Recently in National Parks Category

"Why do I haveta have such a baby sister?" moaned Mikaela.

Hundreds of miles earlier in our Southwestern US road trip, Katrianna quit defending herself. And simply scrunched further down in her booster seat. Yet her older sister's taunts ticked off with regularity, keeping steady pace with the highway's mile markers before finally crossing the [CO state] line.  

"You're just scared because you're so young!"
 
Not really, I interceded, I'm frightened, too. Good thing Katrianna's backing out since otherwise I'd definitely be taking the fall for it....

"Oh, c'mon, it's only 50 feet!"

Actually, that was another of Mikaela's tall tales. The Balcony House ladder was a mere 32 feet high, though the hike to reach it also included a 12-foot tunnel crawl & a 60-foot open rock face ascent.

"And the travel guide said it's the very best one. On their 'Not To Miss' list!  But now we're gonna skip it  -- all because of scaredy Kat ~rianna!"

As we passed through the entry gate into Mesa Verde National Park, Chris 'helped' by suggesting we might turn around & go right back to Houston if Mikaela didn't stop. Huh. Nothing quite as effective as an idle parental threat, is there?  True, this strategy maybe works if one's traveled 5 miles away from home... possibly 15... but, hmm, exactly how credible is this: So, Cathy, whaddya think about driving us a thousand miles & then we'll pull a U-ie?

"Besides, there's nothing hard about it! I could easily climb that ladder wearing all 4 of our backpacks, a water bottle in one hand & Skittles in the other! This is so unfair!"

It so was!  Mikaela was determined to show that she was officially a Tween now. And, perhaps even more importantly, that her sister was officially not. Accordingly, she sulked.                   

Well, I reasoned, unfortunately we'd arrived too late to reserve tour spots anyway...

However, we had timed it perfectly to take solitary, dusky strolls among deserted (even by modern tourists) Mesa Top farming villages, choose to casually overlook Cliff Palace all by our lonesomes, view a gloaming sunset from Park Point's 8572-foot advantage, and finally eat & sleep by starlight in Morefield Campground amid the soothing sounds of chirping crickets, crackling campfires and purring sputtering choking carburetors in sundry RV generators.



The next morning, while other guests queued outside the Far View Visitor Center for guided tour tickets to Long House, Cliff Palace or the acrophobic-exclusive Balcony House, we busily got ourselves all spruced up instead. Yup, in order to get on down to the Spruce Tree House at the break of dawn. It was misty-cal, all right, as we made our way along the dewy path with glimpses of the overhanging cliff site beckoning. Even more so when we realized we were the only ones there. Well, except for two Ancestral Puebloans who greeted us in that peculiar, primitive headgear of theirs, ie the "funny hats" worn by all natives of the National Park Service.
 


Hospitably, they offered to show us around the place & began with a rote set of queries intended to engage, pique interest & inform. However, in preparation for our visit, M&K had studied the NPS website, making those rhetorical questions not quite so rhetorical after all:

The ranger ~                                                                  M&K ~

Does anyone know what 'Mesa Verde' means?                   Green Table!
And who lived here?                                                       The Anasazi!
How long ago?                                                                1400 to 700 years ago!
Why did they leave?                                                        Don't know!    
That's right! Truthfully, no one knows...

OK, so what did they eat?                                               They farmed on the mesa!
What type of structure did they live in?                            Pit houses!
And later?                                                                       Under the cliffs!
What are their bricks made out of?                                  Sandstone!
Why are these ceilings black?                                          Umm... not sure?

Pshew, that made everybody feel better. Happily, the ranger led them to correctly guess "Oh, yeah, it's cause of the smoke from their fires!"

The rangers exchanged a knowing nod. "You're homeschoolers, aren't you?" they stated in agreement, as though plainly this was another rhetorical device. Wow, I humbly noted, how effortlessly we make our lil' contribution to reinforce the image of homeschoolers everywhere....

