Mt Rushmore and Devil’s Tower Trip

This was a very crazy thing to do, all things considered, but it's been a long, stressful month-and-a-half and it was my boys' birthday weekend; darn it, we just needed to get out! I'd mentioned driving to Mt Rushmore and Devil's Tower since my husband had this forced time off due to his surgery, so at 4pm Friday we talked it over and decided life, and especially summer, was too short to just sit here stressed when the road was clearly calling. Within a half-hour, we had our bags packed and a fuel-efficient car rented. (We got an awesome deal through Kelsey's connections instead of adding tons of miles on to one of our old gas-guzzling SUV's.)

We headed north to Moran and crossed over the Continental Divide at Togwotee Pass towards Dubois where we stopped and had dinner at the good ol' Cowboy Café; they have some mighty fine trout there and the best pie this side of, well, somewhere I'm sure. With our growls tame, we set off for in search of Thermopolis, WY, where we intended to hole up (see, I'ma learnin' to speak cowboy) for the night. We came across the first of several 'bonuses' on this trip when we went north out of Riverton and happened upon the Wind River Canyon; it was spectacular! All along that section of this incredible canyon were signs with the era, age and type of rock along the steep and rugged canyon walls. If I'd ever seen 3 billion year-old rock before, nobody bothered to point it out to me until now. The canyon lets out just south of Thermopolis and though I'd read about the town and thought I knew what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised at how welcoming it was. The state park was beautifully green with large old trees and plenty of deer and rabbits greeting us. Unfortunately, we arrived just after 9pm—the time that the thermal pools close. We stopped at the Holiday Inn expecting to get a room but instead were told that it was 'reunion weekend' and there was not a single room in town! There wasn't another town for 57 miles and that wasn't much of a town, but the man at the desk made a couple of calls for us and found that the Bates Motel, uh, I mean the El Rancho had "just one room left for the night". Well all right then! Picture the old single-story strip motels with Harley Davidson's and old couches out front and you'll get the idea. It's turned out that the live-in managers were members of our church and the rooms were actually fine, so we felt very fortunate.

Before leaving town in the morning, we went to the Dinosaur Museum. Being a typical almost 5 year-old, Joshua delighted in the big bones and teeth and it really was a worthwhile stop. We waved goodbye to the 'World's Largest Mineral Hot Spring' and happened upon bonus number 2 when we crossed the Bighorn mountain range. I'd heard of those mountains but it's never anyplace that I expected to find myself and was delighted to experience their beauty. In such remote western areas, I always get lost in thoughts of what it was like to be a Native American there before the white men came.

At Buffalo, WY, we hit I-90 and by then it was welcome as we wanted to get to Devil's Tower before it got too late in the day. Since I first saw 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' in the 70's and it became one of my all-time favorite movies, I'd wanted to visit Devil's Tower but truly never thought I would as it's so far from anything or anywhere. I thought that places like this 'Bear Lodge' as the indigenous people called it, as well as Mt Rushmore, were reserved for retirees in RVs! The weather was perfect and we hiked the mile-and-a-half trail around the base of the tower. We saw lots of adorable Prairie Dogs chasing each other in and out of their tunnels too. It really was a magical place and I felt so privileged to be there. Just my observation about Wyoming: it's the least populated state in the country and we joked as we'd pass through these little towns that had population signs that said '44', or in one case, '1'! We figured that they'd walk in a circle for their Fourth of July parades waving and clapping for each other. Many barns were painted with American flags and business's asked if we were veterans as they offered discounts to them. It's such a simple life compared to the crowded cities and suburbs. No doubt that these folks have their issues too, but it's a world away from what I am used to. Having traveled back and forth over the whole state now, I realize how cosmopolitan Jackson Hole is compared to the rest of Wyoming. We have a beautiful performing arts center, museums and even a few Obama signs in cars and yards.,

We still had lots of daylight after our hike so drove to Spearfish, South Dakota, (a new state for all of us) and then decided to drive south through Deadwood at the north end of the Black Hills. Deadwood was a very attractive old mining town that was fully catering to the tourists with new casinos and updated façades. The Black Hills proved to be way more than I expected too; they are heavily forested with lots of streams and lakes and really quite beautiful.

