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#21 Mi tse a-da-zi

Yellowstone. There’s no beginning and there’s no end to this place – at least, we couldn’t find either. Your own personal beginning might be the time and location you enter – something like your first time at Disney World but in awe rather than excitement. You can’t take it all in, so you absorb whatever you can – whenever you can – as you drive and stop and hike and stare and bask.

In awe.

And by the time you leave, you are saddened because you want more of this place, Yellowstone. You have stepped upon only a few of its 2,221,766 acres, have gazed upon only a fraction of its 3,472 square acres, and have spotted only some of the 67 species of mammals or  300 species of birds. You desire more, but you must save it for another time. It’s like a difficult breakup because you’ve established a relationship with this place that you’ll never shed. You’ll take it with you as you go, and it’ll never leave you.

Yellowstone.

(Make sure your audio is on. You’ll find the adjustment at the bottom of this page.)

You’ve read about it – see pics of it. I joined some social media groups that shared information about it. Then you make a plan. Many people have a perfect strategy before arriving.

Ron and I know we are a bit weak on our plan. The night before we enter the park, after we are settled in our campground just ten miles from the West Entrance,  we review ideas and brochures. We have allotted three full days in the park and a fourth day to drive through the park, exiting through the East Entrance, planning much of that drive to be in yet a different area than we will see throughout the first three full days. So we plan our days in order of their significance to us, wishing for more, but realizing our time limitations.

We enter the park from the West Entrance each day, but the first day is something like that first day at Disney World, but both exciting and awesome! The traffic slows, and I fumble with my camera. I’ve heard that when the traffic slows, it’s most likely because they’ve seen wildlife. Yes, that is the reason today. This is the first but not the last time a park ranger coaxes us – well actually yells at us – to move on. “Don’t stop in the road,” she hollers to the row of cars in front and behind us. “View the wildlife from the pulloffs.”

But actually the traffic moves slow enough that we have ample time to view the wildlife from the vehicle. Our windows are down every day – all day. Crisp air, purified by greenery and water and rock, permeates my lungs, refreshing my body and invigorating my soul. We gaze, wanting to be one with this nature. A big dark buffalo saunters in the tall bright green grass of the meadow. Elk eat from the plants a bit further back.  This is a pasture unlike any I have seen across the Northern Great Plains or anywhere through this land so far. It is an unusual scene for this Michigan girl, for sure!

We seem to flow with the Madison River along this welcoming route, first on our left, then on our right. The first day we view the splendor of this river. The second day we fall in love with it. The third day we adopt it as our own. And the fourth day, as we leave, we pledge to always remember it.

We soon discover that this place belongs to the wildlife and to the plants and the trees and the water and to their Creator. We are merely visitors. But we are welcomed visitors – you and I – if we recognize and accept our place amongst all of this. We are humbled by its magnificence and by its uniqueness and by its beauty. We eagerly accept our place.

Day 1 in Yellowstone. Yellow route.

The  Madison River runs through the pastures like a cutout intended for watering livestock on a farm. Then it widens as it edges the mountain beside it, finally disappearing in the forests beside us, as we turn north onto the Grand Loop. Now the Gibbon River accompanies us. This land is filled with rivers and lakes and waterfalls, and with something quite foreign to us – geothermal features: geysers, steamvents, mudpots, and hot springs. We pull off to view the first hot spring we come by: Beryl Spring. I video – and photograph, soon realizing I wouldn’t have the time or opportunity to video each of the unique elements of the Yellowstone caldera, even if I lived here.

Gibbon Falls.

We see the Norris Geyser Basin with its many geysers, springs, and geothermal grounds.

This park is like  Michigan’s Upper Peninsula on steroids. Here, as in the U.P., one doesn’t find “Do Not . . .” signs all over the place – only occasionally and when necessary.  It’s all original and inviting – in its natural state. We are welcomed here. Roadside Parks are abundant, and we enjoy our picnic lunch up at one of those roadsides, along the Gibbons River. 