Next, they invited the kids to partake in the usual daily grind, skillfully demonstrating how to keep one's nose to the ol' grindstone (at least until M&K got the grist of it). Sure, it's corny, but it seemed the girls thought it was grate & could go on like that all day. In fact, everybody was having such a good time, it was hardly noticeable when M&K kept inching away from the edge of pit where the second ranger stood expectantly.

Clearly with well ingrained excitement, she segued to the climatic moment, "Of course, I bet ya'll already know what a kiva is!"   No answer.

"Yes, good. And that small circular hole in the bottom is called a 'sipapu.'  Step up here a little closer so you can see it!"   No movement.

"OK then," she declared, "the awesome part is that you get to go down into it now!"

Evidently overcome with repentance for yesterday's teasing, Mikaela benevolently offered the first turn to her little sister. "No, that's okay," declined Katrianna, "you can go first."

But Mikaela-the-Elder insisted. She helpfully pushed Katrianna forward, ever closer to the rim.  "No, I don't really wanna..." Katrianna admitted. "Cuz I think... I might be scared."
 
Would it help if I went first, I wondered, & jumped onto the ladder.
 
"Mom, NOOOOOOOOO!" M&K gasped at my Dante-esque descent, certain that the 3-headed Cerberus awaited my demise below. Heeding Mikaela's dire warning -- "Don't step in the hole, Mom. It leads to the Underworld!" -- I dutifully performed a thorough kiva inspection, reported it safe & sound, and invited Katrianna to join me.     

Trustingly, she backed up another foot & a half.  So Chris clambered partway down and held out his hand. Still Katrianna wouldn't budge. "Sorry, Dad," she whispered as he resurfaced.

"Guess it's all yours, Mikaela!" I called up. "Come on in, it's the pits!"

Suddenly, it was as if the intrepid Tween wouldn't touch that kiva with a ten six-foot ladder. "Mom, can I just jump & you'll catch me?!" Mikaela suggested at a volume [with the tre(m)ble turned up] guaranteed to reverberate through its shadowy depths.

After 10 minutes of urging, waiting, pleading and stalling, I made the arduous ascent solo. To the welcoming, joint embrace of our dear anxious daughters. Once again, the rangers exchanged a knowing nod. Wow, I humbly noted, how effortlessly we make our lil' contribution to reinforce the image of homeschoolers everywhere.... 

So what's there to say? It's not surprising, really. After all, we're homeschoolers, not social climbers.


Without a word, it was immediately understood -- time for us to take a hike. We headed out on the Petroglyph Point Trail which winds through & often clings to the walls of Spruce Canyon. Here, too, we were the only ones on the single-file track and soon found it challenging, as well as truly delightful. The canyon is coolly invigorating, verdant, with striking views in contrasting oranges, browns & greens. It's filled with narrow passages that require squeezing through rocks and grabbing onto centuries-smoothed hand holds pecked into the canyon walls by Mesa Verde's original inhabitants. There was an overwhelming sense of the past and its people each time we stepped into the foot wells formed by their ancient civilization, stony testaments worn away by daily use, comparable to the age-old depressions made in marble stair steps throughout Europe.... 

And then the incredible happened! Unbeknownst to the rest of us, Chris started seeing folks on every bend, at every turn, literally hanging out all over the place. Apparently, the cliffs were speaking to him from the omnipresent formations eerily resembling rock faces. (Not that he isn't always on the look out for two-faced impersonators. Or stone-faced posers. Perhaps the Rolling Stones? Plus Rocky I.. II.. III... no, can't malign his reputation like that - implying he watches Sylvester Stallone movies is going too far.)
 
Eventually he revealed not only their existence, but also his conjectures as to the obvious meanings of their Anasazi-chiseled features. Take this one with the particularly menacing expression - would give cowardly aggressors pause, no? Or that one with curlycue vines overhanging its brow & the silly grin - aha! "killed 'em" with laughs. What about him, over there, with the quizzical expression - meant to baffle & discombobulate the wary trespasser (seemed to be working on Chris, anyhow). So convinced was he that he filled our camera's photo card with pictures to document the find, in disbelief that no archeologist before him had dared look this phenomena in the face...