After indulging in an all-you-can-eat buffet and a good night's sleep, we came, saw and conquered Mt Rushmore touring the museum, taking lots of pictures, eating ice cream and finally departing to the Crazy Horse monument which was just 14 miles away. They charged $20.00 to get in, which I thought was outragous at first, but once inside, I wish I could have spent way more time there and truly hope to get back someday. We took a bus ride to the base of the mountain where they were actively digging; there is just one family of 7 working on this project and they will not accept any federal funding. It may take another 50-100 years before it will see completion. The museum was full of donated Native American art and artifacts—I was overjoyed to see these treasures but Josh just wanted to run around and it was impossible for me to really take it all in. Maybe when he is older and has more of an understanding of their value, we will make the trek over again. It was about 4:30PM now and we wanted to make Casper, WY before dark. We enjoyed what Pizza Hut had to offer in Custer, SD, and again, we set out for places unknown. There were so many places worth exploring in the Black Hills that we could have spent a week or more, but time and money just didn't allow it this trip. When we passed though the town of Edgemont, SD, and I realized how close we were to Nebraska, I suggested taking a little side trip: Joshua and I had never been to Nebraska and on the map it looked like such a few miles, so we diverted south towards a spot on the map called Ardmore and about twice as far we would meet up with and head west on Hwy 20 which should have taken us speedily to Casper. Well, little did I realize until we were quite a few miles down the road that the pavement would end; the last living souls we'd see for nearly 70 miles would be the over-turned van full of people with police cars and medics scurrying about them and the train conductor that was so thrilled to see other humans that he honked a joyful tune to us as we waved excitedly at him! Not long after we saw the bad wreck on that corner of the endless dirt road, we started heading in to the storm of the century. The radio station (the only radio station) kept interrupting the Christian songs to tell us about a "Severe storm in Sheridan County of the Nebraska Panhandle". The sky was getting darker by the minute and lightening was striking constantly. It was raining, and the wind was starting to blow pretty hard. We finally passed Ardmore and every home and small building was boarded up except one that looked like it should have been. Some old bloke was set to stay there, lawn freshly mowed, despite it being a ghost town—heck, maybe he was a ghost? I felt as though I was starring in a Steven King novel and Joshua kept saying how much he hated Nebraska and that he never wanted to come back! Over and over he said, "There's nothing here! Nothing! Absolutely, NOTHING!" The radio man kept saying, "This is a severe storm with quarter–sized hail. If you are caught in this storm, seek shelter in a STURDY building and stay away from the windows!" I started having visions of tornado and looked for somewhere to seek refuge; there was none. Meanwhile, it rained harder and we kept driving right towards the dark, ominous, almost non-stop-sky-filling lightening bolts. Where were the trees? Mountains? Something? Anything? All that could be seen in any direction was prairie grass; nothing but grass. I'm sure the bison loved it before we wiped them out, but we decided they could have it! We stuck out as a huge 'bull's eye' full of anxiety. Finally reaching Hwy 20, we somehow out ran it the storm. Whew! If it were up to me, I'd power this nation with windmills filling the whole state. Nobody would notice the eye-soar and it would be a non-stop supply! I have to laugh now but when we saw the entering 'Nebraska' sign, Kelsey suggested we get out and he'd take a picture of us in front of it. I told him I didn't want to be struck by lightening for a photo but we did stop and actually stuck our feet out touching the ground so it would be official. Even during the years living in the Mojave Desert in Las Vegas did I ever feel so far away and lonesome for the ocean--at least then I was only California away. We were happy to get closer to Casper and hear rock music on the radio again. We must have stopped at a dozen motels along the freeway looking for a room under $100.00. Most were quoting us $120.00 and up! Good grief, it's not like we wanted to stay in some touristville; it was Casper for crying-out-loud, and it was very late. Kelsey was finally able to talk the rates down at a nice Quality Inn and we quickly crashed. After a quick breakfast and a tank top-off, Kelsey asked a man for directions back to Hwy 20. Well, I was looking at the map and could have told him to just hop on the freeway again and there would be an off-ramp just up the way, but this man told him to go 5 lights and take a right, so we did and found ourselves on Hwy 220! After discovering this, we decided to follow it anyway as it would eventually lead us to Lander and we could then reconnect to our familiar road to Dubois. We quickly left town and followed the North Platte River and quiet rolling hills of farmland and occasional interesting rock outcroppings. We crossed a creek and a little sign marked it as 'Sweetwater'; I commented that the Mormons had crossed that on their handcart trek west in 1856 and no sooner than I said that, there was a sign saying "Martin's Cove' 4 miles up! I was blown away! If you are LDS or a western history buff, you know the story of the handcarts and the Martin and Willey companies that left too late to Utah for religious freedom and became stranded in the blizzards of late fall. I am descendant of a family in the Willey Company and when we turned in to the park at Martin's Cove, I was hit with a wall of emotion and tears overcame me. We were greeted warmly by senior citizens who chose to serve missions there and they let us haul some handcarts around a loop. Josh loved that but I thought of him trying to make the 1300 mile trek on foot and knew he wouldn't have lasted a block. The story is too long to tell but these people faced tremendous loss and hardship and I couldn't help but feel that accidental trip down the wrong road for us was no accident at all. We were told the story of 9 year-old little Bodel Mortensen who sat propped against the cart wheel to rest, and froze to death. My family had to carry my great, great, great grandpa in the cart because he was not able to walk. The company were caught in a bison stampede and lost most of the oxen and cattle and were left with a starvation diet of 4 ounces of flour per person, per day; they had to cross freezing, slushy rivers and streams with just rags on their worn feet and snow up to their waists. I feel such an intense connection to these people, my family, who gave up everything in Denmark and England and crossed the Atlantic on a crowded old ship and continued across this land for their belief in Christ and His restored gospel. I can barely imagine the hardship and struggles, but I was lead here to this place and walked on the same ground as they did, if only for a few feet. We spent several hours here and watched as many people dressed in pioneer type clothing loaded up their carts to make just a 5 mile trek. I struggled with the emotion throughout the visit and 56 miles up the road, we stopped for another couple of hours at the Willey Handcart Memorial and met a distant cousin! We shared family history and both mentioned that Marilyn Monroe used to come to the family reunions as she is somehow related. This cousin and I share the same great, great grandpa and we exchanged addresses. Again, I felt it was not an accident that we were lead there and I am still feeling the emotion and awe of the day. We finally arrived in Dubois having made a 1200 mile circle and ate dinner at our Cowboy Café. At 9pm, we drug ourselves in our door and I am so thankful that we saw so many antelope, deer, elk, bison, prairie dogs and marmots; we saw countryside that I never knew existed that was breathtaking; we met wonderful people and even a relative!

