Wednesday, July 21, 2004
THE TRIP IS OVER....EPILOGUE
Homeward bound. This morning is bitter-sweet. Our trip West started July 29th and we have been privileged to visit many points of interest, ending at grandma’s house for the Stricklett Reunion. Today will be the last leg of the trip for this year and we are excited about getting back in our own territory to pick up the things that make our world go round. Still, I am always sad with the “end” of things. It was instilled early in life for me. Whenever relatives came to visit or when we were the visitors, goodbyes were always the same. Everyone hugged and lingered, prolonging the inevitable until finally the car pulled away and drove out of sight.
As a little girl I knew this to be the pattern as well as the tears that everyone shared as they waved goodbye. What I didn’t know until I became the grown-up is WHY? The tears flowed because you knew you wouldn’t be seeing them for a long time again. In some cases, with older family members, there was always the fear that it might be the ‘last’ goodbye.
And so, as we load up the camper and get things ready for travel there were many family members to hug and kiss for we were the first family to leave. As we drove down the hill I saw grandma pull her apron up to her face and wipe the tears I knew would follow……..I not only carry her name but in many ways I carry her heart.
Mom and dad, uncle Alfred and we drove to Omaha in a caravan of three to pick up aunt Beulah in Omaha. She had been visiting with her sister and brother-in-law while we were at Blair…..Mildred and Ky. After a short visit with them we loaded aunt Beulah’s things and drove through Omaha to open road….we ate a hearty dinner at an A & W drive-in on the Platte River. We stopped at Nebraska City to gas up and noted a Kansas rainstorm was brewing in the distance which we would probably be running into before getting home.
We arrived at 65th Street a little after 6:00pm ……almost 3-full weeks of our leaving time on July 29th at 6:00am. We had quite a welcoming committee waiting for us. The Warren’s came from next door and Gene and Rosalie crossed the street to give us a welcome home. They caught us all up on the news and we dusted our saddles a little, then dad suggested we go out for supper. He said he felt sorry for the cooks who had been “roughing it” for three weeks. It was quite a treat and a welcome climax to the trip. The men went home after our meal but mom, aunt Beulah, Becky and I went on to the grocery store to lay in a fresh supply for the coming week. We weren’t long getting to bed once we got back and bathed.
Saturday August 19th
We got up, one by one, and congregated around the kitchen table as we ate and talked about our trip. Finally the time came for the folks to leave and it was hard to wave goodbye as they disappeared down the hill from our house. Dad’s pick-up and uncle Alfred trailing behind finally passed out of sight. In three weeks of travel we drove 5,000 miles and saw things we had only imagined before.
Looking back I couldn’t say there was any one thing that was better than the other. Each day and each mile we traveled had something to offer in it’s own way. It would be unfair to compare one to the other. Our first noticeable change in landscape began in northern Nebraska when we ran into the Sand Hills and though it wasn’t spectacular, it was different and worth seeing. It and the clean, grassy hills with cattle grazing offered a peaceful scene to watch as we drove along.
I’ll never forget the first glimpse of the Badlands…..the many colors, the ridges and gorges all cut by immeasurable time. The vastness of it. I will not forget the children’s reaction to something so different or George’s appreciation of seeing it.
The Black Hills had a different kind of beauty. A lush quality. Where the Badlands are a huge waste and barren the Black Hills have a look of plenty….hillsides covered with pine trees and life everywhere. The Indians called it sacred ground…..and it speaks of reverence and respect. Meeting Black Elk at Mount Rushmore who appeared on a path between the trees as if a spirit………aged, yet ageless……and eyes full of wisdom and great sorrow. He spoke of his father and the old days when the Red Man could live his own way…..and as the spiritual leader of the Ogallala Sioux he had the dignity to accept and a grace to forgive.
I’ll never forget the sound of the wind in the pines at Custer’s Last Stand….or how it sounded when it rustled over the sage brush and prairie grass…. and on over the hill. Like mute sentinels the markers of the fallen keep watch over their graves.
Our ride into Canada was preceded with much anticipation. It was not unwarranted. The fun of crossing a “border” into another country was special to all of us but especially to the children. Our short visit provided a lifetime of memories ….the quaint shops… crossing over the Glacier Mountains…the beauty and the fear…a paradise on high with wildflowers sprinkled over purple mountains…the bigness of it all. Then our visit to Kalispell where we were welcomed by the Delhays and the unforgettable journey to Big Mountain on the ski-lift. I can still see the rushing Salmon River and the walls of the gorge we drove between for almost a day. It was a breathtaking introduction to Idaho.