Although it was well before noon when we climbed out of the canyon, the heat was stifling, the mesa's piñons & junipers woefully short on shade. However, Chris rushed us onwards to the visitor center, eager to share his discovery!  Another kind & patient ranger received the news.  And diplomatically suggested that Yes, many people see things in the rocks...  Uh huh, the lighting creates some strange effects...  Interesting indeed, but ever heard about a thing called 'erosion'?...



As we drove out of Mesa Verde National Park and I tried in vain to soothe Chris' disappointment (by searching for my new favorite song - Smiling Faces Sometimes* - on the car radio), his confidence spontaneously rallied. For he did what most sensitive parents do under similar circumstances. And remembered to bring up his child's previous mistake.

"Hey, Miks, don't you have something you should say to your sister?"   Silence.

"About being wrong? You know, the Balcony House?"   Continued silence.

"And," he goaded, "ladders?"

"Okay, okay, I suppose it's not really all your fault, Katrianna..." mumbled Mikaela. "That you're 3 whole years younger than me!"

Ahh, lesson learned. No sense cliff dwelling on it. 
 

*Beware, it's one of the most irritating songs ever. And that's The Undisputed Truth.
And, tho it's the much disputed truth, a "Tween" is generally defined as an 8-12 year old.

"STOP! What's that?!"  

Compliantly, I took my foot off of the accelerator. Didn't exactly stop.
It's nearly the same thing.

"Whoa, look!" Chris exclaimed. "Hey, kids, give me the camera!"

But I didn't want to stop. We were almost there. To our surprise, the arid Utah-Arizona desert had given way & we'd been driving through miles of thick evergreen woods, then past acres of scorched pine trees sporadically studding an altered landscape, and finally slowed to observe teams of forest service workers performing controlled burns, a lone water truck parked nearby just in case. That gave us pause & led to a thoughtful discussion of man's intervention & nature management practices: "Why did the forest go the pharmacy?" deliberated Katrianna. "Because it needed a prescribed burn."

And now, after a quick chat with the park ranger about a snow storm that had made this visit seem impAssible just days before, we'd made it through the entrance. The wide blue sky overhead once again narrowed into focus due to encroaching, dense green conifers lining this, the sole road into the North Rim, its painted yellow dividing line leading on myopic horizon-driven perspective.

"Really, Cat -- Stop!"

I did. But not without complaint that he was braking my ride:
"Nobody gonna slow me down, oh-no, I got to keep on movin.'"

 

[Impressed? Progressed into the early '80s for that one... Oh-no.] We came to a complete and fool stop in a morass moraine.

Following the 26th click to get his perfect buffalo action photo, he retorted, "Well, why did we come here then?" As if that could shutter me up... yet, before I could answer, the Chorus - aka, voices of reason & discernment in any worthy Greek (parental) drama - began the refrain that would accompany us throughout the rest of our visit: "Daaaddd,
         
            We came to the Canyon to see the GRAND Canyon!"

You understand, it's not that the girls and I have a bi[a]son against them. The first dozen or so times our family saw a wild (reintroduced) bunch in the buffs, we couldn't hide our admiration, hoofed it over to 'em and didn't dare buffalo nickel & dime Dad's efforts to get his shot herd round the world. (And why did he do it? Because he cud. Ruminant on that a while...)

However, we did have other plans for this particular afternoon. At The Grand Canyon. Hmm, ever wonder (like one of those seven wonders) what people do there when they're not taking pictures of buffalo?
 

