Catching My Breath in Big Sky Country

Seneca said: Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind. 
And soothe the soul, I would add.

The American West was all I wished for, offering wide open spaces and phenomenally expansive vistas that allowed me to pause and catch my breath – and then the epic starry nights took it away.

I wanted to immerse myself in the great outdoors and allow it to stimulate the senses of wonder.  Confronted with dangers and comforted by delights of nature, it was exactly the experience I craved, far removed from the office desk, kitchen sink, laundry room, and grocery aisles. 

Montana was particularly good to me, giving up the best of herself in the form of spectacular, spacious skies and amber fields of grain; her gorgeous ranches, rivers and mountain ranges; an authentic lifestyle; and luscious huckleberry ice cream.  

It takes a better photographer with a proper camera to adequately capture the feeling of a Big Sky panorama in pictures, but here is my attempt: 

As restorative as it has been, it's time to move on…the aspen and cottonwood foliage is in full fall glory, and there is snow at higher elevations. Halloween is almost here, and I even saw today at the store – egads! – Christmas decorations for sale.  Campgrounds are closing, seasonal businesses are boarding up, there is a definite chill in the morning air, and the wicked katabatic is kicking up.  This is a gusty arctic downslope wind that can blow up to 95 mph (150 kph) and turn this Paradise Valley town into a winter purgatory.

The tropical temps, balmy breezes, and colorful flora and fauna of Costa Rica are beckoning and promise continued healing….

My own personal news blackout

In quite a fragile emotional state when I embarked on this journey, I decided not to read the news (at least for the time being) which was a dramatic departure for someone who devoured two daily newspapers and a weekly newsmagazine, watched at least one nightly news show, and followed countless Internet feeds.  But I was too distraught and wrapped up in the trauma of my own life and had no capacity to cope with the woes of others.  

Wouldn't it be wonderful...

 

Now, ten weeks later, it has been a relief to be spared the constant barrage of information we are subject to in the so-called civilized world.  And have I missed that much?  I am aware that Ebola and ISIS are decimating populations, and that George Clooney got married.  Anything else I really need to know?   And even though my load is getting lighter and I am in a good place, my focus of attention has been and will remain unabashedly on ME.

Road Trip, Part 3: Cruising to a Stop

Today was the last and longest day of driving in my seven-week road trip: 6 and 1/2 hours all the way from Montana through the entire eastern flank of Idaho to Salt Lake City, Utah, stopping only to fill the tank and empty the bladder. 

The first 200 miles was an easy drive on straight roads through potato fields left and right. The kind of unremarkable landscape you’d expect in a state best known for this lowly tuber, though really I should not scoff, for the diet of an average person in the first decade of the 21st century included about 33 kg (73 lbs) of potatoes per year, and it is the world's fourth-largest food crop (after maize, wheat, and rice).  So the citizens of Idaho are justifiably smug about their spuds: 

The state motto adorns the license plates.

                                     

Of course Idaho has a potato museum!

 

I am thankful that my red chariot, though very simply equipped (not even cruise control), carried me safely the whole 3,094 miles (4,979 kms) I put on the odometer.  There was no run-in with a large mammal or law enforcement; no speeding or parking ticket; no fender bender or mechanical failure.   She and I savored the freedom of the open road and the simple life. 

Until now: The 8-lane heavily trafficked interstate highway into town was a shuddering wake-up call: You’re not in Oz any longer!  Salt Lake is by far the largest city I have been in since leaving Zurich.  These are the first buildings over three stories high, the first European-made automobiles, the first men in suits and women in stilettos that I have seen in 10 weeks.  There’s the noise, the bustle, the neon, the crowded spaces, the exhaust fumes, and worst of all, the light pollution -- the stars are gone!  Of course they’re still there but obscured by all the manmade edifices of your typical metropolis.

  

I have always considered myself a true-blue city-phile but am now experiencing a slight case of urban heebie-jeebies and maybe beginning to give some credence to the claim that you can take the girl out of the country but not the country out of the girl…. 