Then there was the private little camp we had at Basin Creek…I think it was my favorite campsite of the whole trip because we were all alone and had a chance to walk the hills….shinny across the creek on a log and view some of the wild, rough country at close range.
It was a pleasure to meet cousin Chris and his family…their Danish hospitality and a house filled with lots of happiness and lots of living. I’ll always remember breakfast the day we left. Everyone sitting around the table in the dinning room and cousin Chris in a soft voice made by the passing of years telling us about good Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce Indians. He and his wife have the kind face of two people who have lived a good life and are at peace with their world. We enjoyed the bridge at Twin Falls, the Snake River that runs through cousin Chris’ farm…and the Shoshone Falls nearby.
I shall remember looking at all the brilliant wild flowers while we were waiting for the brakes to cool going down into Jackson Hole…and the mountainsides of pine. It was amazing to see how clean and grassy the floor of the forest was beneath the trees. It was there that we turned a bend in the road and looked squarely into the face of the Tetons. Stately and majestic I think they are the most dignified of the mountains. Theirs is a proud beauty, mirrored in blue…deep blue… lakes at their feet, standing like Narcissus to admire their beauty. About their shoulders were the wraps of snow looking almost like the clouds above. It seemed as if the sky and the lakes were in competition with each other to see who was bluer…and the mountains tired of the game to wear a dress of purple. We enjoyed seeing them for many miles as we traveled around them and headed north to Yellowstone.
Yellowstone is special because it was full of all the wondrous things I’d read about since childhood and I was “stage-struck” to come face to face with it all. While I’m being so honest I would have to say Old Faithful was the most special attraction for me. Her towering size and her energy…her “faithfulness” made a powerful impression on me. As night fell her beauty was intensified by illumination of the lights upon her….the mists about her force of water gave an ethereal face to her.
I shall remember the geysers puffing up into the sky along the valley…looking like teepee fires from invisible villages. The thundering falls and their rainbows shining in the mist at their feet…the canyons, bears and the paint pots. A mother moose and her baby……all so wonderful.
Leaving it all behind to travel back through Nebraska to grandma’s house we knew we would not see the likes of all we had just experienced but neither would we forget it. The last days of the trip were spent with loved ones who gathered on “the hill” to take part in the annual reunion of my mother’s family. Ones who came from near and far…watching dad whittle things for Johnny…. the little cousins playing games out under the shade trees…listening to rousing card games of the adults…or just hearing the trucks drone off into the night from our camper as we fell asleep each night.
I am grateful I still have a grandma to come to with my loved ones….on a little hill where my brother and I were born. When winter winds blow forth, and they will, I hope this little journal will help us remember it all, as it happened and as we lived it….going WEST……….
Until tomorrow,
Essentially Esther
As a little girl I knew this to be the pattern as well as the tears that everyone shared as they waved goodbye. What I didn’t know until I became the grown-up is WHY? The tears flowed because you knew you wouldn’t be seeing them for a long time again. In some cases, with older family members, there was always the fear that it might be the ‘last’ goodbye.
And so, as we load up the camper and get things ready for travel there were many family members to hug and kiss for we were the first family to leave. As we drove down the hill I saw grandma pull her apron up to her face and wipe the tears I knew would follow……..I not only carry her name but in many ways I carry her heart.
Mom and dad, uncle Alfred and we drove to Omaha in a caravan of three to pick up aunt Beulah in Omaha. She had been visiting with her sister and brother-in-law while we were at Blair…..Mildred and Ky. After a short visit with them we loaded aunt Beulah’s things and drove through Omaha to open road….we ate a hearty dinner at an A & W drive-in on the Platte River. We stopped at Nebraska City to gas up and noted a Kansas rainstorm was brewing in the distance which we would probably be running into before getting home.
We arrived at 65th Street a little after 6:00pm ……almost 3-full weeks of our leaving time on July 29th at 6:00am. We had quite a welcoming committee waiting for us. The Warren’s came from next door and Gene and Rosalie crossed the street to give us a welcome home. They caught us all up on the news and we dusted our saddles a little, then dad suggested we go out for supper. He said he felt sorry for the cooks who had been “roughing it” for three weeks. It was quite a treat and a welcome climax to the trip. The men went home after our meal but mom, aunt Beulah, Becky and I went on to the grocery store to lay in a fresh supply for the coming week. We weren’t long getting to bed once we got back and bathed.
Saturday August 19th
We got up, one by one, and congregated around the kitchen table as we ate and talked about our trip. Finally the time came for the folks to leave and it was hard to wave goodbye as they disappeared down the hill from our house. Dad’s pick-up and uncle Alfred trailing behind finally passed out of sight. In three weeks of travel we drove 5,000 miles and saw things we had only imagined before.