After mule-ing it over, M&K had a Brighty idea!  "How's about descending 800 feet into the Canyon?" It's hard to fathom, but they always insist on taking an in-depths look at things. OK, so the actual depth is an additional 5,000 feet beyond that, but, really, how far can we be expected to lower our standards?  Lacking donkeys (huh? what are you implying? please shy away from abraysive humor), we hiked the North Kaibab trail to the Coconino Overlook. Truly, it was quite an enjoyable experience until we realized that we also had to return the Grand gesture by climbing back up all 3,200 feet.
[That's correct, this is no tall tale, there were 4 of us. And, if we're being completely forthright, the sum total of our exertion would be much closer to 6,400 since you'd need to add another 3,200 hands. Sorry, perhaps this should have been put in a footnote?] Few know the subtitle of Marguerite Henry's classic novel -- the Old Timer edition -- is Burro my Heart at Wounded Knees. My eyes grow Misty just thinking about it... After that swell(ing) adventure, we decided to live above the influence - or is that above the Rim? Anyhow, our excitement was over the Top for the next hike.
  
Where we were promised angels. Heavens to bet see, angelic visions in every direction! Canyon imagine that? Even we couldn't miss the Bright Angel Point - obviously, this was the place for us. (Fine, so we hadn't made the final cherubic cut at the Sistine Chapel, but here in the good ol' US of A every body has a chance & winging it is rewarded.) The trail began as a casual stroll until its progressively narrowing path required more of a clinging-to-the-canyon-wall-for-dear-life - lest one prefer the afterlife - advancing shuffle. And, then, it was just like they say: We'd arrived!
Indeed, there were long, if somewhat hazy, views of the Grandeur Canyon. Yet, the 360 degrees of shiny celestial rays were blinding & my Son glasses were of no help. I simply couldn't make out the angels for the obtuse angles. (Not trying to be acute - but aren't ya supposed to stay on their right side?)
           
"Halo!"                        "Anyone there?!"                                  "Hark???"         

I got no answers.

What a chasmclysmic revelation.
 


Still, there wasn't time to dwell on disapPointments, so we cut a Caper Royal, anxiously awaiting the next window of opportunity. It came a mere 23 mile drive + 0.4 mile hike later, in the form of a sign:


As soon as we saw it there, rising before us & illuminated from within, it was clear this one was different. Instantly, I fell. To praying, that is. With two very sound reasons for doing so: 1) irrefutable verification that my faith (and the ground) was still rock solid, and 2) a fervent hope that, in my momentary absence, Katrianna might ask her father to escort her across this promised land instead. "Oh, absolutely," I'd glibly told her in the car minutes earlier, "I'll be your hiking partner for this one, buddy! Ain't no mountain high enough, right?" (The park newspaper had rated this trail as "Easy" with negligible elevation gains... never thought to check its pride-goeth-before-a-fall level of difficulty losses.)
When one door closes, a window opens... yet sometimes it's necessary to leave adore ajar. The view was staggering, but I wasn't falling for it. Despite dear daughter's urging, I opted to stay with that last little tree - obviously, it knew something we didn't - plus, it was right there rooting for me. I even started to suspect that these "Angel Points" were a bit of a stretch... Might they be eulogistic misnomers for all those previous trip-idatious park guests who lived a little too close to the edge? Not so brighty, after all? Maybe being an angel isn't all its cracked up to be. Nahhh, 'cause that would make our lives Pointless.

And then where would we go?

You guessed it, Euclid Dante! On one last dusky descent. It was fantastic, passing an ancient Anasazi granary, following a dry stream bed through deciduous trees & pines to a beautiful, mystical, dripping, mossy canyon wall encircling spring pools fed by rivulets underfoot & gorgeous vistas opening onto more fin-like, multi-colored formations beyond. Of course, what made it extra special was







a Cliff hanger? Oh-no. What was the name of that place? Nothing Springs to mind...











Anyway, got to keep on moving. Before total darkness closed in, I wanted to see if Chris could get a picture of me with those buffalo. What a rush.

Can always work on taking those leaps of faith later...


So, what did it all mean?  Finally, on the way out (of Arizona), I received a sign I understood:

Chris dutifully prepared for our family's visit to see Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park by warning our daughters about the many dangers to be wary of when approaching old geezers. Never can be too careful, after all. Then, more as an afterthought (and while Dad was busy reviewing his spelling lessons), the girls and I brushed up on geothermal science - learning all about hot springs, fumaroles, mudpots and geysers (of any age, no need for discrimination). 

