Houston, Texas. My father lives here. I never planned to visit Houston; in fact, it was the last place on earth I ever would have gone. But, for reasons I cannot yet fathom, I changed my mind and my carefully planned itinerary, and took a long detour and drove to Houston.
I was born and raised in Chicago, but spent a good part of my “formative” years in Houston. You know, the really pleasant teenage years….bad cloths, loud music, rebellious. I was a willful and stubborn kid. Its possible I had some positive qualities too…they were just hard to come by given my preoccupation with asserting my independence and wearing a sort of “smarty-pants” attitude on my sleeve. No doubt it was a real challenge living with me. But the real problem in our household is that there were two of us…nearly mirror images of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Physically, I look more like my mother, but I think and act a lot more like my Dad. As sure as the sun rises every morning, there would be a clash between my Dad and me. “A clash" is of course an understatement, friction eventually came to define our relationship. As the child, I was the recipient of my Dads often harsh and immovable positions. At the ripe old age of 17, I packed up my bag of hurts and left home. I finished high school, became a single mother and put my self through college…all the while stoking my internal drive with the mantra of “I can do this...he'll see”. I was hoping to earn some love and respect.
Fast-forward 30 years. I now have a great family of my own, my career took off, I live in a charming town in New England, I traveled all over the world, and have a circle of friends whose company I truly enjoy. I love my life. The only thing that has slowed me down is the weight of that damn bag of hurts I keep dragging with me. It actually got a bit heavier over the years. Over a relatively short period of time, I lost my mother, my younger sister Cindy and one of my older sisters, Linda. I stuffed all that tragedy in the bag too. I keep that old ugly bag mostly hidden away in some dark corner of my soul. I think no one knows about the bag...but I'm not so sure.
I wasn’t sure what I would find once I got to Houston. I hadn’t been back in over 5 years. Silly me, I was even a bit nervous. For moral support, I called a few of my old friends who still live there and made plans to visit with them. I even looked up a friend I hadn’t seen in 20 years and also made plans for a visit. As I drive down the street where I used to live so many years ago, I thought the place looked great. The trees were much bigger, lawns and gardens more mature…it was all very pleasant. I made my way to the cul-de-sac where I saw my Dad waiting for me. I was pulling the trailer and he was there to help guide me up the driveway (hopefully without taking out a mailbox or tree). My Dad looked the same, yet different. He was older….86 years old now. He’d had back surgery a couple of years ago, which didn’t do much to alleviate his back problems, and he limped a bit. Time was marching on for my Dad. As I considered this, I realized time is marching on for me too, and my time with my Dad. He walked me through the house and the yard. A hurricane had recently visited its wrath on Houston, and we surveyed how well his property had survived…a few branches down, and part of a fence in ruins, not bad, not too bad at all. When we went into the house, well that was another story. It looked like the hurricane had hit the inside, with a vengeance. It hadn’t, my Dad just doesn’t like to waste his time on housekeeping. A vacuum cleaner stood in the middle of the family room as testament to an attempt to tidy up a bit. My Dad opened the door to a spare bedroom for me to use and then winked at me and said “this was your room, wasn’t it”…yes, indeed. Memories flooding in like the falls I’d seen in Yellowstone several weeks earlier.
Dad, Tony and Family 10/2008
I won’t take you through a blow by blow of my visit. I was only going to stay 3 days, and I stayed a week. I found a mission in returning my Dad’s home to some sort of order (I’ll admit, this required professional assistance). My husband Scott, flew to Houston to join me and was promptly put to work on mending fences. My Dad delighted in all the fuss. I got him his first cell phone..he loved it as he loves all new gadgets. We had dinner with my sister Linda’s son Tony, his wife and children. My Dad hadn’t seen Tony in quite some time, so it was a bit of a reunion…for all of us. I met with some of my Dad’s friends and watched as he held court, taking center stage and entertaining everyone…something that used to drive me nuts as a kid, I now found pleasantly endearing. One evening, as we sat on the sofa to watch TV, I observed that his favorite things to watch were also mine….science, nature and the arts. What started out as mission or obligation, unexpectedly became a labor of love.
