there any higher compliment than that?

Doing laundry the night before launch and going to bed smug in your level of preparation is just bad karma.

It is like thumbing your nose in the face of God himself. It’s just asking for a puker, or two. It started right before bedtime when Jonny ran from the tent yelling, “Mom! I think I’m going to throw up…” followed by the sound every mother dreads. Jessie waited until midnight or later, when everyone was sound asleep and she couldn’t be prevented from christening her sleeping bag, her sister’s, the mat and clothing. Ugh.

Needless to say, when dawn broke it was thick with rain in addition to vomit. Lois, having been up all night with the offending parties, was in serious need of tea. I was powerless to provide it. Breakfast was cold cereal eaten outside of the laundry room. An hour and a half was spent in washing, drying and repacking half of our gear. The kids cheerfully chattered along to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. Lois and I lived on the promise of tea and sunshine. It wasn’t the best start to the day.

What the morning lacked, the evening made up for. A hot tub is a wonderful thing. A glass of wine? So much the better. Add stars overhead? Idyllic. All that is missing? Our men.

We’ve decided, however, that we really like Idaho. The proprietor’s of our emergency campground promptly donated a free cabin for the Mamas in addition to the tent site, opened the hot tub and pool for us, and gave the kids some free stuffed snake toys. We must really look like we need it! On top of that, the lady at the deli gave us our dinner for half off and the internet connection is fast and free. The cherry on top? It’s been almost 12 hours since the last barf… dare we hope that we’re out of the woods?

Tomorrow has to be better.