So, upon our arrival, we began with the classic Yellowstone tradition: awaiting the spectacle of Old Faithful's eruption! Katrianna & her parents were duly amazed. Mikaela, on the other hand, was not impressed... Fuming. Bubbling just beneath the surface. Building up a head of steam. Finally, reaching the boiling point & blowing a top! Nothing new there for our pre-teen. "Been there, done that," as the kids say. (Forgive me, now I'm gushing.)

Next, we hiked through the Upper Geyser Basin to see its other famous hotspots, including Morning Glory Pool and A Man's Home is his Castle Geyser. As we watched Ol' Faithful erupt twice more from different vantage points along the loop trail,
Mikaela was affected by its commanding grandeur and obviously felt humbled - if only she could draw that kind of crowd! (Hey, Old Faithful's not the only predictable one.)  


Throughout our trek to each & every corner of the park, Mikaela enlightened us with little quotable tidbits to further enhance the enjoyment of our experience, such as "Did you know that Yellowstone has 2,000 earthquakes a year? Unless, of course, there happens to be a swarm today or tomorrow... then we'd get around 10 to 15 an hour." Or, "When the Supervolcano under our feet here blows up - which could be in thousands of years, could be today, or it might never happen, who knows? -  it'll be 1,000 times stronger than Mount St Helen's. And it will cause a climate change all around the world. And, possibly, we'll all go extinct." [For more of these fun facts, you can go to this month's National Geographic cover story, "When Yellowstone Explodes." Hmmm, I wonder if a tween wrote it?]


Probably the kids' most anticipated destination was the Artist Paint Pots, a "blooping" muddy mess that they couldn't wait to see in person. Mikaela found inspiration there, likening the sounds of the bubbly quagmire to "listening to the earth's heartbeat." Her sister, overcome by the rotten egg stench that they also aired, was a little less poetic: "Stinkin' mudpots!" Really, Katrianna was just being insulphurable.







Wildlife abounds at Yellowstone NP, as well. Many times, we found ourselves, like it or not, shuffling off to buffaloes. Driving in the car, we were constantly beside ourselves with bison... luckily, however, we were spared the gory details. I guess we (or, make that, the buffaloes) were just on a fumarole.


 







Near Yellowstone Lake, we also saw our first-ever grizzly bear in the wild. Although Mikaela did remember the bear essentials and maintained a safe & respectful distance, she spent the rest of the week wistfully setting bear hug traps for that two-year-old cub. But, other than a genial marmot who kindly offered his friendship, her young girl's dreams of the wild life came to naught.





The Obamas are traveling to Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon this weekend to highlight our country's park system, encourage families to visit and bring attention to this summer's free weekends program instituted by the president's administration. Yellowstone, established in 1872, was the United States' first national park, as well as the first park of its kind established anywhere in the world - the fruition of a democratic principle that special land & places should belong to all of the people, not just the landed gentry or a privileged few. Don't worry, Dick Cheney (a Wyoming nativist son - wait, has anyone seen his birth certificate?) - it's just for a couple of days & then you can keep all of that hot air to yourself again.

As usual, we were in the middle of an ongoing family feud. This time it was about one of those volatile subjects known to take all of the heat out of a marriage, inevitably leaving an otherwise warm person feeling cold. Yep, you guessed it: Glaciers.

I know, what's new about that?

In our case, it was the specifics of how glaciers are formed. The kids and I were studying subalpine, alpine & tundra biomes for school. First, I gave them my standard preface to all scientific explanations: "I don't know exactly - we'll have to learn more about it together." (Sometimes I do know, but I want to encourage a spirit of inquisitiveness & their enthusiasm for finding their own answers. Other times, I hesitate in order to avoid giving them erroneous or incomplete information. And, perhaps most often, I really don't know.) But, this time I went a little further because the answer seemed snow-crystal clear.