I spent some time visiting with my old friends. Whether we were reminiscing about the past or talking about the here and now, it was as though the years disappeared and our camaraderie was as easy today as it was 20 years ago. I was having a really good time, my first in many, many years in Houston. Thank you Barbara, Kelly, and Greer...you guys are great!
During my last night, I talked (and laughed) with my Dad until 3AM. It was unquestionably the best conversation I ever had in my life, with anyone. It was filled with the really important things; our life together as a family and our relationship, the will to leave a lasting legacy, the importance of friends and being the best person you can possibly be. Forgiveness and generosity in all things were visited...frequently. It was honest, raw and filled with the wisdom and reflection of two people who have walked many paths, too often without each others company. I will never forget our talk, not in all my days.
When the time came to leave, I dawdled about…finding things to do to delay my departure. The truth was, I didn’t want to go. Still, I packed up the car, kissed my Dad goodbye and pulled out of the driveway. I looked at him in the rearview mirror and saw a man that I loved and respected….he was always there, I just never looked with my eyes completely open before.
I checked in on the old bag of hurts, it weighs a lot less….
Wounded Knee, South Dakota. I saw many things in South Dakota that were truly magnificent..the Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse monuments, the eerie landscape of the Badlands and the mystical beauty of the Black hills. Nothing in this entire trip has affected me more however than my visit to Wounded Knee. It’s a place where you must turn and face the falsehoods of childhood lessons, where the terrible toll of bias and bigotry is still being played out. and lastly, where the rights and liberties spelled out in the American Constitution that “we hold to be self-evident” were systematically taken away from Native Americans.
Wounded Knee "Monument"Wounded Knee is not an easy place to get to. Once there I drove around in circles for 20 minutes looking for a Memorial, a Monument, something that would mark the place that is so symbolic of the conquest of the West. What I found was a dilapidated h
and-painted sign, a cemetery in ruin atop a charred hill and a “visitors center constructed of a few poles and pine boughs. As poor a monument as all of this was, there was an invaluable “richness” is the history of the area and the present day life of Native Americans provided by two volunteers at the visitor’s center, Mr. Elk and his wife Jerilynn.
Mr. Elk proudly showed me his driver’s license, which indicates he is a full-blooded Lakota Sioux. He and his wife showed me hand-drawn maps of the area from the 1890’s,
positions of soldiers, artillery, and the Indians during the massacre. They told me stories of the survivors and their
Mr. Elk...100% Sioux
families, and finally they told me of the hardships of living on a reservation, their determination to keep their culture alive, and the continued bigotry that dogs their attempts to find employment.
