The first leg of my epic three-week separation from my own bed is nearly complete. My family, being the only Georgia branch of the combined married conglomerate, must take great pains to meet with our Oklahoma and Montana branches involving planes and automobiles, but unfortunately, trains are too costly to be included. 'Tis a pity, as trains are the way an independent teenaged girl ought to take trips, like Pollyanna. Or Katniss Everdeen.
But moving back to reality for just a moment: Allow me to meticulously break down the details of our trip, including its preparation but eliminating the irrelevant bits.
Preparations and Arrival
The packing of this excursion involved a very late Saturday night of riddling and fiddling and stuffing things into tiny places. With baggage fees being so very high and our needs as capitalistic
Americans away from our large, storage-filled house (that needs to redo its kitchen cabinets and fix up the master bath, according to its Mistress) so very great, packing involved leaving one suitcase in one place and taking the others. Three of our brave company ventured ahead on Sunday, my hair still damp from the baptistery. Journeying for a combined total of one day, we stopped for lunch on my mother's side of the family and ended the day on my father's. It's a dizzying experience. My brain tricked itself into thinking it was fine and tried to get some reading done, but alas, 'twas not to be.
All of the Fish Are Hiding from Us
The next two days were spent as an incomplete squadron as we awaited our fourth member to complete her duties and rejoin us. Fortunately, they were not dull, only somewhat frustrating. On an expedition to the top of the world--or as close as you can get around here--we prepared ourselves to come home hauling skinny fish in our creels once I'd learned how to clean them and nicked my fingers on hooks and knives. Gardiner Lake in the Beartooth Mountains often has them in abundance. But oddly, after climbing up ten thousand feet and slightly down in forty-two degrees of thin air and wind, there wasn't a bite. It was stark and beautiful as ever, though. There's a grandness that no photograph can grab nicely enough, at least not with the camera at our disposal. It seems, whenever we venture up and in, that the valley is our own, and devoid of others hiking it. The snow is not soiled by any footprints but our own. The tiny alpine flowers sway in the wind that is funneled by the high peaks to us alone. This isn't true forever, of course, but I'll gladly share it with the student we met who had some foxes tagged with GPS collars. He even had the scruffy stubble you need to qualify as somebody whom I would like to meet.
My father can tell you a lot about this state. He seems to know so well the places and things he loves best. Though Gardiner is technically in Wyoming, the whole range seems to lie between borders. In some places, three states are visible at once, but they all connect seamlessly and don't look any different from the other. For a moment, one can trick themselves into thinking that the development happening miles away hasn't happened yet. They are timeless, those mountains. In their great height and tranquility, it's easy to forget the rest of the world. I traded that for my father's voice breaking the silence every now and then. That, and the roll of impossibly paved highway below the truck. Our vantage point and quiet crackle of the old country radio station were better than any trout.
The Crew Is Completed
Mother arrived exhausted and didn't get used to the time change for days. It's tough on her every year. And the long drives to get everywhere don't perk us up at all. Six hours it took to travel from Big Timber to Swan Lake near Glacier Park. It's just below Alberta and can't get much more beautiful if it tried. The lake felt private despite the houses all round it. It was incredibly peaceful. Mountains framed the slate-gray waters, and the air was lightly fragranced with pine. The only complaints seemed to be about the iciness of the water and the multitudes of caterpillars underfoot. In the streets it's as if the caterpillar French Revolution is taking place, with the barricades of Paris broken and the bodies of the fallen strewn about. But that's only on the bill when we produce and direct my action-adventure-romance flick with Horatio and Carmela the caterpillars. They meet in Monte Carlo in an internet café. There's a lot of sports cars and a kidnapping ring involved. Release date is set for next May.
As I grew acquainted with some relatives more unfamiliar to me, my mind wandered to home and how it compares. There's a familiarity in attitudes and appearances. It was nice to see so many curly-haired, slightly sarcastic people who allow for large pauses in conversations while everyone thinks of something to say next. But there are some differences as well, like in noses. I don't have Italian nose that my dad, grandma, and many of my other relatives have. And the Southern vs. Northern accents are fun for a linguistics nut like me. Bahg and bayg is enough to send Mom and I into a fit of giggles. It's just too much fun finding things that natives don't! Lest I forget myself (which I often do), I'll end up saying abut rather than about.