Drawing on my extensive knowledge of such things (based on a lifetime spent as a sea-level Texan), I surmised that glaciers are made of ice & that the ice had once been snow. Basically, the snowflakes continue to pile up until their cumulative weight, plus a process of melting and refreezing, makes them fuse together. This occurs over such long periods of time that the effect produces a permanent, slow-moving, gigantic ice cube.

With a great guffaw, Chris stopped me cold. He informed us that not only was my explanation incorrect, it was woefully simplistic. The girls turned expectantly for his mind-bogglingly complex, extremely technical truth-telling. Suddenly, a paramount work request demanded his immediate attention. But, he assured them, he'd set us straight later. For now, they'd simply have to make due with the cold shoulder. In the weeks that followed, Dad's sense of urgency to break the ice-lock & provide us with a definitive answer had all of the expediency of glacial drift.

But, all of that was soon forgotten -- when we finally arrived at Glacier National Park & got distracted by the purple mountains' majesty we'd always sung so much about. We started at the Apgar Visitor Center where M&K had a lengthy chat with ranger volunteers, riddling them with questions about 1) What were they personally doing to stop the spread of pine beetles? 2) Was the Junior Rangers program really just a front for George Bush's Iraq "additional troops" draft strategy? and 3) In which campgrounds could they guarantee that we'd be able to hang out with grizzlies after hours?





That done, we took a hike (just as those nice folks suggested). We had the stony shores of Lake McDonald all to ourselves and we skipped worn-smooth river rocks atop its fantastically clear, true-blue turquoise waters.








We then began the 52 mile drive along Going-to-the-Sun Road, stopping every few feet (ok, that's an exaggeration - make that, every few yards) for the next even-more-amazing turnout view, thunderous waterfall or gorge-ous hike.
 
By midday, we tramped to the Trail of the Cedars boardwalk and continued on to Avalanche Lake, where four waterfalls tumble into its spectacular basin. It was both our favorite & our most depressing hike in all of Glacier. Near the trailhead, the towering cedars and hemlocks are imposing & impressive, plus there are wonderful views of Avalanche Creek which keeps mossy-green, gurgling company all the way. But, as the rangers warned, the trees start to sicken. Eventually, the woods are permeated with sunlight that glares down upon blackened & splintered stands of whitebark pines and the fallen remains of several other species. A variety of factors have contributed to their demise, but the most significant is man-made global warming which has irreparably damaged ecosystems along the entire chain of the Rockies. At once, we felt how lucky we were to see GNP while much of its beauty was still intact, but we were also overwhelmed with sadness at the realization of what is to come & how very devastating it will be - not only for scenic or selfishly human concerns, but for the many animals, especially the black bears & grizzlies, Clark's nutcrackers, blue grouses and red squirrels, that depend on the gnarly whitebark's annual nut crop to make it through the winters. Surprisingly, as we climbed to the lake, the foliage seemed to recover and actually became tropical-looking, ferny & lush. We gladly took the visual and mental respite it permitted (if we didn't think too hard about why elephant ear-type plants were growing 4,000 feet up) & enjoyed allowing the view, instead of the elevation gains, take our breath away. We camped that night in a campground reduced to waist or shoulder-high shrubs with a view across Saint Mary Lake of wildfire-scorched forest. 
Glacier National Park's land was originally home to the Blackfeet Nation, the Kootenai and the Bitterroot Salish who called this sacred place "the backbone of the world." There are numerous magnificent waterfalls, such as Bird Woman Falls and Running Eagle "trick" Falls, and we learned their mystical legends. When the Going-to-the-Sun highway officially ends, you leave the park's boundary and travel a more pastoral, but equally beautiful & much less crowded, road through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation to reenter in the Many Glacier section further north. As its name suggests, it is the area with the highest concentration of glaciers. (Although, again, the effects of climate change are drastic. In 1850, GNP had an estimated 150 glaciers. A Sierra Club article reported the number had dropped to 35 by 2008. The park website's teacher education pages now list that total at 27.)