Looking back I couldn’t say there was any one thing that was better than the other. Each day and each mile we traveled had something to offer in it’s own way. It would be unfair to compare one to the other. Our first noticeable change in landscape began in northern Nebraska when we ran into the Sand Hills and though it wasn’t spectacular, it was different and worth seeing. It and the clean, grassy hills with cattle grazing offered a peaceful scene to watch as we drove along.
I’ll never forget the first glimpse of the Badlands…..the many colors, the ridges and gorges all cut by immeasurable time. The vastness of it. I will not forget the children’s reaction to something so different or George’s appreciation of seeing it.
The Black Hills had a different kind of beauty. A lush quality. Where the Badlands are a huge waste and barren the Black Hills have a look of plenty….hillsides covered with pine trees and life everywhere. The Indians called it sacred ground…..and it speaks of reverence and respect. Meeting Black Elk at Mount Rushmore who appeared on a path between the trees as if a spirit………aged, yet ageless……and eyes full of wisdom and great sorrow. He spoke of his father and the old days when the Red Man could live his own way…..and as the spiritual leader of the Ogallala Sioux he had the dignity to accept and a grace to forgive.
I’ll never forget the sound of the wind in the pines at Custer’s Last Stand….or how it sounded when it rustled over the sage brush and prairie grass…. and on over the hill. Like mute sentinels the markers of the fallen keep watch over their graves.
Our ride into Canada was preceded with much anticipation. It was not unwarranted. The fun of crossing a “border” into another country was special to all of us but especially to the children. Our short visit provided a lifetime of memories ….the quaint shops… crossing over the Glacier Mountains…the beauty and the fear…a paradise on high with wildflowers sprinkled over purple mountains…the bigness of it all. Then our visit to Kalispell where we were welcomed by the Delhays and the unforgettable journey to Big Mountain on the ski-lift. I can still see the rushing Salmon River and the walls of the gorge we drove between for almost a day. It was a breathtaking introduction to Idaho.
Then there was the private little camp we had at Basin Creek…I think it was my favorite campsite of the whole trip because we were all alone and had a chance to walk the hills….shinny across the creek on a log and view some of the wild, rough country at close range.
It was a pleasure to meet cousin Chris and his family…their Danish hospitality and a house filled with lots of happiness and lots of living. I’ll always remember breakfast the day we left. Everyone sitting around the table in the dinning room and cousin Chris in a soft voice made by the passing of years telling us about good Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce Indians. He and his wife have the kind face of two people who have lived a good life and are at peace with their world. We enjoyed the bridge at Twin Falls, the Snake River that runs through cousin Chris’ farm…and the Shoshone Falls nearby.
I shall remember looking at all the brilliant wild flowers while we were waiting for the brakes to cool going down into Jackson Hole…and the mountainsides of pine. It was amazing to see how clean and grassy the floor of the forest was beneath the trees. It was there that we turned a bend in the road and looked squarely into the face of the Tetons. Stately and majestic I think they are the most dignified of the mountains. Theirs is a proud beauty, mirrored in blue…deep blue… lakes at their feet, standing like Narcissus to admire their beauty. About their shoulders were the wraps of snow looking almost like the clouds above. It seemed as if the sky and the lakes were in competition with each other to see who was bluer…and the mountains tired of the game to wear a dress of purple. We enjoyed seeing them for many miles as we traveled around them and headed north to Yellowstone.
Yellowstone is special because it was full of all the wondrous things I’d read about since childhood and I was “stage-struck” to come face to face with it all. While I’m being so honest I would have to say Old Faithful was the most special attraction for me. Her towering size and her energy…her “faithfulness” made a powerful impression on me. As night fell her beauty was intensified by illumination of the lights upon her….the mists about her force of water gave an ethereal face to her.
I shall remember the geysers puffing up into the sky along the valley…looking like teepee fires from invisible villages. The thundering falls and their rainbows shining in the mist at their feet…the canyons, bears and the paint pots. A mother moose and her baby……all so wonderful.
Leaving it all behind to travel back through Nebraska to grandma’s house we knew we would not see the likes of all we had just experienced but neither would we forget it. The last days of the trip were spent with loved ones who gathered on “the hill” to take part in the annual reunion of my mother’s family. Ones who came from near and far…watching dad whittle things for Johnny…. the little cousins playing games out under the shade trees…listening to rousing card games of the adults…or just hearing the trucks drone off into the night from our camper as we fell asleep each night.
I am grateful I still have a grandma to come to with my loved ones….on a little hill where my brother and I were born. When winter winds blow forth, and they will, I hope this little journal will help us remember it all, as it happened and as we lived it….going WEST……….
Until tomorrow,
Essentially Esther