The Next Best Thing to Going To the Alps
That's what I'm going to call Glacier for two reasons: one, it's mountainous and absolutely stunning; two, there are so many accents there it's enough to drive a girl batty.
We didn't see any mountain goats, which made me a little sad. But we did see wide expanses of craggy mountain and snowy peak and deep valley on a precarious stretch of road called Going To The Sun. It was lovely, but if I was completely honest, I feel that the desolate beauty of the Beartooth suits my taste a little more. However, I would most certainly return, as Dad plans to, because the lodge that we visited was so kind as to put in a reading room. Perhaps next year we can also get a rowboat.
And oh, the accents. So many, and so many languages, too. I would love to be a ranger and sign people into the park just so I could ask them where they were from. We met some Floridians with familiar accents, but that was just the start. I heard some thick Chinese? Korean? I'm scared to guess...let's just say Asian accents so I'm not incorrect. And I caught a snippet of a British accent but I couldn't find its owner which made me mad. And on the way to St. Mary's for lunch I heard a conversation in Russian and fangirled on the inside because I love that language for some reason. I blame Regina Spektor. And I heard some French? I think? Gah, it's hard to tell when I can't hide behind anonymity and a notebook in a café. And Canadians. Canadians everywhere. As far as the eye can see. I want to join them, with their wooly clothes and assumed politeness. Someday...
Conclusion
I love this place deeply. And as I drive through its vast openness, I think about our country and what it was built upon. Disconnected from free wifi and the news, I am reminded of a time when the West was intimidating and empty, as I ride through its intimidating emptiness. I am reminded of a time when things looked bleak, but the dream still thrived. And I came to the conclusion that cynicism comes with prosperity. When we have determined that things are good as they are, we fight to never let things change. But for others, who are ready to try anything, that would only keep them forever trapped in their despair. "Despair" in the richest, most comfortable people in the world. But happiness does not keep itself trapped in the trappings of capitalism and development. It can be found in anyone who knows what the truly important things are, and can appreciate where they are in history. If government grows more powerful, so be it. If it grows less powerful, so be it. If we lose everything, so be it. If we are no longer the best there is, so be it. I, at least, will try to remember what is truly important, and see that history is happening now and I was there for it. And that is so cool.
And now I, who got within forty miles of a residence of half of the Vlogbrothers, will sign off with this: DFTBA. Granny, I will see you on Thursday.
But moving back to reality for just a moment: Allow me to meticulously break down the details of our trip, including its preparation but eliminating the irrelevant bits.
Preparations and Arrival
The packing of this excursion involved a very late Saturday night of riddling and fiddling and stuffing things into tiny places. With baggage fees being so very high and our needs as capitalistic
Americans away from our large, storage-filled house (that needs to redo its kitchen cabinets and fix up the master bath, according to its Mistress) so very great, packing involved leaving one suitcase in one place and taking the others. Three of our brave company ventured ahead on Sunday, my hair still damp from the baptistery. Journeying for a combined total of one day, we stopped for lunch on my mother's side of the family and ended the day on my father's. It's a dizzying experience. My brain tricked itself into thinking it was fine and tried to get some reading done, but alas, 'twas not to be.
All of the Fish Are Hiding from Us
The next two days were spent as an incomplete squadron as we awaited our fourth member to complete her duties and rejoin us. Fortunately, they were not dull, only somewhat frustrating. On an expedition to the top of the world--or as close as you can get around here--we prepared ourselves to come home hauling skinny fish in our creels once I'd learned how to clean them and nicked my fingers on hooks and knives. Gardiner Lake in the Beartooth Mountains often has them in abundance. But oddly, after climbing up ten thousand feet and slightly down in forty-two degrees of thin air and wind, there wasn't a bite. It was stark and beautiful as ever, though. There's a grandness that no photograph can grab nicely enough, at least not with the camera at our disposal. It seems, whenever we venture up and in, that the valley is our own, and devoid of others hiking it. The snow is not soiled by any footprints but our own. The tiny alpine flowers sway in the wind that is funneled by the high peaks to us alone. This isn't true forever, of course, but I'll gladly share it with the student we met who had some foxes tagged with GPS collars. He even had the scruffy stubble you need to qualify as somebody whom I would like to meet.