On a dawn hike to Lake Josephine, we paused for a while at Swiftcurrent Lake, relishing the early hour, the gently lapping water and the tranquilly empty trails. Our serenity was broken by a quick succession of snapping branches and rustling leaves in the surrounding trees. Then, a shrill scream, hand claps, howls: "Get! Go! Outta here! Help!"

While the woman producing the panicked, piercing yelps ran toward us, we quickly deduced what had happened, leapt right past her & headed straight for the main trail where she'd been as fast as we could go. Without making a sound, we eagerly scanned the thick undergrowth. Nothing!  

By the time she came to rewarn us and offer protection - having successfully freed her bear-repellent spray can from its handy Velcro pouch ten minutes or so later - the mother bear and her cubs were gone. The lady and her husband proceeded to tell us all of the grisly Ursus horribilis stories they could think of on such short notice (just barely 15 of them, but with plenty of admonitions and bear clauses swiped in for us to bear in mind) until there was absolutely no chance that any self-respecting mama bear would still be stateside - which explains the need for Canada's adjoining Waterton Lakes National Park and the two parks' joint designation as an International Peace Park & World Heritage Site. Just when I thought Katrianna couldn't bear it any longer, our hero happily moved on when some other hikers tried to slip past her. Stepping into their stride, she started anew on her close-call tale of terror - bearing witness, she was!

We lingered, Mikaela hoping the return of quiet & calm would lull the cubs back for some of those much-publicized hugs. A ranger appeared to confirm that there had been a bear sighting and imparted sage, safety-first, 'Be Bear Aware' advice... until his wife and two young daughters came rushing up, smiling, as anxious to grin & bear it as we were. He gave a stern look around. Instantly & silently, we all fanned out to increase our search party chances. But no luck. Besides some fresh berry-filled scat, our efforts did not bear fruit. One fine day, we vow to return with bear bells [not] on. 

On our final twilight evening, we stopped along the Sunny Road at the Jackson Glacier overlook. The peaks glowed in pinks & oranges. The canyons' deep green trees melded into distant valley-to-valley carpeting. The glinting river dawdled & then disappeared into the vanishing point of this ever-changing landscape painting. It was difficult to leave such an exquisite and transcendent place. So, Chris enjoined us to take one last photo. He directed, "A little more to the left. No, more to the right. You've gone too far! Katrianna, turn around and stop reading that sign for a second - " Mikaela went to nudge her over, but then she too stood mesmerized by the information plaque.

"Hey, Daaaaad, come see this!"

What is a Glacier? A glacier forms when more snow falls each winter than melts the next summer. The accumulation of snow above presses down on the layers below, and compacts them into ice. Depending on the amount of ice, the angle of the mountainside, and the pull of gravity, the ice may start to move downhill. Once this mass of snow and ice begins to move, it is called a glacier.

Snap! (or is that a cold Snap? I was too busy getting my cramp-ons to tell.) Chris broke out in a cold sweat, a sure indication that the long winner of our family's discontent - made glorious summer by this Going-to-the Sun Road - was finally beginning to thaw.

On August 3, Glacier National Park received the #1 ranking in Top Ten Best National Parks You Don't Know About.

During much of our time spent in the Pacific Northwest, the girls couldn't see the rainforest for the trees. Or maybe it was just that they saw way too many trucks with what seemed to be most of the forest's trees loaded onto them and headed for the sawmill. You guessed it - they fell for those tall, evergreen & handsome beauties and then embarked on a sort of tree-mendous crusade.

Anticipating a strong reaction to witnessing the infamous logging up close, we discussed both sides of the issue - environmental concerns versus commercial pressures - before we made our trip to Washington state. We tried to be as fair and unbiased as green saps can be. We studied the temperate rainforest ecosystem & the history of the battle to protect spotted owls' habitat, but also learned about the realities of struggling local economies & jobs that depend on forest products. Yet even Chris and I were unprepared for the spectacle of those giant log-overloaded trucks careening incessantly down the road.

Just about everywhere on the Olympic Peninsula, when we pulled over for a scenic overlook or headed off for a hike, eighteen wheeler rigs stacked with newly felled trees whizzed by at regular five minute intervals, all day, from dawn to dusk.