Before coming to South Dakota, I read “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee” by Dee Brown and “Crazy Horse” by Marie Sandoz as well as a few others. These well -researched books stood in stark contrast to my lessons in school about the American Indians as well as the prevailing attitudes of the time. Remember playing Cowboys and Indians? The moral of that game was that the cowboys were good and killing the savage Indians was the right thing to do. All the great old western movies promoted the same sort of story. One of the few positive portrayals of an Indian was Tonto, as the Lone Rangers lackey. I was taught that Wounded Knee was a battle, but that was revisionist history, here is what really happened:
Chief Bigfoot of the Sioux finally gave up his long struggle to have his tribe live as free Indians, when the last of their lands was taken. The remains of his tribe, some 120 men and 230 women and children were starved and hungry from running and living in hiding to avoid being placed on a reservation. They were also cold, it was December, 1890 in South Dakota, and many did not even have blankets for cover. Chief Bigfoot decided to bring his tribe to Pine Crest (an Indian reservation) as a last resort as they would surly not survive the winter. Enroute to Pine Crest, on December 28th, four troops of cavalry approached the tribe. Big Foot immediately had the white flag run up over his wagon. Major Samuel Whiteside, Seventh U.S. Cavalry informed Big Foot he had orders for his arrest and that he would be taken to a cavalry camp on Wounded Knee Creek. Big Foot remarked that he was going in that direction, anyway as he was taking his people to Pine Ridge for safety. Big Foot’s tribe was marched into the Wounded Knee Creek cavalry station, and ordered to make camp in the center. Surrounding them were Whiteside’s Cavalry as well as two Hotchkiss guns placed on a rise overlooking the camp. Later that evening, the remainder of the Seventh Cavalry arrived to join Whiteside’s troops. Colonel James W. Forsyth, commanding Custer’s former regiment now took charge. Two more Hotchkiss guns were placed on the ridge. The guns were aimed at the Sioux encampment. The Hotchkiss was a rapid action weapon capable of hurling explosive charges for more than 2 miles. In the morning, after issuing hardtack rations to the Indians, Colonel Forsyth ordered the Indians to be disarmed. All weapons were stacked in the center of the camp. The cavalry was not satisfied with the number of weapons surrendered and so went from tepee to tepee in search of more weapons. They brought out bundles of axes and tent poles and hunting knives, these were stacked next to the surrendered weapons. Still not satisfied that they’d gotten all the weapons, the soldiers ordered the Indians to remove their blankets and submit to personal weapons search. Two rifles were found and when one of the Indians argued saying that he had paid great deal of money for the gun and it was his, the shooting started. As the Indians ran for cover, the Hotchkiss guns rained down on the Indian camp. The flying shrapnel shred tepees, men, women and children. Some of the Braves fought back with whatever they could pick up off the ground. They were no match for armed soldiers however. A number of women and children running for their lives headed for Wounded Knee Creek. They were shot in the back multiple times. When it was over, Chief Bigfoot along with nearly 300 of the original 350 men women and children were dead. The cavalry lost 25 soldiers, most struck by their own bullets or shrapnel from the Hotchkiss guns. Several soldiers received the Medal of Honor for their “heroic” deeds during the Battle of Wounded Knee. Lets face it; there was no battle, and certainly nothing heroic in the brutal massacre of these people. As for the Indians, their bodies were left on the field, frozen in grotesque shapes.
History shows that we made many treaties with the Indians, every one of them was broken, most before the ink dried. Our belief that there was not enough land to go around and a fear of what we did not know or understand led to the deliberate extermination of the Indians way of life. Everyone wanted a big slice of the American dream, and believed the only way to get their share was to take it from the Indians. There is precious little left of this once great culture.
The land that comprises most of the Indian reservations is generally some of the most
Modest homes on S. Dakota Indian Reservation
useless, barren land in the US. Today, Indian reservations remain among the poorest counties in the lower 48 states. I’ve driven through quite a bit of North America during this trip, it’s a bountiful continent.
While I was standing at the very place where Big Foot and his people were massacred, I reached into my pocket and found the
small wooden Indian “dream box” I’d bought when visiting a reservation in Canada.
Big Foots Marker I bent down and scooped up a small amount of earth from that place and put it in the box. I normally do not do things like this…but I was very moved by the scene and the history. I also wanted something to remind me of the terrible things we do and the human misery that occurs when we think there's not enough "pie" to go around. There always is you know...slice it fairly.
I've just passed this monument. It was made famous in a movie about aliens. A better clue lies in the Indian myth about how this strange formation came to be...here goes:
7 girls were playing happily, when suddenly, a giant bear came bounding out of the woods. The bear began to chase the girls. The girls ran as fast as they could, but the bear was getting closer and closer... They 7 girls saw a flat rock and quickly climbed up on it. They realized the bear would still be able to reach them and so began to pray to Wakan Tanka for help. Because their hearts were so pure, their prayers were answered. The rock began to grow and rise up into the air. The angry bear, scratched and clawed at the rock trying to reach the girls, but to no avail. The rock continued to grow until it became a tower that reached a heavenly height. Then, the 7 girls, being of pure heart, were transformed into 7 bright stars, which together form the big dipper.
