Christian Author and Speaker
You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.
~ Abraham Lincoln
Those of you who personally know Ron and me are aware: we are patriots. It seems to make the division in this country in the last few years most disheartening, to say the least. I think that may be the reason God led us to Mt. Rushmore in our western state journey – to remind us that we are not alone in our love for this beautiful country of ours – and to challenge us
The road home led to security, safety, and comfort – a place of acceptance and of unconditional love.
In the cold winters of Michigan, the road led to warmth.
Ron’s greatest desire was to see the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. Mine had been to see Grand Prismatic Spring. Both of our highest priorities had been met in those first two days in Yellowstone, and in doing so, we had seen and learned more than we had possibly expected.
As soon as we entered this magnificent park, we knew it would be impossible to cover all the areas we desired – spend all the time we wanted. We had to choose. Now, on this third day, we had to choose between going through the south entrance to The Grand Tetons or to the northernmost side of Yellowstone to Lamar Valley. We chose Lamar Valley.
It was a long drive – nearly 100 miles – and not typical driving at that! You can see our route in gold on the map, and photos taken along the drive follow, as well.
(Did you know you can click on each pic to enlarge it?)
The roads differed from those we’d traveled in the middle of the park, in that they were sometimes tight and curved with short stretches in mountainous areas. We were glad we weren’t pulling the travel trailer.
We saw Obsidian Cliff and stopped at a kiosk where we observed some obsidian close up. I picked up a few flakes from the ground where people had chipped the beautiful dark volcanic glass, although they had been asked not to. Original peoples had used this rock many years ago for tools and weapons.
And we were amazed at an entire mountainside covered in steam vents: Roaring Mountain
This National Park Service video explains more about Roaring Mountain. It’s short. Click here.
A short walk along The Artists Paintpots was like walking along a painter’s palette:
Certainly this drive had already brought many delights, but reaching the main junction of Mammoth Hot Springs brought us something we hadn’t yet seen anywhere: Travertine Terraces of steaming hydrothermal features, always changing. They were beautiful:
Continuing east, we saw the beautiful Undine Falls, a three-step waterfall, which had once been on the cover of National Geographic.
A petrified tree fascinated us, as well:
And antelope (pronghorn)
Although we saw buffalo here and there on this eastbound route along the north edge of the park, we began seeing them in herds:
Soon we entered a massive open area, a valley larger than Hayden – a valley larger than any we had ever seen. We parked along the road to take it all in. As far as we could see – left to right – east to west – were buffalo – thousands of buffalo:
And as we drove further east, this scene continued for miles.
In this valley, of course, A River Ran Through It. And men fly-fished in the river, the buffalo grazing a short distance behind them.
When you’ve seen buffalo and deer and antelope, how can you help but not sing,
Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,
and the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
and the sky is not cloudy all day.
As we began the long drive back to our campground, the roadside flowers, as they had throughout the last three weeks, welcomed me. Today, they softly sang Oh give me a home, and it felt a bit like this valley really was my home.
Click here to read the next post in this series, “We’ve Hit It out of the Park”
(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,
What I tell you now in the darkness, shout abroad when daybreak comes. What I whisper in your ear, shout from the housetops for all to hear!
Matthew 10:27
I would love to speak to your group!
Now accepting speaking engagements for fall and winter!
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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Gorge. The very word has an ugly connotation. but this place is anything and everything but!
It is magical. Mystical. Enchanting. Refreshing.
I thought I was prepared for its splendor, but I wasn’t.
(Be sure to turn on the music for this post. You should find adjustments on the side panel or on the bottom.)
Weeks before we left Michigan on this adventure, I had second thoughts about the whole long trip. Far away from the kids. What if something happened? 32 days is a long time. I had anxiety. Then something happened that gave me peace. It was a photo – a photo of the most beautiful waterfall ever – in my opinion. 
I had seen this photo often throughout the past few years, mostly online but had no idea where it was located. And so I judged it: the most beautiful waterfall ever. I never even considered I would ever see it. Researching the Columbia River Gorge we were to visit on this trip, I suddenly discovered this magnificent waterfall to be in the area. I was so touched to learn this, I choked up and whispered, Thank you, Lord. Now I knew it was His will we take this lengthy journey. I knew He was blessing me. I had peace.