We follow Norris Canyon Road to the Hayden Valley where we drive slowly, stop, walk, view – and repeat this over and over for hours! Herds of buffalo, valleys as far as the eye can see, mudpots, caldrons – all along the Yellowstone River, from which this National Park was named. We have many close-up opportunities to view buffalo from our truck. We find that the bulls are often loners – near the road – far in the distance – but the cows are always seen in the herds, often with their babies.

Nearing the end of that first day in the park, we visit the location Ron has most anticipated: The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.

We have developed the habit of praying for one of our immediate family in each beautiful location we’ve visited on this western Adventure. We had started with our son, Matt, who we prayed for on the Going to the Sun Road in Glacier National Park. Today we pray for our grandson Noah as we stand in front of the powerful Upper Falls. The magnitude of its power and beauty is compelling, but when we proceed to the Lower Falls . . .

As I had been in the  Redwoods (Click here)., I am  again speechless. My eyes well up; I am so appreciative of being able to see this site. Ron stares in wonder. It is all he had thought it might be and so much more: the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone: 

Borrowed photo of the canyon

First, the River was named by the Minnetaree Indians, who called it Mi tse a-da-zi, or Yellow Rock River in Eastern Montana, but the park then took the name Yellowstone after the yellow sandstones in this canyon. Now we understand.

Yellow sandstone formations in the Grand Canyon.

We literally force ourselves to leave this site to drive back to our campsite, our hearts full of the wonders we’ve seen, but our bodies tired from the day.  We look toward tomorrow –  another day in Mi tse a-da-zi – Yellowstone.  

Click here to read the next post, A Living Rainbow.

Click here to read the previous post, “The Trip, Itself,”” leading to Yellowstone.

Discover all posts about our Out West trip in the category at top of page – “Adventure Awaits . . .” Or click here to start with the first post, “The North Begins at Clare.”

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#20 The Trip, Itself

 (Have you read the post about our 21st day? Click here.)

On these 21st and 22nd days, we were “headed” to Yellowstone, although we didn’t consider it our “destination.”  Instead of a place, every mile, every jaunt, of the trip itself was our destination. This was practice I had developed as a youngster and Ron seemed to come by naturally.

When I was growing up in Michigan, my Daddy and Mama took our family on vacation every year – never across the country or to another continent – but to northern Michigan many times and to Virginia once. The destination was never our focus. The trip was our focus. We stopped along the way at roadside picnic areas where Mama tossed a tablecloth across the table and set out cold fried chicken and homemade lemonade carried in a glass gallon jar that had previously held apple cider vinegar. As we travelled, my brother, sister, and I played games in the car and occasionally fought like cats and dogs, while Daddy and Mama discussed sites we passed. My little ears and mind must have picked up their conversations, as I remember such things as The North Begins at Clare. I learned in those years that the trip, itself, was the destination. 

Then, after Ron and I married, whenever we took our three kids, Matt, Kristen, and Amber, on trips – camping in the Upper Peninsula or the long drive to Florida – we tried to make the trip, itself, our focus, too.

That first travel trailer, a used 20′ 1971 Holiday Adventurer, was probably our all-time favorite – undoubtedly because with it,  we created our first camping memories with the kids. We loved our little trailer, its cushions covered in a green flowered print,  coordinating with the avocado green appliances. (I wish I had it today!) We had some great experiences in that trailer. The first time we took it out, our two new bikes fell off the new bike carrier on the back, and a tree limb took the antenna off the roof when we backed into the campsite. Camping was always an active adventure, from Kristen falling out of the upper drop-down bed to Ron and I yelling at each other nearly every time we backed into a campsite at a State Park!

In addition to camping, the hours spent on the road throughout two days of driving to Florida hold special memories, as well. I wrapped small gifts to keep the kids busy in the car: new crayons and coloring books, small  magnetic checker boards, or my favorite – Colorforms.

