Moi and Old "Geezer"

I'm talking about the nostalgically famous "Old Faithful Geyser" in Yellowstone National Park. Actually, the park is full of geysers and geothermal hot springs. Jett kept mistakenly referring to the geysers as "geezers" and I stopped correcting him because "geezer" is an appropriate name for an act of nature that consistently spews the scent of a hard boiled egg fart. In Yellowstone, however, the public receives impending warnings (give or take 10 minutes) that grandma never could predict about her old geezer's eruptions.

The amount of water that Old Faithful gushes is amazing. Like that broken sprinkler in your backyard, it can always be relied upon to go off and flood its surroundings. But, the smell-oh the smell of sulphur-is a gift that keeps on giving.

We ran into some geyser fanatics (similar to the desert weirdos' fascination with rocks, but they carry a little pencil and notebook with schedules of pending eruptions, plus or minus ten minutes) who were out of breath, running, telling us the Beehive Geyser was about to erupt (plus or minus ten minutes) and it is bigger than Old Faithful. Since it was obvious they knew their stuff, we followed. They were right. A massive gush of sulphur scented water blasted into the air. Then, an unfortunate wind shift blasted the lookie-loos, including David and Jett. Drenched!

Now onto the hot springs...

Imagine it's June, but so cold out there's still snow on the ground. You've just left the desert, so you're wearing light clothing and a rad cowboy hat. As you clutch yourself to stay warm, walking down the trail, you come across a gift from God: a natural hot tub in the ground! It even has jets, as evidenced by the bubbles coming to the top. The warmth is floating off the ground and steam surrounds your face. It feels so inviting you're willing to ignore the sulphur smell. Just one foot goes in...

But stop-CAVEAT!

You will literally be boiled alive, as hundred of people have been before. Remember when you were a kid, avoiding the "hot lava" or else be killed? This is the real life version of that game. Even walking near them, on the thin, crusty surroundings is not allowed because the ground is so thin a person can fall through, as hundreds of people have before.

There are signs of impending doom throughout Yellowstone.  I'm a rule follower, and I kinda like my kids, so I'm scrambling all around them in a panic-"Don't walk off the trail! HOT LAVA!" I can see Jett put his foot ever so lightly on the dangerous ground to "test" it out. REALLY??? Why test the gods of hot lava??? Didn't he learn anything in second grade? My chest is getting tight and panic is filling my lungs as my family happily skips on a wood plank trail-the only thing coming between them and hot lava!

Then we see it. Huge piles of bison crap on the thin, crusty layers topping the hot lava. Here it comes. I know it. My eight year old says, "If huge bison can walk on the ground without falling in, why can't we?" 

Touché.

Moi: A desert weirdo?

After Bryce Canyon we stayed a couple nights in Tetons and Yellowstone. Although beautiful, I told David that Bryce was my "hands down" favorite part of the trip thus far. Really, why?, he asks. I go on to wax poetic about the beauty of contrasting colors and textures (when one hangs out in national parks, one starts spouting off about beauty in nature-what's happening to me?). So he says, "Oh, you're a desert landscape person." 

My first thought is, no way-desert people are WEIRDOS. I want to deny it, but my imagination gets the best of me and I begin to picture myself, much older (am I-or is it just the desert sun and my newfound lack of concern for SPF?) tending to my succulent and rock garden, wearing head to toe denim and a bolo tie. In this daydream, my leathery skinned self claims at least one UFO sighting and an alien abduction. NOOOO! 

But I can't help it-the desert with its hoo doos (those pointy pillars), varied shades of copper and greenery for contrast and AMAZING sunsets (they say sunrise in the desert is awe-inspiring, but I'm a Miller and we're not "sunrise" people) are what catch my eye. At least I can wear my uber cool western hat I bought at the souvenir shop. And if I'll be relegating myself to role of "desert weirdo," at least I have an excuse to buy some really cool cowboy boots-with pretty little rocks on them.