Isn’t it just like our Abba Father to give us the desires of our heart? Even the things we never asked for! And, in doing so, confirming His blessing upon us?
I had two overnights scheduled for us at the Viento State Park, along the Columbia River, but some way I maneuvered a third overnight at the state park, and we scheduled our days carefully. The first site we would visit would be Multnomah Falls. We drove just a short distance to the six mile trail of waterfalls along the Historic route.
We were driving through a mystical, magical wonderland of massive trees, vibrant greens, and brilliant filtering sunlight.
Finding a parking space near Multnomah Falls was challenging, as the lot is quite small. We learned that the state would require advance passes beginning the next month. This was further evidence of God’s blessing upon us this day. It was our time.
This area, and especially Multnomah Falls itself, appears to be the landscape from Middle Earth. When one climbs to the bridge spanning the falls, one expects Tolkein’s elves, Aragorn and Arwen, to be standing there, conversing – to look at us and say, Come, join us. The bridge, the 611-foot-tall waterfall, and the lush green walls of the mountainside are mirror images of Rivendell.
(Open to full screen, if you can:)
I was simply enchanted. The cool spray of water refreshed my face from this and other waterfalls we would visit on this day. I closed my eyes and went back in time. The moss on the rocks and trees and fallen logs was reminiscent of that on the stepping stones leading to a water fountain in my Grandma Nutt’s rock garden. I find connection in the small and the large details throughout my life, demonstrating the same creator – the One True God. He uses both the minor and the magnificent to reveal Himself to us. The past memory was over 50 years ago and over 2000 miles away; God shows me today that He was in my presence then and He is present now. He is ever with me. Because I am His child.
Wahkeenah Falls, Bridal Veil Falls, Latourell Falls, and Horsetail Falls. We went from one falls to another, climbing to the brink and hiking the stream of bedrock below. Our day was spent in exploring something like a Shangri-la. I spread a cloth over the thick gray, moss-covered wood of a picnic table, where we lunched in the shade of tall pines and oaks. The trails occasionally took us to overlooks of the River beyond.
Open to full screen, if you can:
As magnificent as Multnomah Falls is, and as beautiful as the other waterfalls are, the last one we visited, Shepperd’s Dell Waterfall was the most meaningful to Ron and me. I’ll explain the reason.
The Shepperd’s Dell website explains,
“We owe our thanks to a modest farmer who gave us his “dell.” George Shepperd was a transplanted Canadian farmer who moved his family to the Gorge in the 1880s, settling on a 160-acre land claim along Young Creek, just west of the mill town of Bridal Veil. He supported his family by farming, dairying and working at the nearby Bridal Veil Lumber Mill.
“In the early 1900s, HCRH engineer and designer Samuel Lancaster began surveying a possible highway route through the Gorge. Travel in the Gorge at that time was mostly by train, and the Shepperd farm was one of the many stops along the route. . . George was described as an early supporter of the highway, and this is surely the time when he realized that he could be part of Lancaster’s grand vision.
“Newspaper accounts show that Shepperd had many opportunities to sell his property for substantial profit, as the new highway was quickly dotted with roadhouses and gift shops aimed at the new stream of tourists. The Oregonian later reported: “ever since the highway was constructed, Mr. Shepperd has received offers to purchase the tract, but has refused them, having in mind an intention to dedicate the property to the use of the public.” In March 1914, George Shepperd’s land was donated to the public.”
So, here is a man who thought of others above himself. But greater yet, a placard at the sight told us that Shepperd and his family came to the waterfall on their property to worship. To worship! So that’s just what Ron and I did that day – at that last waterfall. We worshipped God. It was a blessed time.
Following are photos of Shepperd’s Dell Waterfall and the beautiful bridge and walkway leading to it. Notice the moss!
Ron and I love shady forests with the sunlight streaming down from above. We love streams and rivers and waterfalls. We love being in the quiet woods away from the noise of highways. We love listening to the birds. And I love green moss!