The fascinating thing about those long drives was our mode of transportation . I particularly remember traveling in a 1976 Chevy Caprice Estate Station Wagon. Ron and I had driven a couple hours away to buy this used wagon, a few years old but in excellent condition. We lovingly referred to it as The Tank.

The Tank was huge – three full seats, each with plenty of leg room. Behind the third seat was a huge cargo area. The back gate rolled under and the back window rolled up (see the pic). Everything was automatic. It was all decked out with power options. When we went on vacation, we put the second and third seats down flat and placed a full-size foam mattress in the back and let the kids have at it (it’s a redneck term). I placed a suitcase beside each back door so the kids didn’t get near the door handles or automatic windows. Lunches and snacks were packed in shoeboxes, so we only stopped when necessary and for an overnight at a reasonable motel. They played all the way to Florida and napped only occasionally! It was a joyous trip – one for which we would be chastised today – but in those days . . .


Regardless, whenever we left for a vacation – either pulling a travel trailer or in a big old station wagon, my Daddy and Mama reminded us, “Remember now, your vacation starts when you leave home.”  It was a statement they had made all those years ago when they took my brother, sister, and me on family vacations; they repeated it some years later to Ron and me and our kids as we left home for vacation; so Ron and I have the same mindset to this day: the destination isn’t the focus of our travel. Each mile of the trip, itself, is the focus.

So, on these 21st and 22nd days, the trip itself – not Yellowstone –  was our destination. 

The trip today took us further east, through the high desert region of Burns and Hines, Oregon. 

The barrenness of the high desert region eventually gave way to bits of green, first found in small evergreens, then in pasture and hay fields, and finally in a few green corn fields, irrigated, of course. 

Lunch at rest areas in 95+ degree heat meant finding a picnic table shaded by a small pavilion, as trees were rare.  

To look on the map, one would think it a hop, skip, and a jump to cross into Idaho and up to the edge of West Yellowstone, but in reality, it was a long drive. It required another overnight, one which we had expected to spend at a Walmart parking lot or at a roadside rest area, but we had a problem with either: the intense heat, which permeated the surface of our trailer with no means of release without electricity to run the AC or even our little fan. So, I called ahead and booked us a site at Mountain Home, Idaho. The campground and campsite left much to be desired, but we were just thankful to refresh the inside of the trailer with AC!

Ron stopped along the road occasionally to cool the truck in this heat. 

The landscape was fascinating. In spite of the heat, I was thankful for these two days of the trip itself through Oregon and Idaho.  

Late in this 22nd day, the Tetons loomed to the east as we turned north toward Montana.

We settled in to our campsite just before dark. Behind us, chalets dotted the mountainside. To the west, the sun set, the end to another beautiful day of the trip itself. 

Tomorrow, our destination would actually be Yellowstone.

Click here to read the next post in this series,

#21 Mi tse a-da-zi

 

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You can locate all Adventure Awaits Posts on the main menu. If you’d like to read those from the beginning, click here for Post #1 in this series.

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#19 Our Own Oregon Trail

We left the Redwoods, our hearts full. (Have you read that post? Click here.) We yearned for more time in these forests, but it was time itself that caused us to move on. We tried not to look at all we left behind – rather at all that lay ahead for us.

We took a bit of the Redwoods with us – a seedling for our grandson, Noah. It would yet travel over 2500 miles with us. I babied it all the way. We headed north on US 199 to Grants Pass and then continued on Highway 62.


As we had done for 20 days, we continued on this 21st day – to observe our surroundings with its varied landscapes and features throughout every mile we traveled. The truck was most comfortable. Ron and I conversed about everything we saw. We drank fresh hot coffee and cold bottled water and munched on trail mix. Unlike other shorter drives near our Michigan home, I did not read or write while we traveled on this trip. Instead, I soaked it all in. Ron and I loved every moment of travel and every moment together. We were creating sweet memories.