If you're stumped....here is another clue. Just over the boarder from this formation lies a town also made famous by Hollywood. But, before Hollywood a man with a reputa
tion as a gun fighter, lawman, stagecoach driver and generally a fearsome dude made his home here. He was shot and killed while playing poker in this town, allegedly holding what became known as the "dead mans hand"...a pair of aces and eights. He lies buried in the town cemetery, next to Calamity Jane. Who is he, and where is the town?
YelIowstone Park, WY. I came to Yellowstone because it was the start of it all…the National Parks system. I came to see Old Faithful, wild animals, mountains and lakes. I was fortunate to see all these things and more. As I reflect on my week in Yellowstone I realize that I received one of Natures greatest gifts, peace. Beautiful sunsets, majestic mountains, a glimpse of fawn gingerly taking its first steps from the safety of its mother all invite you to open your soul to the serenity of the park. Climbing, hiking horseback riding provide the balance of leaving your body refreshed and renewed.
Although Yellowstone is a big park, spanning some 3,468 square miles, it is infinitely assessable. Paved roads get you from one end of the park to another, and secondary roads take you to some of the more interesting park features. Far and away the best way to see the park is to get out of your car and onto one of the many trails…they are all well maintained and run the gamut from a short simple stroll to an exhilarating 4 hour vertical rock scramble.
Tetons w/Snake River
I also went to Grand Teton Park, just south of Yellowstone. For beautiful mountain vistas, this park has no parallel. I went on a half-day tour via horseback. My guide, cowboy Kasey (with a “K”), regaled me with stories of Wyoming and his boyhood in Idaho. Turns out we had a common literary hero in Ernest Hemingway. Kasey went on to talk about his favorite authors, their works and his impression of them. In short order it was clear that Kasey doesn’t spend all his days on the trail…he was one well-read cowboy! The ride included climbs up steep hillsides to get a better view of the Tetons, splashing through a series of ice cold rivers and streams…I always wanted to do that…make a big splash when fording a river on a horse…seems so cool, and it was! My favorite however was riding through a large stand of Quaking Aspens.
The contrast of the white bark against the now golden foliage was striking. The wind rustling through the branches and the small golden leaves flying around, like a hundred brilliant rays of sunshine, was not to be forgotten!
Wildlife was out in force in Yellowstone. It is the rutting season, so male virility was prominently on display. The bugling of Elk would go on for hours around sunset, reverberating through the park. I'd heard that one of the largest packs of wolves lived in Yellowstone, in the Lamar valley. The Lamar is known as the Serengeti of Yellowstone...it all happens in this valley. Try as I might, I never did see the elusive wolf. I did see many, many bison however. They are in the grasslands, the roads, even the campgrounds. I think the bison ought to be the symbol of Yellowstone (not to take anything away from Old Faithful...but read on). The story of the bison is an inspiring one. The American Bison was once the most numerous single species of wild mammal on earth. During the 1800’s, reckless white settlers slaughtered the bison for their hides, sport, trophy and to eliminate the primary source of food for the American Indian. Driven to the brink of extinction, it was in Yellowstone that the Bison made its “last stand”. In a desperate attempt attempt to survive, 23 Bison hid out in Yellowstone’s Pelican Valley in late 1800's. They endured near starvation, predation and the elements. Today, there are now
over 3500 hundred free-ranging in the Park and 100’s of thousands elsewhere throughout the west. This is great success story for animal conservation and the perseverance of the Bison.
Long may he roam.