You might cherish other things in nature: certain animals, the atmosphere, the heights of the mountains or the depths of the valleys. The smell of freshly mown hay or of a rose in your garden. Perhaps you love the busyness and noise of the city, the whistle of the train, or the roar of race cars.
How does God reveal Himself to you? Speak to you? Give you evidence of His presence?
He is always present and He cares for you. He wants to meet the longings of your heart. He desires communion with us. Sometimes it’s a massive revelation; sometimes it’s tiny – like green moss.
Look for Him. Listen for Him. He’s there! Find your spot and worship!
Before you leave my wonderland, join me in the woods. I’m quite sure I saw Aragorn and Arwen flitting across the rocks along this stream:
You’ll find all the Adventure Travel posts in the “Home Sweet Home” Tab of this website.
Here’s a link to the first. At the bottom of each post, you’ll find a link to the next. Subscribe and look for a new post tomorrow in your email.
Click here to read the next Post – #14 “Adjust your sails, girl . . ”
While visiting Glacier, we had spent three nights at a peaceful campground in Kalispell – Rocky Mountain High.
It was a perfect country setting with the beautiful Swan Mountain Range in the background. We slept with our windows open, breathing fresh pine air, the large trees above then shading our trailer during the day.
We’ve had sunshine nearly every day of our trip thus far, and today was no different. As we readied ourselves and prepared the trailer to leave the site, our neighbors, Barry and Linda, held our hands and prayed for a safe journey for us. The body of Christ is ever present on our journey.
We continued our venture on Highway 2, which we had followed now through five states and would continue well into the sixth state before this nightfall. 
Western Montana did not disappoint. It was all we had expected with green forests and beautiful lakes surrounded by tall pines. 
Ranches with occasional fields of hay to feed the livestock, dotted our paved trail.
Further west, the Kootenai River came along beside us and flowed beautifully beside us as we entered Idaho. At Bonners Ferry, we separated ways with the river – it flowed north, while we drove south through Spokane and on into Washington.
Certainly the landscape murals changed. Sage brush dappled the otherwise barren land. Soon we drove around brown mountains speckled with small pines that had managed to grow in the dry rocky surfaces. 
We ascended and descended these parched mountains and the twists and turns of their ups and downs, and of the curves I had come to hate and fear, which were impossible to escape, so I gritted my teeth and clenched the arm rest beside me until we finally descended into a beautiful green valley – the town of Wenatchee, Washington, the “Apple Capital of the World.” 
It was a breath of fresh air after hours of driving through a desolate area.
Not only was the valley below filled with orchards, but the mountain walls surrounding the valley were, as well. And not just with apple orchards but with all kinds of fruit.
The inviting Wenatchee River flowed through the valley, and that night, we camped near the river at the County Park. 
If there’s one thing I’ve discovered during this trip it’s that the landscape and road conditions can change within a mile’s drive! And that’s what happened when we left the valley and parted ways with Highway 2, our old original, on which we had driven over 2000 miles in the last ten days!
Leaving the beautiful Wenatchee Valley, we turned south on US Highway 97. The road ascended as quickly as the gas prices! Now the mountains were green and fertile with wild plants, natural trees, and living creatures.
And a short distance further south, the scenery changed yet again!
The windy, hot, dry climate, typical of this area of Washington surrounded us. Although 100 degrees, when we stopped for gas, we noticed how much cooler it seemed than 100 degrees. Now we know what people mean when they say its a dry heat. 
Nonetheless, we were in a desert, so our plans to “boondock” overnight needed to change. I called ahead to Yakima and booked us a site. It was one of the strangest we’ve ever had – such tight quarters in the middle of a large city, next to an RV storage lot. But we had electric and the AC we needed thanks to Site #40! 
Click here to read the next Post, #12 Into the Gorge
Have you read the series of posts from our Trip West? Click here to start with #1 The North Begins at Clare. A link at the bottom of each post takes you to the next!
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“How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!” ~ John Muir
The sun gave us a glorious greeting the morning we drove into Glacier National Park. I had cried when I first saw the mountains from the distance yesterday; I cried when we drove Highway 2 around the south side of the huge park; and I cried when we entered the park this morning. All cries of delight.
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 hey, 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
