OMENS AND INSPIRATIONS

I've been kicked out of Wonderland. I’ve had my summer sojourn and this morning as I pass the open gates of Yellowstone, I feel disoriented and a bit sad. I can honestly understand how people get so used to an environment, especially if it is as special as Yellowstone, and why they go into withdrawal when they leave.

I say goodbye to Merry, my coworker who has been my able wingman on our journeys in and around the Park. I give her a cd by Ludovico Einaudi that we often played at high volume as we drove through the thermal landscapes of the Park and the tall mountain scenery surrounding it. She is a ‘core seasonal’ and is headed to Grand Canyon. Lucky her. She is the hospitality equivalent of the migrant workers who travel from place to place as work presents itself. A lot of Xanterra employees are like this – it’s a whole subculture.

On our drive through the Park under an overcast sky, there were already signs the shutdown was over. I thougt I would be grumpy about sharing the Park but when I see a couple practically skip to the boardwalks at the Terraces, my heart leaps for joy.  Even having experienced this magical place almost all to myself, if it was in my power to keep the wilderness for only me and my like-minded friends, I just couldn’t do it. I love, love, love the looks of awe and inspiration on visitors’ faces when they witness Old Faithful or a stately bull elk or a large herd of bison trudging along in the middle of the road. I love the children leaping out of their cars in excitement to head for the Paintpots or the thundering Yellowstone Falls. I also know that the more people come to see these wonders, the more political power there will be to influence things like shutdowns or drilling in the pristine Arctic.

I stop at the West Entry booth to talk to the Ranger. Merry and I speculated, already spyng a good number of ubiquitous fly fishers on the Madison just inside the West Entrance, that quite possibly a line of vehicles had been waiting at the gate for the Rangers to open the gates. After thanking the Ranger for his untiring work to preserve our sacred places, I ask him. Indeed, not a long line, but the Rangers expect to be swamped tomorrow when the word of Wonderland’s reopening really gets out. We both commiserate on how happy we are to see the end of Shutdown.

Boy, after such a tedious political drama, am I in need of a little inspiration. Caffeine will have to be an adequate substitute. Before I leave West Yellowstone, I will just pop in for a coffee to go at Eagle’s Store, a historic local ice cream and soda fountain right on the corner  of Yellowstone Avenue and Highway 287. The coffee pot is nearly empty and as I wait for a fresh brew, I ask the soda jerk and the only other patron, a local named Lee Lowry, what they thought of the end of Shutdown. I can tell their joy and relief is genuine. West Yellowstone, and its jobs, would not exist without the visitors to Yellowstone National Park.

We begin to talk of other things. Tyler Johnson, the soda jerk, is a cosmic spray-paint artist and he proudly shows Lee and I his work on his notepad. We talk about Tyler’s passion for his art and I tell him his work reminds me of fantasy landscapes. Tyler tells me he has written three fantasy books and is on his fourth. He shows us the first few paragraphs of his latest, all about wizards and wizardlings. This guy is good.

I ask him if he gets his inspiration from Tolkien and he says yes and also from Christopher Paolini, the author of the fantasy series Inheritance Cycle. Tyler tells me he has trouble promoting his works, partially because he lives with Autism Spectrum Disorder (a form previously called Asperger’s Syndrome). He tells me when he paints, the constant shaking in his hand disappears. I share that my own son lives with Tourette Syndrome and that when he reads his tics disappear. We agree that when people with movement disorders find a focus for their passion, engaging in that passion often lessons their symptoms. As writers, we share how we promote our work and both Lee and I encourage him to keep writing and develop some spray-paint art to illustrate his books – or vice versa.

Lee is killing time at Eagle’s Nest while his lady love of 50 years attends a class in West Yellowstone. Retired in 2003 from the nuclear facility near Idaho Falls, Idaho, Lee took up playing the electric organ a few years ago.  Lee had played a tuba but had never even touched a keyboard in his life. After seeing a demonstration of a Lowrey organ at the Idaho State Fair, he was invited to attend a free organ lesson. That lesson turned into a passion that extends way beyond Lee’s living room. He is now on his fourth organ (each progressively more technical and versatile) and has played in front of crowds as large as 200 people. It’s obvious how this retired couple stays young!

What a joy it is to share our passions at a soda fountain in a virtually empty little town waiting for the return of late visitors to Yellowstone! As I listen to Lee and Tyler talk with such excitement about their passions, I slowly realize that writing is mine. It’s easy to encourage people like Tyler and Lee to follow their passions, but I realize I have been remiss about following mine. How inspiring these two men are this morning! Just the remedy I need to get over my malaise at having to leave Wonderland.

An hour later, my truck Yiha and I start the drive up to Missoula via Hebgen Lake and Ennis in the Madison Valley, a journey of stunning scenery where the sun begins peaking out of the clouds, playing hide and seek with the hills and dales, creating sharp photogenic contrasts in the folds. Old wooden barns, the perfect foreground to snow-capped mountains, catch my eye and I stop to take pictures, of course, but mostly store the beauty in my memories as I amble by. I am Missoula bound.

I toy with the idea of stopping at Fairmont Hot Springs near Anaconda to soak my body, weary from packing and preparing for the leaving. I love visiting hot springs, whether they are tiny, rock-walled wilderness holes or giant commercial pools like the famous pools in Glenwood Springs Colorado. I decide I’ll have plenty of time for a soak and still get to Missoula in time for dinner.  I find Fairmont is a thriving commercial resort hotel and conference center with hot and warm pools both inside and out, tucked into the  Pintler Wilderness Area, not too far from historic Anaconda. Pretty plush for a hot spring.

I soak and practice my own version of hot springs yoga for awhile both inside and out then wander back to get my gear and get back on the road. A red-headed toddler, barely able to keep his balance, busily tries to pull the keys out of the pool lockers. A woman I assume to be his Mom stands sentry nearby and we joke that he will either be a locksmith or a safecracker. Turns out the little red-head is a foster child, removed from drug-addicted parents. The woman, recently transplanted from Upper Minnesota to Butte, is in the process of certifying as a foster mom so she can eventually adopt the child if possible. The child is currently under the care of another woman keeping track of their collective broods in the pool, one who is an autistic boy, also a foster child.

Sometimes, when you live in a bubble like Yellowstone, you stop caring about what’s happening in the world, convinced that the ‘news’ is mostly about wars and killings and hunger. What’s important is the local news, the condition of the roads, the weather and anything the government is doing to make it difficult to stay living in the bubble. Leaving the bubble means re-entering this world, once again coping with a world that is not only dangerous (even Yellowstone is definitely dangerous at times) but malicious as well. But today, whatever sadness and discontent I felt as I left the gate at Yellowstone has been erased by the passion of Tyler and Lee and by two nameless women who intend to lovingly raise the unwanted children of accidental parents.

When I went into the coffee shop this morning looking for a bit of inspiration, I had no idea just how much inspiration I would find. Maybe, just maybe, this day is an omen for the next step of my life.