Coming home is hard to do

I am experiencing post-vacation let down. I’m an anomaly among humans apparently because I don’t start missing my home and my routine on vacation. I want to stay and live in fantasyland forever. Is it too much to ask? I don’t care for returning to reality.

Let’s revisit the trip for the purpose of allowing me to savor it a little longer.

* We saw grizzly bears. One climbing a hill near the road and another through the spotting scope in the Hayden Valley. Bears, you guys. They are real and huge and wild and we saw them. Charlie was over the moon.

* We saw foxes, too, which are adorable, and for which I feel an affinity because of this movie.

* The weather was stormy and moody, cool and wet, sunny and clear. All of it was gorgeous.

* Truman called our accommodations at the Lake Hotel Annex our “hoe ‘n tell.”

* The general store at Mammoth had sea salt caramel truffle ice cream, of which I approve.

* Our three-year-old hiked like a hiking machine. And the cousins scuffled with each other for the privilege of holding his hand on the hikes. He relished this with a certain smugness. There were rather a lot of train references by our caboose when it came to hiking. He waited for me to catch up to him while walking back from Mystic Falls, took my hand, and said, “Engines hold hands.”

* Charlie also hiked like a boss. And he put Dutch in his place. On our way to Roosevelt one morning as we drove past Canyon, Charlie called from the backseat, “That’s too fast, Jeff.”

* Storm Point was magnificent. I’ve never seen it in a storm before. It was better this way. Maybe there is a comparison I can make here to life, like how the storms reveal a depth of beauty that’s missing from a sunshine-y tableau. Yes, that works.

* The Lamar Valley was its typical stunning self, showing off for the bison who don’t care, as long as there is a lot of grass for grazing.

* Also spotted in the Lamar, two park ranger trucks with flashing lights that had pulled over an actual hearse with Mourning Wood Funeral Home painted on the side. For real. That’s what it said. We died laughing.

* We encountered many a footbridge on our treks through marshy meadows. I loved all of them.

* Someday I would like to wake up at five am and see the Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River from Artist’s Point all by myself, minus the tour busses. It’s exquisitely lovely and probably much better in solitude.

* Trout Lake offers views that make one’s heart flutter. The world, my friends, is astonishing. Glorious and beautiful, indeed.

* Truman was enchanted by Mud Volcano, which we affectionately call Mud Buh-cayno because Henry called it that for years. It is also known among my people as Goo Geyser, because my nephew Michael said so. Our walk around Mud Buh-cayno took an unexpected turn this year when an enormous bison walked onto the trail and decided he wasn’t going to move. We had to leave the trail and bushwhack a large detour around him to get back to our car.

* The sky was all, “I’m stunning and I know it.”

* We slept in until 8:00 every morning and didn’t have to clean up a Code Brown.

* I had quality time with these people.

See why I wanted to stay?

  2 comments for “Coming home is hard to do

  1. Jennifer
    June 20, 2015 at 3:48 pm

    This is SO glorious! I know you couldn’t stay forever, but hopefully you can put another one of these escapes on your calendar for something to look forward to. Almost ALL of my happy memories happen AWAY from my house! I’m giddy with joy to see what you got to see–amazing!

  2. June 22, 2015 at 2:00 pm

    I’ve only been to Yellowstone once. It was chilly, in the fall, and I went with a random group of friends from the ol’ singles ward crowd. We all pitched in to rent a cabin together. I rode up with a girl named Carolyn, another girl, and a friend, Brad. Brad and I sat in the back and didn’t know that we were the only ones who had even been to the Jackson Hole area before. We should have been paying attention to where the girls up front were taking us. They went east instead of north through Wyoming. Hours and hours later, we were within cell phone reception and others from the cabin, worried that we hadn’t arrive a few hours before, called us. I answered. “How long does it take to get there from Logan?” I asked them. The guy on the phone got upset that we were only in Logan. Then a girl in the background asked if he was talking with Larrie and told him not to take me seriously. I think our drive took us over 7 hours.
    So, you see?
    I need to go back to Yellowstone. I need to take my family. I am dying to spend more than a few hours there (our cabin was not in the park) and take so many pictures, I run out of room on both my camera and phone.
    I am loving your pictures.
    And I agree: returning from vacation is a rough let down.

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