It was a hot day, but we found shade as we lunched along the Rogue River.

Shortly after, we stopped to view the remnant of Mt. Mazama in the distance, which now held Crater Lake, the deepest lake in the United States.

But soon an unexpected treasure loomed ahead of us. I quickly looked at my map to find the name of this mountain I had not anticipated. It was Mt. Thielsen, over 9000 ft. high with the sharpest, horn-like peak of any mountain we had seen thus far. 


Called the “Lightning Rod of the Cascades,” its peak often receives lightning strikes, which have actually melted some of its peak, forming fulgarites. We were fascinated by this mountain.

A beautiful, clear day with perfect road conditions, we reached Bend, Oregon, where we had planned to overnight, much earlier than expected. We stopped and had a milkshake, discussed our plans, and pressed on, turning east on US 20. We drove 100 miles through sagebush and tumbleweeds, with no towns in sight, rarely meeting another vehicle, feeling like we were driving our truck through an episode of Death Valley Days. But unlike  those old days of bumpy roads in a covered wagon, this drive was smooth and quiet. 

The sun set to the west, behind us, casting pink rays upon the sagebrush.  It was a sight I’ll never forget.


We settled our little trailer into a quiet rest area just at dusk, looked at each other and smiled. It had been an awesome day on our own Oregon Trail. 

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Click here to read the next post, #20 The Trip Itself.

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#18 I Walk Among the Giants

From the north, we drove just a short distance into California before gps instructed us to turn east onto Highway U.S. 199 toward our destination campground. I had booked three nights here, which I thought gave us two full days to go into the parks to see the beautiful Redwoods ~ our purpose in coming to this southernmost point of our journey. I assumed we would reach our campsite, set up, and visit the parks the next day, but – once we made that turn onto U.S. 199,  we  discovered were already in the Redwoods:

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#17 The Fog Lifts

We both wished I had booked us another night at  Honeyman State Park along this Oregon Coast. So much to see. So little time. But this and each night’s camping  reservations had been made from over 2000 miles away . Not realizing all we would want to see, we had wished for more time at nearly every site we’d visited so far on this journey and would wish it again over and over in the weeks to come! But we moved on, leaving this beautiful park, 

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#16 Reaching the Pacific!

I think I’m a light sleeper, so it’s amazing how well I can sleep inside a thin-walled travel trailer, on the outer sides of a Walmart parking lot, semis and RVs pulling in and out all night.

But I did. Sleep well. And after a breakfast of pancakes and french press coffee fixed over the gas stove, we were on our way from Corvalis to Newport where we would discover the Oregon Coast on this beautiful sunny day.

 The logging industry was evidenced here. Plywood, stacked high on railroad cars was of high value in today’s market. Farms – not green farms as in Michigan – but hay – lots of hay. And old barns here, as all across the country, told stories of long ago. We’d already seen such diverse landscape in this beautiful state of Oregon – ice-capped volcanic mountains, dry desert buttes, hay fields – and we weren’t yet at the water. I was anxious to see the coast

 


Soon we turned south on Highway 101, another scenic byway, this one along the Pacific Coast, and we crossed a beautiful arch bridge, The Yaquina Bay Bridge, 133 ft. above the waters of the bay below.


We saw the dark blue waters of the Pacific Ocean to the west.

Anxious to get to the water, we stopped at the first beach pull off we could find. And we were simply amazed! 

Then we continued to stop as often as we could throughout the rest of the day. 

The winding roads of this southern Oregon coast mimicked those to which we’d become accustomed on this trip, but in contrast, these roads were set in clouds atop rocks extending well into the Pacific. 

Heceta Lighthouse on the cliff

Before we knew it, we had arrived at our reserved campground for the night. We would still cover much of the coast tomorrow as we continued south toward the California line.

We found Honeyman State Park to be perfect! 

We checked in at the small office and drove to locate our site in this beautiful park. Shady, Sun-filtered. Mossy trees. Everything I love in a campsite. Yes, it was perfect, at least, until we arrived! Yikes!