Even the land preserved in Olympic National Park is not old "virgin forest" growth, since much of it has been logged two or three times in the 1800s or early 1900s before being "saved." But, it is recovering, verdant & lush compared to the surrounding private lands or US National Forests where clear cutting still occurs and whole hillsides are left barren or strewn with rejected logs, limbs & stumps of trees.

Nearly as distressing, in other parts of the upper forests where logging is not viewed as lucrative, the trees are being attacked by beetles and various diseases or fungus - things that have always existed but are now multiplying in epidemic proportions because of global warming. Winter temperatures no longer periodically drop low enough, plus there is significantly less rainfall year round, so the trees are "stressed" and much more susceptible to attack. On our hikes, we have seen the effects of pine beetle destruction on white bark pines and lodgepoles in the Rocky Mountains, including ranges reaching far into Canada, as well as in the temperate woodlands of the normally wet and cool Northern Cascades.  As you climb in elevation, the dense and healthy trees slowly begin to darken, then thin, look increasingly anemic and rotten, and finally you're in the midst of a dingy and gray wooded graveyard. It's surreal - like moving from a gorgeous and exhilarating full color photo into a sickened and decaying daguerreotype printed in sepia or black & white tones. But, primarily, it's all startlingly lifeless and mostly in shades of ashy gray.


The result has been that M&K are now hyper conscientious about not wasting paper. They became consumed with writing editorials, boycotting wood & paper products and doing all school & journal writing electronically... It's not all bad, especially since the girls' idea of creativity as toddlers (and, truthfully, for many years after) had been to scribble one single item on a lovely, clean sheet of paper and then cast it aside as unworthy. They repeated this process with great merriment, possibly 10 or 20 times a day: ahh, the satisfying sound of perforated pages being ripped from a new spiral notebook and, bonus, the leftover squiggly pieces that rained down like confetti all over the floor! Or, there were the countless paper airplane-making contests where they folded dozens of prototypes for each design. I'd waver between being pleased with their ingenuity & enthusiasm and perturbed by their lack of restraint and the piles of "wasted" paper. 

But, lo and behold, Katrianna has reformed and, like any new convert, she has become evangelical and presented us with new challenges that must be patiently "borne again" - mostly by the rest of us. For example, since Mom and Dad cannot seem to summon the courage to completely abandon their evil usage of paper towels, she has taken it upon herself to ration our sins - whether we buy the "pick your size" style rolls or not, she tears off each towel and proceeds to rip it in half and then in fourths and, if we don't stop her, in eighths, sixteenths... Then, when we want one, she dispenses - in grandiose disdain - a little one inch square of what used to be a paper towel and we're supposed to dry or clean or mop up with that.
Yet, despite their dedication and sincerity, M&K themselves fell off the conservation wagon fairly quickly. Reality set in: Where would Katrianna the gardener be without her paper cups and wooden toothpicks?  And, though Mikaela is all for hugging trees, she also wants to sketch them with wooden colored pencils on pads of drawing paper, compose odes to them in her beloved poetry journals and sit underneath their branches to read book after book after book. . .

So, they reneged on their personal vows to give up all paper, especially after that well-known temptress of gluttony (school) required they do so. But they've devoted themselves to a new, more attainable goal: to squeeze a week's worth of math problems onto both sides of a single piece of paper and to draw five or ten miniature sketches per page in their sketch books, going for quality over quantity. Admittedly, it's not exactly chaining themselves to trees or protesting by climbing up & sharing residence with a spotted owl come rain or sleet or lumberjacks... But, still, it's a little constructive contribution to show that they give a hoot.       


We've tried to use this as an opportunity to discuss finding a balance: buy products made from sustainable sources when possible but always be aware, less wasteful and generally much more appreciative of the value of our natural resources. It's been a lesson in moderation as much as activism. On Earth Day and every day.

This blog post is made from 100% recycled electrons & creates a minimum of post-consumer waste (IMHO)