Arco, Idaho. I used to only say this to myself on a particularly bad day at work..but here at the Craters of the Moon National Park it felt like I had landed on the moon, or some distant planet. The landscape is definitely otherworldly. Its all a result of a volcanic eruption some 2000 years ago. The hardened black lava covers the landscape as far as the eye can see, leaving behind a series of caves, unusual formations, lava pipes and cinder cones. I climbed to top of the tallest cinder cone and found to my surprise this one tree growing on top of what is one of the most barren landscapes I’ve ever seen. I thought about how this tree is a symbol of how life preservers in spite of incredible adversity.
The Survivor
Aside from the Craters of the Moon park, I found Idaho to be incredibly bountiful in her lakes, rivers, mountains, forests and ranchland. I’m ashamed to admit that I really didn’t know much about Idaho…and have always thought of it as simply the potato capital of the US. Happily, I’ve had my narrow view corrected, and enjoyed every minute of it. I was able to spend several days camping in the Sawtooth mountains. The area is really an outdoor paradise, with something to offer in every season. Skiing (both down hill and cross-country) is very popular, and the combination of the mountains and wide-open rolling plains creates an ideal environment for skiers. Hunting and fishing are very popular outdoor activities in Idaho as is hiking, horseback riding and white water rafting.
Idaho is also rich in mineral deposits. Like many of the western states, this fact brought a virtual stampede of people during the 1800’s hoping to strike it rich.
Towns sprung up and grew rapidly during the gold rush days. Today, their “ghosts” dot the landscape as a stark reminder of how fortunes can turn…boom to bust. These towns stand in testament to the “Darwinian” era of business…before government bailouts came into fashion (I guess some would say necessity today). As I strolled the dirt roads of the ghost towns of Bonanza and Custer, I couldn’t help but wonder if history might repeat itself, and where the ghost towns of the future might be?
Hell's Canyon
This has been a fantastic week. I started out on the most Northwesterly corner of Oregon on the coastline. Wow! I’ve never seen such a dramatic coastline. The first hundred or so miles were all about waves crashing violently against mountains and boulders. Blue, blue water, the ever-present scent of pines and sunshine greeted me every single day. I haven’t seen a cloud in over a week! I stopped in several places…they were all great.
Oregon CoastlineSomeone told me Manzanita was wonderful, so I stopped there and had lunch…charming beach town with great organic restaurants. Stopped by on my way back from the town beach and chatted with a women who runs a real estate outfit…hmmm, ever so tempting, she pointed out a charming cottage on the hillside over looking the beach. I am keeping the brochure! The lower part of the Oregon coast then moves on to giant sand dunes….they are everywhere…an ATV’ers paradise!
I then moved inland to the lower central part of Oregon. My goal was to see Crater Lake. Again, more drama than you can possibly imagine. The drama further escalated when I found my way blocked by a large forest fire. It had been burning for several days…natural causes, lightening. Anyway, roads were closed, and I ended up having to wind my way there through a series of secondary roads. The silver lining in all this was that I was able to see more of Oregon…off the beaten path…um, way off the beaten path. Crater Lake National Park is gorgeous. I spent a couple of days hiking and taking in the various vistas around the lake. The pictures just do not do it justice..its a huge lake surrounded on all sides by rugged and unusual rock formations. The water is sapphire blue. Because of the fire, many of the photos are hazy..but you should get the idea.
After Crater Lake, I pointed myself…and my 40-foot caravan, due Northeast. My last stop in Oregon is the Hells Canyon area. The terrain from Crater Lake to the Northeastern part of the state changes quite a bit. I first moved through the high plains area…miles and miles of golden grasses…small glimpses of Mt. Hood and large cattle ranches dot the landscape. My goal was to see Hells Canyon, which is the deepest canyon in the US (I always thought the Grand Canyon was..but I’ve learned otherwise). My base camp was in the Wallowa Lake National Park. To get to the park, you go through this unbelievably charming town called Joseph. The facades of many of the buildings are all in Old West style. What’s really cool about it is that it is sort of an artist’s community. The specialty here is large bronze statues. These magnificent works of art are on every street corner in town, and other places, like the roofs of buildings.