Water Spigot when we arrived
Water spigot after we backed in to our site!

When Ron and I were younger and took the kids camping, we struggled to back the trailer in to the campsite every – single – time! But we were well beyond that now. We never had a problem setting up the trailer at ANY site during this trip – until this one! 

In all fairness to us, you “campers” can look at our designated site and perceive the problem: The water spigot is on the edge of the drive – close to the drive – with no support post beside it.  (The wooden post you see is angled behind it.) When one backs in, one must crank . . .

Well, you see the problem. We, on the other hand, missed it!

Water started flushing out . . . oh, it was pitiful.. . . 

Two phone calls, campers walking by and pointing out the problem (as if we didn’t see it!), four park rangers, the water shut off to the campers for 45 minutes,  and over an hour later, the pipe is fixed.

Whew! Let’s take a walk and get away from this embarrassing situation! 

Although the campground is in a deep woods setting, the sand dunes are the key feature of this state park. Dune buggies run the dunes. 

We would have liked to have hidden when the tire of Ron’s truck broke that water pipe, but it’s difficult to hide with a pickup truck and a 24 ft. trailer! Ron kind of blamed me, since, as he backed up, he had called to me out his side window, “Am I okay on the other side?”

“Yes,” I answered. Never considering . . .

I assumed he had checked the area before backing up, so . . . 

But, unlike those early years of marriage and camping, there was no yelling – no anger – very little frustration. Not that we’ve reached any level of perfection . . .  I think we’ve just learned to put our problems in perspective!

We laughed about it then, and we laughed about it today, when I wrote about it!

By nightfall, the tent campers in the area were able to once again access water from the spigot, campsites downhill from the water spigot dried up from their flood of water, and Ron and I both slept well in the dark night of this forest.

See my next post, #17 The Fog Lifts. Click here.

Thank you, Eric Ethridge for your permission to use your awesome photo of the boulders on the Oregon Coast as my featured photo on this post. You’ll find more of his photos on Instagram: Eric Ethridge.

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The Calm After the Storm

Storms. They’ve hit hard of recent. All over the world. Oftentimes in a rage I can’t even imagine.

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#12 Into the Gorge

Oh my word – Mt. Rainier was beautiful to view much of the way from Yakima, Washington, south to the Columbia River Gorge.  First, Rainier was the backdrop of acres of fruit. How appropriate, for as we traveled, we munched on deep red sweet cherries from the area. Never so fresh!

Then Rainier stood white-capped and massive behind green fields of hay; farmers were cutting and raking as we drove on. Soon we discovered corn fields, which we hadn’t seen this far west since Minnesota.

At a later point, we viewed both Mts. Adams and Rainier at the same time. How very beautiful! Their peaks were covered in snow, and it was somehow physically refreshing to look westward toward them, as this day was extremely hot and dry. Eventually, most of the green farmland gave way to hot, dry field and rolling hills,  colorless other than a few small trees that can root in the rock.We stopped high upon a butte to look out over the valley below. Unlike the Wenatchee Valley, this valley was hot and dry and brown, yet it was beautiful. Green fields evidenced ingenuity of the farmers in the area.  It was not my favorite kind of landscape or climate, yet I loved it for God’s people were in the land and worked the land. This land had resources and purpose, just as all His creation does.

Soon we saw an unwelcomed site in this wind-whipped land: smoke. As we neared, we saw the blackened buttes to the east and helicopters dropping bags of water upon the earth below:

We drove past the smoke today, but in days to come smoke from fires such as this would fill the skies around us and traces would penetrate our lungs, as well.

Finally the blue water and green steeps around the Columbia River Gorge came into view. It was a welcomed sight.

We followed the river westward on the Washington side, high upon the edge of the buttes for miles and miles before we descended and crossed the bridge near Hood River. We said goodbye to Washington and hello to Oregon. It seemed a different land – green and cool. But it was still windy  – very windy! 

