In the
summer of 2000 our little family of three hit the road for the most American of
all traditions – the family vacation.
Our destination was Wyoming. In particular, Yellowstone National Park in
the northwest corner of the state and its lesser cousin, Grand Teton National Park,
to the south.
Only the mind of God could
conceive places of such beauty. Snow
capped peaks punctuated by azure skies.
River valleys stretching to the horizons. Meadows praying quietly as the breezes comb their
grasses. But the processes of their
birth witness work that goes beyond genius.
Yellowstone, born out of the fiery caldera
of an ancient volcano. And the Tetons – reaching
to the heavens in worship as one immense piece of the earth’s crust slowly lifted
its opposing neighbor. And in His
time, these unimaginable forces shaped environments that are now home to an
abundance of life not only in number but form as well. The mighty grizzly, the industrious beaver, the
soaring majesty of the crane, each master of their own realm, set among herds
of deer, elk, and bison.
First stop, Yellowstone. We hit all of the obligatory tourist
attractions – Old Faithful, Mammoth Hot Springs, and Yellowstone Falls to name
a few. Each unique and awe inspiring in
its own right. National treasures all. But our most memorable experience occurred
along a path less traveled at a relatively minor geothermal feature located
along the Upper Firehole River
– Lone Star Geyser. At the time, Lone
Star erupted sporadically and but once a week at best making the odds of
witnessing an eruption minimal. Nonetheless,
names like Firehole, Lone Star and Shoshone, conjured images of a bygone era
when fur trappers first ventured into the vast, primitive glory that is Yellowstone. And we
were drawn.
So a lunch was packed and soon
we found ourselves at the trail-head where we would step into a less hectic
generation for a few brief hours. Not
far in we crossed the Firehole and began to meander parallel to its path
through stands of lodgepole pine and along meadows still awakening from under
their winter blanket. And before we knew
it, the trail opened into the Lone
Star Geyser
Basin itself – an area
much devoid of vegetation and washed white from the centuries of sulfuric emissions. The
“hiker’s log” reported that the last visitors had preceded us the day before
and the last witnessed eruption was recorded some two weeks back. There was a quiet and a peace to the
place. But as lunch was being brought
out, a single “burp” resounded deep down inside the bowels of the geyser cone - somewhat startling against the silence.
Another “burp” followed a minute later.
Then a “burp”, a hiss, and a small puff of steam. And as lunch ended, the “burps” and hisses
melded into a constant din of water, steam, and spray. Some outpourings gurgled out in a blob while
others streamed perhaps 40 feet into the crisp air. Cool stuff for a guy somewhere before that
age when a boy becomes a man.
In the days to follow, there were
downpours mixed with hail as we traversed boardwalks running over hot springs and bubbling mud
pots. We had the area to ourselves. I remember thinking condescending thoughts of
my fellow tourists for letting a little rain ruin their vacation. The possibility of lightning never entered my
mind. And crossing the Continental
Divide in a summer snow - perhaps along
the same deer trail that the famed explorer John Colter had followed nearly two
centuries earlier. But I suspect John’s
horse provided better traction than my balding tires. And of course, photo opportunities with
wildlife - bison so close that their musky scent became the focal point but a
feature never to be captured on film.
All that to say with certainty that God really does look after fools
(me) and more importantly, the ones I love next to me.
And He provides blessings as
well. For on we went to the Tetons and Jackson Hole to the south. There, we experienced dinners of cold-water
lake trout – cooked fresh and served against a backdrop of granite shooting
rocket-like, straight into the skies.
And a gondola ride that delivered us to the top of the world while providing
perspective of that which lies below.
And visits to museums, rich in history, which dispensed not only lessons
of knowledge but humility as well.
So, here I am now, sixteen
years further along, paging through the old photo album that holds the key to so many
of these vacation memories. I’m reminded of sure-footed
mountain goats dwelling with thanksgiving along the basalt while waterfalls
eagerly bolted-free of those same great cliffs in frantic search of a place of rest. The delicate fragrance
exhaled from acres of alpine flowers and the pungent odors of sulfur emanating
from cauldrons of creation.
And it strikes me that time
and life march forward together in lockstep.
Nonetheless, there were relational bonds
formed and reinforced amongst the grandeur on that ten day road trip. And those treasures remain. Only the mind of God could conceive of such
beauty.