I feel spiritually and emotionally fed and renewed and I'd say the boys had a great birthday weekend!

San Francisco May 2008

Josh with my aunt at the Sacramento Train Museum
Josh at Nut Tree, California

With my high school chums Scott and Pam at the plane museum in Alameda, California

Josh and Kelsey on San Francisco Cable Car

Josh plays in a St Helena band

Running at Robert Mondavi's winery

At Pier 41

First ride with out parents; 6 Flags in Vallejo, CA

Golden Gate Bridge

Debbie and Josh

In San Francisco

At Pier 39

Playing Bocce Ball in St Helena with family and friends

Thank goodness for May

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

And another year has passed.

Every April for the past 21 years now, I find myself falling in to a progressive funk. It begins on April Fool's day and builds until the 29th when I am slapped in the face by the memory of my brother's death. I write this now just just because I feel like it; I am thinking the thoughts and I am typing them out. I don't know who will read it, nor does it matter, I just need to reflect. I am not special, but he was and that is why I write-- maybe to share him with whoever may take the time to read; to keep him alive in some way. He would be 42 years old now; just two years younger than I. He would have been a father, an uncle, and most likely very prosperous and successful. I remember him telling me to buy Microsoft and Starbucks stock went they first went public--I wish I'd listened! At 19, he had a solid, outlined plan to open an upscale sporting goods' store specializing in golf, polo, archery and tennis and all the trendy 80's attire to go with them.

Derek was an athlete and a comic. He was generous, I knew, but truly found out only after he died. He took care of his friends in many ways. He never complained about anything and went like there was no tomorrow. Yeah. I remember him laying on the couch, exhausted because he'd worked all night, and his girlfriend called and wanted to see him. His truck was in disrepair so he road his bike about 15 miles and then up Cougar Mountain to her house. I remember telling him that he needed to get some sleep, that she could live with out him for one day. He wouldn't listen. What 20 year-old doesn't think he has forever?