The next days in the Columbia River Gorge were refreshing – like living in a magical land! 

Click here to read the next post: The Magic of Multnomah! https://kathiwaligora.com/13-the-magic-of-multnomah/

Have you read my other posts from this trip? Click here to Start with #1 – The North Begins at Clare

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#8 Trains are Everywhere!

The mountains are calling and I must go.

~ John Muir

July 6

Last night had been one of those nights that when traveling RV, you sometimes plan – or they sometimes just suddenly occur – where you must sleep somewhere other than a designated campsite. If you read yesterday’s post, you know that we suddenly uprooted ourselves from Lewis & Clark State Park in North Dakota and headed west into Montana early in the evening. I looked at the map, of course, and searched my Map app, but the Montana map doesn’t identify Rest Areas quite like our Michigan map does. So, after driving a distance, and uncertain how far the next Rest Area might be, we pulled over to one in Culbertson, Montana, a quiet burg, and yes, there was a train track running behind it! Trains are everywhere in our travels! (See my post, My Pink Earplugs)

Nonetheless, we drove around the small parking area a couple of times to find the most level ground, had our supper, and settled in. It had been hot that day – the day we left Lewis & Clark State Park and had our window replaced in Williston. Very hot. And we were concerned about sleeping in the heat through the night, but these are the times one is thankful for the constant wind of the Northern Plains. In the quiet of the evening, a car occasionally pulled into the rest stop. One semi was parked a short distance away, and an old man slowly got out of a white pickup by the restrooms. I watched as he hobbled, bent and slow going, emptying trash bins, going in and out of the restrooms, and packing the huge black garbage bags into the bed of his pickup truck. Again, I made assumptions as I observed. Most likely, his social security was  not enough to live on. He either needed the county or state job to make ends meet, or he wanted the job – just to keep those legs and arms nimble. I observed stamina, although I could not truly see the expression on his face. He was a hard-working American, I knew that.

We had entered a different time zone again, and although it was about 10 pm there, it felt like Michigan’s 8 pm to us. Wind whipped our little trailer. I assumed it would simply “rock me to sleep,” and it did, but when I awoke later, the strong wind had decreased, the trailer was still. The pleasant, almost cool, dry breeze passed between the open windows on each side of our bed, and it was refreshing.

When we’re without electricity, I heat water on the gas stove, and Ron makes French Press for us, so our morning routine continues!  We were on the road at 7:30, and it was pleasant driving at 65°. We soon realized why Montana is called Big Sky.  Oh yes, it is. One Big Sky from north to south and from east to west. Small towns dotted the otherwise desolate highway, and each had at least one junkyard. Not only were junkyards found in the stops along the way but also in wayside fields. Cars, tractors, farm machinery – rusting and surrounded with weeds. Run-down homesteads – mostly trailers. Those who lived along this stretch of Highway 2 were not the farmers. The farms were set back – on side roads that seemed unconnected to Highway 2.

Farmers raised one crop: wheat. Both spring and winter wheat were mixed in the fields. It was a whisker wheat, Ron said.

Railroad tracks ran parallel to Highway 2 much of the way. These trains were often pulling oil tankers. 

The Buttes still lined the north and south horizons, but now, they also lined the west – where I was gazing, all throughout the morning, anxious for my first look of the mountains.  The day was overcast. The west horizon was hazy. Finally, it came. Not the buttes, nor plateaus, but the mountains! And we saw them beyond a run-down homestead. But they had a beautiful view of the mountains! America is a land of opportunity!

We entered the small town of Browning. It was not what I expected. Galvanized sided buildings were damaged from neglect. This city on the east side of the beautiful mountain range should be thriving, but it didn’t seem to be. Only the cultural center was beautiful. I saw many first nation people. I felt badly that they live in a broken down atmosphere, one in which their ancestors had flourished.