Home on the Ranch

My hostess here on the Mission Ranch in Livingston is my newest heroine. I have met so very many incredibly awesome women on my journey thus far, but Jaimie is a unique, dazzling combination of tough and tender. 

She is one badass cowgirl who can ride horses, herd cattle, rope a heifer, shoot an elk, skin an antelope, slaughter a deer, inseminate a cow, birth a calf, brand a bull, castrate a steer, and drive a swather.  She owns a .38 special (for protection) and a Winchester 270 (for hunting) and kicks butt in rodeo barrel racing. 

Besides all this intimidating competence, she’s also compassionate, empathetic, loving, loyal.  A dedicated wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.  Bakes the best chocolate chip cookie this side of the Continental Divide.  And her lanky 5’9” frame looks dynamite in chaps.

Jaimie has been ranching in Montana together with her husband for 6 years -- now on 4500 acres with 350 head of black Angus in the heart of Big Sky country -- maintaining a way of life in danger of disappearing (ranches often end up sold to corporations as a result of inheritance feuds).  They are part of the younger generation of an increasingly rare breed keeping alive the pioneering spirit so romanticized in American folklore. 

Their energy goes into sustaining livestock, crops, family on and by the land; the demands on their time are dictated by the seasons, the weather, and the unrelenting circle of life. Undaunted by an often harsh reality where there is not a lot of money and no guaranteed vacations, they are hardworking, determined, resilient, and self-reliant.  Jaimie thrives in this environment, it suits her temperament the way no office could.  And her life on the homestead enables her true calling in which she offers her gorgeous quarterhorses to those struggling with difficult personal transitions.

Riding since a toddler and training horses since a teenager, she has an intimate connection with these animals.  She doesn’t “break” them the traditional, violent way using fear, whips, and spurs to force servitude; rather, she believes the horse should be a partner with the rider and emphasizes a relationship of trust, respect, and unity.   This kinder, gentler method together with her intuition and inner serenity make her such an effective equine coach (what some would call a horse whisperer). 

She put me in the corral with an über-sensitive buckskin mare and after just a weekend a whole lot of emotional muck had been dealt with.  I then saddled up and the healing continued.  Am feeling so content these days that I wonder: Could there be a li’l cowgirl in me?

Jaimie: beautiful inside and out

Power couple: cowgirl & cowboy

The 1890s ranch house, my home for the past month
  

 

Life is good on the back of a horse! 

 

America's Coffee Culture

I know many of you would claim this to be a contradiction in terms, that America has no such culture, but fortunately for me, there is indeed good, strong coffee to be found in this country – and I don’t mean the overpriced, gussied-up, frothy, calorie-laden Starbucks products that taste more like a milkshake.  (By the way, the chain is not to be found in any of the small towns I’ve visited over the past month.)  Granted, there is often only a pot of stale drip coffee available in which case I choose my caffeine in a different form – or go without.  But just when I’m really jonesin’ for a proper cup of joe, a little java joint appears seemingly out of nowhere to answer my jittery prayers. 

Hooray!

 

And what I love best about them is their tongue-in-cheek attitude toward their wares as witnessed in these signs and posters: 

 

 

And sometimes you don’t even have to get out of your car to get your fix; leave it to the Amis to come up with the concept of a coffee drive-thru: 

However, I am still missing my Nespresso machine….

Road Trip, Part 2: The Soundtrack

One of the great things about driving solo is there’s nobody in the car to protest your choice of radio channel – not that there’s a whole lot to choose from out here in the wild West, but I do prefer the local playlists over my own pop-centric iPod. 

The airwaves are, not unexpectedly, full of country music, and I find that their melancholy lyrics of regret and remorse often fit my mood perfectly: when the heartache of missing my children has me bawling so hard I can’t see the road… when it’s time to say goodbye to new friends and depart from what was home for a while…when my current state of rootlessness feels really scary rather than liberating…. 