My father can tell you a lot about this state. He seems to know so well the places and things he loves best. Though Gardiner is technically in Wyoming, the whole range seems to lie between borders. In some places, three states are visible at once, but they all connect seamlessly and don't look any different from the other. For a moment, one can trick themselves into thinking that the development happening miles away hasn't happened yet. They are timeless, those mountains. In their great height and tranquility, it's easy to forget the rest of the world. I traded that for my father's voice breaking the silence every now and then. That, and the roll of impossibly paved highway below the truck. Our vantage point and quiet crackle of the old country radio station were better than any trout.
The Crew Is Completed
Mother arrived exhausted and didn't get used to the time change for days. It's tough on her every year. And the long drives to get everywhere don't perk us up at all. Six hours it took to travel from Big Timber to Swan Lake near Glacier Park. It's just below Alberta and can't get much more beautiful if it tried. The lake felt private despite the houses all round it. It was incredibly peaceful. Mountains framed the slate-gray waters, and the air was lightly fragranced with pine. The only complaints seemed to be about the iciness of the water and the multitudes of caterpillars underfoot. In the streets it's as if the caterpillar French Revolution is taking place, with the barricades of Paris broken and the bodies of the fallen strewn about. But that's only on the bill when we produce and direct my action-adventure-romance flick with Horatio and Carmela the caterpillars. They meet in Monte Carlo in an internet café. There's a lot of sports cars and a kidnapping ring involved. Release date is set for next May.
As I grew acquainted with some relatives more unfamiliar to me, my mind wandered to home and how it compares. There's a familiarity in attitudes and appearances. It was nice to see so many curly-haired, slightly sarcastic people who allow for large pauses in conversations while everyone thinks of something to say next. But there are some differences as well, like in noses. I don't have Italian nose that my dad, grandma, and many of my other relatives have. And the Southern vs. Northern accents are fun for a linguistics nut like me. Bahg and bayg is enough to send Mom and I into a fit of giggles. It's just too much fun finding things that natives don't! Lest I forget myself (which I often do), I'll end up saying abut rather than about.
The Next Best Thing to Going To the Alps
That's what I'm going to call Glacier for two reasons: one, it's mountainous and absolutely stunning; two, there are so many accents there it's enough to drive a girl batty.
We didn't see any mountain goats, which made me a little sad. But we did see wide expanses of craggy mountain and snowy peak and deep valley on a precarious stretch of road called Going To The Sun. It was lovely, but if I was completely honest, I feel that the desolate beauty of the Beartooth suits my taste a little more. However, I would most certainly return, as Dad plans to, because the lodge that we visited was so kind as to put in a reading room. Perhaps next year we can also get a rowboat.
And oh, the accents. So many, and so many languages, too. I would love to be a ranger and sign people into the park just so I could ask them where they were from. We met some Floridians with familiar accents, but that was just the start. I heard some thick Chinese? Korean? I'm scared to guess...let's just say Asian accents so I'm not incorrect. And I caught a snippet of a British accent but I couldn't find its owner which made me mad. And on the way to St. Mary's for lunch I heard a conversation in Russian and fangirled on the inside because I love that language for some reason. I blame Regina Spektor. And I heard some French? I think? Gah, it's hard to tell when I can't hide behind anonymity and a notebook in a café. And Canadians. Canadians everywhere. As far as the eye can see. I want to join them, with their wooly clothes and assumed politeness. Someday...
Conclusion
I love this place deeply. And as I drive through its vast openness, I think about our country and what it was built upon. Disconnected from free wifi and the news, I am reminded of a time when the West was intimidating and empty, as I ride through its intimidating emptiness. I am reminded of a time when things looked bleak, but the dream still thrived. And I came to the conclusion that cynicism comes with prosperity. When we have determined that things are good as they are, we fight to never let things change. But for others, who are ready to try anything, that would only keep them forever trapped in their despair. "Despair" in the richest, most comfortable people in the world. But happiness does not keep itself trapped in the trappings of capitalism and development. It can be found in anyone who knows what the truly important things are, and can appreciate where they are in history. If government grows more powerful, so be it. If it grows less powerful, so be it. If we lose everything, so be it. If we are no longer the best there is, so be it. I, at least, will try to remember what is truly important, and see that history is happening now and I was there for it. And that is so cool.
And now I, who got within forty miles of a residence of half of the Vlogbrothers, will sign off with this: DFTBA. Granny, I will see you on Thursday.
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