One of the last memories I have of him is when he walked in to my folks' kitchen and gave me a hug. It was a bit out of character and I felt a little shy about it and passed him off after a short hug, to my mom. What I would give now for that hug. I recall that night I drove home to my parents' house at about 11:00pm: I saw a man in a suit that I knew was from my grandparents' church, getting in to his car. He looked at me as I drove past their house to mine (it had been a good, safe life in that neighborhood) and followed me up. When he parked and got out of his car, I had a horrible feeling. My heart raced when he said, "You don't know yet, do you"? I said, "what, what's wrong" and remember my nervous laughter. He told me to go in and talk to my parents. When I walked in, I saw my folks sitting on the couch. They both had bloodshot eyes and I thought it must be my grandpa who was had passed because he was getting up in age. I knew in my heart that it wasn't though. Both Derek and my sister had gone of on week-long trips and I knew it was one of them. My mom said, "Derek is dead". I have never felt such pain or shock and hope never to again. I remember feeling that heartache, where it actually does hurt in your chest, so much so that you think it will explode and you can't possibly handle another second. I remember bawling with such intensity that every muscle in my body hurt. I remember hearing my mom's quiet sobs while she showered, day after day. After these 20+ years, when I think of my brother, it hurts just as badly.

Derek's life-long best friend, John, had to call my mom and tell her that her son was dead. He'd been taken in to the LA county morgue as a 'John Doe'. John had called every hospital, jail, you name it, trying to find him as he knew that Derek didn't know anyone else in town. As a last resort, he was told that the morgue had a John Doe fitting Derek's description and he went to identify him. Poor kid. John named his first-born son Derek and has gone to be a very successful business man in San Francisco with a Master's degree. I know he must have felt compelled to do well in his life for Derek's sake.

When I say Derek was an athlete, I mean he was a locally ranked downhill ski racer; he would also run up the 4.5 mile trail on Mt Si. (that trail kicked my tail!) just for fun and exercise. He played soccer and was very good at it throughout his life. He biked, he ran 10k races, on and on. I was going to Eastern Washington to spend the weekend white-water rafting and camping and invited Derek to come with me. He was so tempted but promised his best friend, John, who had moved to the Godforsaken city of LA, that he would come visit; that's why he'd been working double shifts to get enough money. Perhaps if Derek had gone with me instead, he'd still be alive? I will never know. He went to LA and did many of the tourist things: he went to Universal Studios; he went to the beach; he went to see Joan River's show live; he went for a 20-mile bike ride; he went to an underage club off of Hollywood and Vine and that's where he ended. Derek loved to dance, and lost his buddy, John, on the dance-floor. The last words that he spoke, as far as we know were, "She's fat but she likes to dance". Typical Derek. Anyway, he'd had a heart-attack and the guys working in the club, instead of calling 911, threw him in the back alley. Someone stole his wallet as he lay dying for 45 minutes until the paramedics finally came. By then, he'd aspirated and his eyes were fixed. I can't bear it really and it nearly destroyed my parents and my then 16 year-old sister. I had to drive to Spokane from Seattle to tell her and pick her up as my folks made flight and funeral arrangements. Not something any parent should ever have to do. She'd been on a 'Vision Quest' out in the woods for 3 days solo. We hardly spoke on the 5 hour ride home. We were both lost in shock and agony.

It took 6 months to get back the autopsy saying that he's died of cardiomyopathy-- a virus that attacks the heart muscle. My poor dad took a trip to LA to find out why he was treated so badly by the club. The PI he'd hired told him that it was owned by the mob and to let it go. He talked to the LA county corner, amongst bodies lined up in the hall and has to live with that vision forever more.

I try to make sense of it all. It's a good plan, this life, until it goes wrong in your own family. I live in such fear now that something will happen to my son, because I KNOW that it can. I question why this kid who had everything going for him was taken and why not me, who has fumbled down the wrong roads time and again? But I got to see Derek one last time in a dream 3 days after he died. We met in a large, beautiful field--one that I did not recognize. We hugged intensely and I asked him how he could be there; wasn't he dead? He replied, "yes, but I am OK and I have things I need to do." He said he'd miss me and was sorry to leave but he just had to. He seemed to understand how badly I was hurting; I could see it in his eyes. It was incredibly real and I do not doubt at all that I will see him again. I miss him so much though.

I felt compelled to write this, to relive it, to cry my eyes out and feel the heart-crushing agony that comes with feeling too long. I suppose it is much like my trip to Auschwitz: wholly unbearable, but I owed it to them, and I most certainly do to Derek. It's been 21 years and it is April. My grandpa did die, on April 10th, one year ago at nearly 94 years old...as it should be. I'm thankful to have had 19 more years with him.