There’s also a lot of classic rock being played, and this is especially great tuneage to some of the more dramatic landscapes.  The screaming vocals of Mick, Steve Tyler, Angus, Joan Jett, Bruce, Debbie Harry, Robert Plant, and the attendant electric guitar riffs are the ideal accompaniment to those mind-blowing rock formations (see “Eyegasms” entry).  It feels so right to howl along at the top of my lungs as a response to the OMG geology in these parts. 

And then recently I discovered a station playing Sounds of the Seventies -- what a bop down memory lane!  This was the music I listened to in high school and, oddly enough, has not been remixed to suit the ears of my kids (let me know if it has).  There are some bands we may still hear now and then, such as the Bee Gees, the Eagles, Supertramp, Foreigner, maybe Chicago, but do you remember these?

ELO (“Don’t Bring Me Down”)
Doobie Brothers (“Takin’ it to the Streeets”)
Three Dog Night (“Joy to the World”)
Bread (“Baby I’m-a Want You”)
Yes (“Owner of a Lonely Heart”)
Peaches and Herb (“Reunited”)
Carpenters (“Close to You”)
Captain and Tenille (“Love Will Keep Us Together”)
Gerry Rafferty (“Baker Street”)
Isley Bros (“Fight the Power”)
Grand Funk Railroad (“Some Kinda Wonderful”)
Todd Rundgren ("Hello It's Me")

If you’re my generation, I bet you do now, and I’ll bet the words would come back to you, too, just as they do to me (amazing what the mind retains, isn’t it), and I’d also bet you’d dig the groovy nostalgia as well.  Do ya copy that?  Right on! 

Where the heck are the friggin' bison?!

Greetings from Yellowstone! 

This national park – the country’s very first -- is so huge that it’s hard to grasp the scale of its 2.2 million square acres (for comparison, it covers an area about one-quarter the size of Switzerland).  Despite the expansiveness of the ranges, grasslands, and forests, I still expected to have herds of bison crossing in front of my car and black bears pressing their noses against my windows like we’ve all seen in photos and newsreels.    

 

I should be so lucky

 

But there's nary a large cloven-hoofed or clawed furry mammal near or far.  Of course, that’s the thing about creatures in the wild, isn’t it?  Granted, I got here in the heat of the day when most animals of this sort are slumbering in the shade, or at least staying out of the sun.  I consider striking out on one of the many trails to improve my chances of spotting something in the woods, but I have neither bear bells nor bear spray and both items are highly recommended by the park service, which also advises against hiking alone.  So I’m confined impatiently to the vehicle…wait, what’s happening up ahead? A traffic jam…dozens of camera-laden people lined up on the roadside…they must see something impressive…I inch forward, pull over in the turnout, get out in eager anticipation…peer through the trees…and spy one single solitary elk.  Sheesh. 

Day 2: I go to check out the geothermal features -- at least I know where to find them.  And what luck: Steamboat Geyser, the “World’s Tallest Active Geyser”, erupted last night and is still gurgling and belching huge amounts of steam. 

The day is promising…on to Old Faithful and a series of other geysers, hot springs, mud pots, and fumaroles.  The landscapes are eerie and desolate where the scalding soil has killed the trees; the ground bubbles, oozes, hisses, sprays; and the repugnant smell of sulfur fills the air.

 

Really very impressive and at the same time pretty freaky when you realize you’re standing on top of one of Earth’s largest active, unstable volcanoes.   

Day 3: I get up well before dawn to join a “Wake Up With Wildlife” safari in hopes of finally seeing significant numbers of animals.  It is below freezing here at almost 8,000 feet (2400 meters) and I have to scrape the windshield with a credit card, but it’s a glorious day, warms up quickly, and by sundown I can check off herds / flocks of all these:

• bison
• pronghorn antelope  
• elk
• sandhill cranes
• bighorn sheep
• Canadian geese  

No bears or wolves or big cats but all in all, in the end, Yellowstone does not disappoint.