We entered the southern border of the park on Highway 2 through East Glacier. It was beautiful – even on this overcast day.

If the mountains outside this park are this magnificent, we could only imagine what lay ahead for us tomorrow, when we would enter the park and drive its steeps, its passes, and down into its valleys.

We stopped for lunch at a wayside monument at Marias Pass. The tall cement monument had been built to honor Teddy Roosevelt, but the bronze statue was the key point of this wayside. It was to honor a man named John F. Stevens who had surveyed this land for a railroad, far before any highway crossed it. Interesting indeed, and Ron and I were reminded of all those who came before us in this great land and the tremendous work they completed.

Now, it might just seem a little thing to you, but . . . We stepped into our little trailer to have lunch, and while we ate, it rained. Cars pulled in to the wayside. People stepped out, in the rain, covered with hoodies or ponchos – or not. They read the 4 placards placed at the sight, and they moved on. As a tourist, you tour – rain or shine! But when we finished our lunch and went across the parking lot to read the tributes and observe the train tracks, the rain had stopped. It was just another tidbit of confirmation that we were right where and when God wanted us to be.

Of course, one or two trains passed while we were there! Trains are everywhere in this part of the country!

Click here to read the next post, #9 A Day in the Park

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#7 Prairie Grasses Have Purpose and Deep Roots

“In nature we never see anything isolated, but everything in connection with something else which is before it, beside it, under it and over it.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Yes, all of nature is connected and has purpose. As we headed west from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula via Hwy 2, a fellow RV’er advised us not to bother driving through North Dakota and Montana – said it was boring with no striking views, but Ron and I like to make the connections. We appreciate it all. (Well, most of it anyway!) We found the Northern Prairie to be remarkable. And even their prairie grasses have purpose.

In the 1920’s and 30’s, evidently the farmers didn’t realize the importance of keeping those grasses throughout their land. They wanted to plant grains such as wheat and oats instead. When drought occurred, as it often does, dust storms blew the agriculture away. The soil was eroded. Until the rains came around 1939 and dryland farming methods were applied, this beautiful land was useless. Families starved. The prairie dust caused breathing illnesses, such as asthma, bronchitis, and silicosis.

(The root system of prairie grass compared to the root system of agriculture.)

What the farmers didn’t realize was that the prairie grasses had tremendous root systems. The soil in which they grew could not erode. The person rooted in Christ is the same. The Bible tells us that if our roots are holy, our branches are, as well. The roots support us.  Jesus said that if a man has no root, he lasts only a short time.  When problems come, the worries of life, and the deceit of wealth (notice that phrase the Lord uses) comes, we’re lost in the winds. We quickly fall away, the Lord teaches in his parable of the sower. Have you seen a person quickly fall away? Or has it happened to you? It happens when we’re not rooted.

Oh, how I need to be rooted in Christ in this world. It’s so easy to fall away, and I don’t want that to happen. The Apostle Paul tells us that “just as we have received Christ Jesus as Lord,” we need to continue to live in him, to be rooted and built up in Him, to be strengthened in our faith as we were taught, and to overflow with thankfulness.

He continues to warn us about those things that will diminish our roots in Christ: deceptive philosophy (we see/hear a lot of that these days) and practices that are based on human tradition rather than on the actual teachings of Christ.

Jesus ends the parable by telling us how our roots can go deep: it’s by hearing the Word and by accepting it.

The winds of these Northern Plains through which Ron and I are traveling are strong. They’ve whipped our trailer as we drive through and rocked it when it’s at a standstill. They blow the papers from our picnic tables and mess my hair every time I step outside. But in doing so, they remind us of the deception the world brings – because of Satan, our enemy – but that we’ll stand just fine in that wind, as long as we’re rooted in Christ Jesus.

Further reading: Mark 4:1-20; Matthew 13:21; Romans 11:16; Colossians 2:7 . . .

Click here to read the next Post, #8 Trains Are Everywhere