Ride em' cowboy - town square Joseph OR Bronze sculpture, bronze art foundries and galleries were all a part of my life growing up, its what my father did for a living, and what he lived to do! Consequently, there are several photos of Joseph and the art that graces the town. It’s a great town, with wonderful people, restaurants and bars (saloons). On my second day, made the trek to Hells Canyon. I am not sure if its called Hells Canyon because of the terrain…which is hellish, or the road to get there, which is even more hellish.. The road I chose to take, which is really more of a dirt path scratched out of the cliffs, winds 24 miles from the point where I made my ascent. It is so steep, twisted and narrow that I could only go about 10-15 mph…it’s a real white-knuckle experience. There is something exhilarating about scaring the hell out of yourself. When I finally reached my destination, I jumped out of the car and praised the Hell’s Canyon Gods for delivering me! The vista was unbelievable….I stood near the edge and looked down, and then looked around…and told myself the power of nature is truly divine. I carefully backed away from the edge. I also did the same thing I did when I was kid visiting the Grand Canyon; I threw a rock down into the abyss.
I should mention that trip up was nothing compared to the terror of taking the road back down. Even in the lowest gear, it was a challenge to keep the truck slow enough so that it would not slide around the hairpin turns. At one point as I was winding my way down, I could see a truck making its way up….horrors…this is less than a single lane dirt road! Not sure of what scary as hell road protocol is..but since I was on the mountainside, as opposed to the cliff to oblivion side, I slowed to a crawl and edged my left-hand side wheels into the cliff to try to make room for the truck to pass. As the truck inched up to me, the driver rolled down his window and shouted through the dust cloud…”Hey Connecticut..yer a long way from home ain’t ya” I solemnly stated, Yessiree!!
I want to tell you that I did something today that I haven’t done so far on this trip and that is…I did nothing. No driving, no planning, no hiking, no paddling. I took the day off. I know it’s a bit of a joke, when I’m on this extended road trip, but seriously, I haven’t had a day of just hanging out. It’s been great. Right now, I am sitting by the campfire with my laptop..really on my lap, writing this blog entry. The stars are out, and all I can hear is the wind in the trees and the crackling of the fire. The night is so special, I am going to dig out the sleeping bag and sleep outside, with nothing between me and the heavens but fresh air. Goodnight.
Alaska – Inside Passage. The second part of our visit to Alaska included a tour of the inside passage. We took the cross-gulf ferry. It’s about a 3-day trip through some extraordinary terrain. In addition to seeing some spectacular glaciers and rugged mountains, we also stopped in 3 ports. Yakutat, famous for the Hubbard glacier. Hubbard is a tidewater glacier stretching some 76 miles. It is an advancing glacier, and if it continues, it will eventually reach and close the seaward entrance of the Russell Fiord. This will create the largest glacially dammed lake in North America. We also stopped at Juneau, the capital of Alaska (completely inaccessible by land…you can only get there by sea or plane), and my favorite, Ketchikan. Ketchikan boosts the largest collection of Totem Poles in North America…they even grace the front of some peoples homes.
Ketchikan - CreeksideI especially liked the Creekside area of Ketchikan. The salmon were in abundance in the creek and the restored gold-rush era buildings made it easy to step back in time. You can almost still hear the music and levity spilling out from the saloon and onto the wooden sidewalk.
The inside passage is also a great way to see marine wildlife. We saw many, many whales. Pods of killer whales and dolphins were also spotted. I loved it! There is something mystical about whales, and I felt privileged to see so many. One thing I learned while on the inside passage cruise, was that I have a tolerance for about 3 days at sea. The vistas were unbelievable, but the same dining room, same food, etc. made me feel a little closed in. Still, there is absolutely no better way to see that much of Alaska's coastline - fantastic!
PS – It was a tad chilly!!!
Me - On deck
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