Funny, my bishop's secretary just called to ask if he could see me tonight, as is often the case when I most need it. Life is a treasure; an amazing gift... but it can sure be hard.

Silver City, New Mexico

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

My knee hurts. I’m afraid that the multiple flights and scrambling through airports didn’t do it any favors.

Silver City, NM, is far from any other city and we have to drive a long ways no matter where we fly in to, to get there. The first time we visited, we flew to El Paso, TX; our second visit was from Tucson, AZ, so we decided on Albuquerque this time just for a change of scenery. We got up at 4am Friday and flew to SLC where we missed the first flight to Albuquerque and stressed about making the next. We walked quickly from the B gates to the E gates trying to make that darned flight, but despite our efforts and my swelling knee, it wasn’t meant to be. We did luck out and made the next one and arrived in ABQ to the beautiful sun and desert hills.

We rented a car and set course south towards Las Cruces, NM, with the cruise set at 85 and enjoyed the next couple of hours rocking out to Three Dog Night and singing our hearts out in the bright sun. After many miles we turned west just past Truth or Consequences, NM, (don’t blink) and drove 75 miles over the ’Black Range’ Trail of Mountain Spirits Scenic Byway mountain pass; it was one of the most winding, slow roads I’ve ever been on-- 20 miles per hour was the max speed for many of those miles. Funny, I commented about Joshua getting car sick when we crossed a similar pass from Colorado Springs to Aspen 2 years ago....(more to come about that) Anyway, we arrived at 5:30pm and had a nice visit and meal with my in-laws. Joshua didn’t remember our last visit there as he was such a little guy then. (Check out my April 2006 blog for pictures of the Mimbres area and ancient ruins)

By Saturday, my knee was very swollen and equally sore but we enjoyed our day together and went up to a near by lake that evening. Sunday morning we attended the little church and were greeted warmly; we spent the rest of the day having an Easter egg hunt and some of us ate way too much candy. (Josh had been worried about the Easter Bunny not finding him in NM, so I guess the Bunny made up for it) That evening, after a wonderful dinner, we drove to Pinos Altos of Judge Roy Bean fame. I’ve mentioned before how much I love exploring and old west towns and this is espcially cool because it is so remote and used to be Mexico. It was also so nice to wear shorts again and get out of the Wyoming snow for a few!

Many of the old places down there are made of adobe--it amazes me how long those bricks can last! We had to keep passing the Santa Rita mine to get to my In-Laws house (now owned by Phelps Dodge company) which has been continuously mined since 1805. A History of the Santa Rita Mine It has an interesting history and employs many local residents.

Here's some info about the big town of Pinos Altos, Old Mexico. Pinos Altos~ Then and Now

Judge Roy Bean had a shop here and Geronimo and Billy the Kid were from this area. (Is that a ghost on the right? The spot wasn’t in any of the other photos....) About Billy The Kid

The Hearst Church in Pinos Altos, New Mexico

The Buckhorn Saloon in Pinos Altos, New Mexico

Joshua’s grandpa made this little sail boat!

This was supposed to be his "Demon Boy" look but he smiled instead.
We got up at 5am on Monday and headed for home. Remember the winding road I mentioned on the way over? Well, we had to stop several times for a car sick boy this time. We nearly ran out of cloths to change him in to; you can imagine how it must have been. Blech. Anyway, we were running late and sweating making the 1225 flight, but despite it all, we did and connected with minutes to spare in SLC. My knee is holding up but man, I was beat last night and crashed by 9pm.

A sad farewell to Franklin

Thursday, January 17, 2008

We've had our dog, Franklin, now for about a month. He's managed to destroy several of our Levelor blinds, toys, socks, and various other things, but we forgave him of these small crimes. Yesterday we spent about $150.00 on huge bags of food, snacks and a large, plush bed for him; but as of today, we are taking him back. He has growled at Josh many times when Josh hugged him while he was napping and Josh told me that he's bitten him two times, but I thought they were playful bites. I have warned Josh to stay away while Franklin sleeps but last night, Joshua gave him a small hug and Franklin laid in to his face with gnarly barks and a bite. Josh quite nearly lost one of his beautiful eyes. He has teeth bruises all around his left eye but fortunately it broke very little skin. I am heart-broken as Franklin really became MY dog--wanting to snuggle with me all day and night and following my every step-- but he has to go. I feel confident that through the adoption center, he will find a nice home with no small kids. So we will continue to foster dogs and hopefully the right one will come along eventually.