The long road home

The way back through the midwest was trying, again. I'd either poisoned myself by eating unrefrigerated string cheese for a midnight snack or picked up a virus along my journeys. Either of those, mixed with extreme heat in the mid-western states made me sicker than I'd wanted to be. Somewhere in Ill., with more threats of tornados in the air, I had to lie down on my van bed. After a good sleep of about an hour, I phoned the Palmers in Mansfield, OH, trying to make sense of when they could expect me the next day. Fever dulled my senses, and I was further from them than I'd thought. Another motel stay was in order.

When I arrived at Chris and Robin's, I had to immediately sleep again and all the next day. Robin heated up my request of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Gradually, my body healed and we were able to share some good laughs like we're known to do.

Now, the following wildlife report requires a warning of possible offensive material. I must report it, though, because out of all my wildlife observations, one in a flower pot hanging under the Palmer's roof overhang was the most incredible and memorable and disgusting. Here it is!

Standing at Robin's kitchen sink, the first morning I felt well, I called to Robin, "Oh, look the mamma Robin is cleaning out the babies' nest. OOh, look she's eating it. Ooooh, my Gosh, Robin look at this." We stood, mouths wide-aghast as we watched each tiny, nude chick raise it's downy bottom into the air, squeeze out a timely blob of birdie poop, as it's OCD mother ever so gently and politely gobbled it up so it would never hit the nest floor. This was recycling at it's best, or worst - you decide.

So, I arrived home in Franklin, ME on June 29th, I think (still time disoriented). It was a great ride! But home is home, and one's own bed is one's real bed. The sunsets and sunrises will look a bit different and the big dipper will be on it's side instead of flat w/the horizon and filled with the Milky Way. There are no Elk or Grizzly bears here, but before I rise from my familiar and cozy bed, a loons laughs hysterically as it flies over my roof, and a black bear has roamed the lane in the night, a red fox yips at dusk, and coyotes with wolf blood awaken me at 4 a.m. with the chatter of excitement over a kill for her pups.

The smell of sweetgrass and fir mingle with the Holy ions of sea air, and I am home.

Goodbye Old Paint

My original plan, after leaving Jackson was to return to Sheridan, WY, await two of Patti Atkins's friends to arrive in July, and lead a Croning Ceremony for Patti. Unfortunately, I was spent and could only invision myself heading home to Maine. Waiting two more weeks was unthinkable at this time. Patti was disappointed but said she understood my decision. So on June 26th, or so (time and dates eluded me on the road), I left Gerry Amadon and Patti Reilly's lovely home that sits beneath the Tetons in Wilson, Wy and Gayle and Lenny Francis headed north for their home in Billings, MT.

I headed northeast, through Togwotee Pass, southeastward through Dubois, Lander, and Rawlins to Interstate 80, just west of Laramie, WY. I had the Wind River Range to my right until Lander. I stopped at a prairie museum, which had a great collection of stone artifacts - my heart sang. There were great outcroppings of red rock formations along the way (see above). Just west of Laramie, in the Medicine Bow Mtns., I camped at a state park and slept among the rock people, that surrounded the camps. I expected to see a Mountain Lion; didn't even hear one. The next morning light had a pink cast, being reflected off the families of rock. I stopped at a pawn shop the next day and admired his rock collection. The shop keeper asked, "Are you a rockie?" I said yes to what I think he meant to be a rock enthusiast. He told me explicit directions of where to find what he called pebble agate. I acted like I knew what that was, to prove my rockie status. My friend in Sheridan had shown me a boulder in her garden by that name. As I drove east looking for the summit of Beaver Ridge (there were so many ridges how would I know) and a sign that would read something like Canadasis. This was after many, many miles of driving through desolate, sage covered dirt cattle ranges. I began to think I'd been hoodwinked (where'd that saying come from?), when, sure enough there to my left was a wooden sign pointing to Cadice Lake. I was to look for a "stream" that ran under the road. Well, the road was dirt, the stream was a gutter, the lake was a nearly dried up water hole, and the agates that were supposed to be lining the road, right there, seemed invisible. I picked up what I thought might be nearly formed agates. They didn't look at all like pebbles. But, I saw more antelope and horses; and I made it back to the main road without being stampeded by cattle, bitten by a rattler, or lassooed by a cowgirl.

I'd really intended to visit the University of Wyoming archeological museum in Laramie the next day, but I got on the road by 6 a.m. and into Laramie way too early to wait around. So, Eastward I continued.

Spotted Horse Ranch Reunion

Exactly 43 years ago, in the spring and summer of 1967, I, Jerry Amadon from Mass., Gayle Boucher of Billings, MT, and Leonard Francis of Saratoga, WY serendipitously landed by the banks of the Hoback River and at the foot of Beaver Mtn, in Jackson Hole, WY. Each has their own story of what brought them here, you'll have to wait for my book to be published about it (once I get it written). This year, 2010, we all met in Jackson to reminisce; recalling how Lenny jumped into the turpid river to save a lost lamb and how Gayle nursed it, how Jerry helped save Dick Bess's life when their raft turned over in the Hoback's icy spring water, how Dian kept us all sane, and how I sang The Hills of Old Wyoming over and over again for the dudes in the ranch bar and lounge. There is so much else to tell so, really, keep an eye out for my book later.

Our reunion was a gift to us all. Dick and Dian are still spunky at 80 and 82. They've been together since they were kids, 15 and 17; though Dian winks at me when she says, pretending she's saying it on the sly, "We had our ups and downs." Gayle and Lenny returned to the ranch the next year 1968, not knowing the other would be there, for they'd been sweeties toward the end of 1967. The second year sealed it; they got married and two children and grandchildren later, have made a good life for themselves. Jerry stayed in Jackson Hole, Wilson, by the foot of the tetons. He developed his own business digging foundations, etc, investing in real estate (very wise), and building his own home. He waited until age 57 to marry when he found the right gal, Patti Reilly, a professional fly-fisherwoman and trip planner. I returned to PA to be with my family of origin, after running through several professions I became a Social Worker/Therapist, never married, but have succeeded just the same. My life is richer having reunited with my old ranch buddies and former employers. We are all so Blessed to have been able to be on the ranch again, together.

Jackson Hole

Yesterday I returned to the land I love best on this earth, Jackson Hole, Wyoming and the most magnificent mountains ever, The Grand Tetons. They were so named, story has it, by French trappers who were reminded of women's breasts when seeing the mountains. Leave it to a Frenchman, Oooh, La La! Maybe it was Frenchwomen who named them!
Last night I camped by a river in the Gros Ventre area of the Hole. An earthquake recreated some of the terrain east of the campground, in 1950 (or so).There are a mother Great Horned Owl and her two fledglings in a tree at the camp. The most beautiful birds ever. Hard to see in the photo; look closely.***

Some of the nostalgia from 1967-1968 grabbed me last night, filling me with some sadness for days gone by but also with a deep gratitude to be able to return to all this beauty and my spiritual home.
At any rate, to me, these mountains carry special memories for me from my days working on Spotted Horse Ranch on the Hoback River, 20 miles South of the town of Jackson. That experience was the most wonderful time of my life (I've had many good times, though). Today I am meeting with my old work buddies,Gayle and Lenny Francis and Jerry Amadon, here in Jackson. Lenny and Jerry were Wranglers. Lenny was the real cowboy; Jerry did most of the carpentry and other construction installations on the ranch. Gayle and I were what they called Cabin Girls. Sounds risque, I know,but it's not what one might think. We cleaned toilets and sinks re-made beds, served meals and did dishes for the dudes. Because I could sing and play guitar, I also entertained the guest in the lodge bar at night. We also had some time to ride horses up into the high country that surrounded the ranch and dip into the ice-cold Hoback River on hot days. The four of us are going to visit with Dick and Dian Bess, our former ranch employers and former owners of Spotted Horse.

Yellowstone

Yellowstone National Park was damaged by an extensive forest fire in 1988. One can still see the charred and fallen trees, so sad. Although it's not my favorite park, it is a wonderful place to view wildlife. But, to whet your appetite, I encountered many massive bull buffalo, a bull Elk with the most fantastic rack on his head, which was still in velvet, and a mother grizzly with three cubs all lying with the remains of a recent kill. The rangers had a telescope set up and I attempted to photograph the group through it. I haven't viewed the photos fully yet, but one looks like I was able to zoom in with a wonderful shot of the sow's head and yellow eyes (Sounded cool, didn't it, but it turned out to be nothing). I camped in Yellowstone, cold again, but lovely. A thunderstorm rushed past, early evening, but the stars shone over me later.

camped by the Madison River

Last night I camped at the foot of the Madison Range of the Rockies. Had to drive on a 3 mile long dirt road, but was rewarded with a herd of antelope with many calves. I couldn't figure out who were the moms as several kids hung with one doe. My campsite was beside a bubbling brook that flowed into the Madison River, just 300 feet away. Just as I was ready to bounce into bed, however, I discovered my sheets were wet from a pair of soaked sneakers I'd found at the previous campsite. Duh! I didn't think about putting my tarp under them. Lesson learned. So, I was thrown back to the last time I'd wet the bed, age 5, when I placed a towel over the spot. Not a good sleep, and it became very cold in the night. But the view was so wonderful with the mountains out my window, a 1/2 moon on the rise, the big dipper over my head, and glorious red sunsets and sunrise. Ah, the American West. I'm now in a cafe in cattle country with cowboys all around me. They even wear cowboy hats, cb boots and spurs, Yahoo!

Canada, Oh Canada

I can understand why they hold a stampede in Calgary - what a ride there through the flatlands of Canada wheat country -felt like a stampede. Thought I'd never get there; and when I did, yuk! Terrible ride through the middle of Calgary, stop lights and all kinds of restaurants.

I just wanted to see the mountains; and mountains I saw. Wow, Oh Wow! I thought Glacier Park was wonderful, both places made me weep in thanks for the beauty of nature in all it's magnificance. Here are just a few photos of the area, too any to post - I took 83. I climbed up the path to the Columbia Ice fields and Athabasca glacier. It looked easy from the parking lot, but I huffed and puffed. Had to cross a field of snow. But, I made it!!! The way down was harder, crossing the snow. It was steep and, of course, I was so excited to get up there that I forgot about my hiking shoes in the van. I had on Teva sandals; did me well until the snowy path. At the steepest part, a tall, handsome stranger from Europe (Sounded German) offered me his hand. Holding onto him was like being bound to the strongest and tallest oak in the forest. He got me down safely. I camped in the forest near Lake Louise. Ah, the color of the lake's water is deliciously turquoise - no kidding. The photo above doesn't do it justice. And, I saw a cub Grizzley, wondered if mom was near, but a man said he was a yearly and most likely long weaned from her; black bear and cub, and 7 mountain goats in the center of a small village. Don't forget the many deer along the way.
I've driven so many hours, I feel disoriented.

Now, on to Jackson Hole, liesurely!