Moi: "Not your average" camper.

When driving along in Yellowstone, it means only one thing when one sees this:

BEAR!

So someone (ahem, the Anti-Glamp) thought it would be a good idea to traipse across the hidden marshland to get a pic of the bear. We follow because, hey, we wanna see the bear, too!  He runs ahead with Jorja in tow. I can see the future based on what they're running through and divert my course accordingly. The silence of the meadow is broken with Jorja crying and I look up and see her pink, glittery light up shoes covered in mud (at least I hope it's mud, since the bison use this area as their personal toilet). 

Meanwhile, Jett is intentionally jumping in mud puddles. Of course. 

We get to the edge of the stream and see two massive bison (no biggie, they're everywhere like cows on a dairy) and the bear is sleeping away-only a bit of brown fur to be seen by the naked eye. Anti-Glamp looks at me and says, "This was a bad idea," and I have to agree because we now have to cross the marsh/toilet land once again to get to our truck.

At the car, cleaning up, the kids now realize how very little baby wipes can do. We might as well be using Q-tips. They're ticked. Didn't really see a bear and now mucked up to the ankles, with mud splatters all over their pant legs. One family pulled over to see the bear, saw us, and said, "Uh not worth it," and took off. I kid you not. I start laughing and now the kids are really ticked and crying. Oh well.

It's no wonder the kids and I had no interest in seeing the mud volcano-we lived it.

In the end, we did see quite a bit of wildlife in the Tetons and Yellowstone, most of which was seen from the sanitary  confines of our truck.

Moose:

Coyote:

Bison:

Grizzly:

Elk:

Wolf:

Sleeping raccoon:

Deer (see my hand antlers?):

In the end, we only saw a glimpse of the fur of two bears. Although disappointing, it does validate my choice to refuse to spend $50 on a can of "non-refundable for your safety" bear repellant spray. Smart choice-I'm "not your average" camper.

Moi and the Anti-Glamp: Define Camping?

When David and I were first dating, he asked me if I liked to camp. "Like? I LOVE camping!" Of course, my only point    of reference was as an invited guest, as a child, with families other than my own. Which means the dad carried my pink Samsonite luggage to my magically pitched tent (I have a picture at home to corroborate this detail) and the mom served me up plates of food that must have magically made themselves.  No one yelled at me to stop throwing red clay at my sister and no one

threatened to spank me for complaining I was bored in the car and no one reprimanded me for starting a marshmallow fight. We also stayed in one place for a week: Eating, swimming and in the case of camping with Kate, got into the types of shenanigans only a 12 year old girl can create.

So early in our marriage, David took me camping. Yippee! I was truly excited to relive my childhood. But one weekend in Balch Park, living like a homeless person without the comforts of a soup kitchen and cardboard box blanket on a church step, made me realize our definitions of camping differed. 

Epiphany! The reason my parents never took me camping was because they loved me! (Joke borrowed from the great Jim Gaffigan.) It took some time to heal those wounds and camp again.

Through the years we've "camped" a couple times, but every time we rolled away, David would tell me: "That was not camping." So, what IS camping? Define camping? This is a philosophical debate David and I have taken to the levels of Socratic rhetoric.

For this trip, we've done what all successful marriages have relied on: we compromised. Our definition of camping is a morphed version of what we both knew as a child. It's a road trip in a camper to various national parks. 

Our first night of this Mecca to Yellowstone we stayed at a Casablanca themed RV resort, complete with beach pool, diner and gift shop! Casablanca! A waterfall in the desert! Of all the gin joints in Las Vegas we "camped" at this one...no matter what happens, we'll always have KOA...

After breakfast in the diner (less than $5 a head!) and an 8:30 am swim to cool off, we left for Bryce Canyon. There are no words for this coppery beauty of contrasting colors and textures. I'll let the pictures do the talking.

A waterfall in the desert: 

Of course we had to buy new hats. Jett and I are every souvenir shop's dream come true: