Master of None-Yellowstone

As a typical fourteen-year-old I idolized the Beach Boys and the sun-kissed, ideal lifestyle I was certain every California teen lived. My girlfriends and I “wished we all could be California girls.” We resented being “the Midwest farmers’ daughters who really make you feel alright.” “Alright,” really? We definitely embodied “the Northern girls with the way they kiss, they keep their boyfriends warm at night!” Memorizing every word to every song on the newly released All Summer Long album became summer homework.

When the teen idols came to perform in my hometown of La Crosse, Wisconsin it was the hot ticket of the summer of 1964. My friends and I whined when we learned how our parents had conspired to send us to the early 7pm show instead of the expectedly-wild 9pm show, but we convinced ourselves having a ticket was all that mattered.

Of course the early concert was fabulous – but it wasn’t enough. In search of more Fun, Fun, Fun, friends Heather, Janet and I circled around to the back of the building in search of a glimpse of our heartthrobs. Back in “those days” bands travelled by bus but it never occurred to us that the bus might actually be PARKED RIGHT BEHIND THE MARY E. SAWYER AUDITORIUM!

As we gingerly approached the door of the bus we were scared out of our wits when a voice from inside invited us to Come on in! And there lounged Mike Love, Al Jardine and Carl, Dennis, and Brian Wilson, of course clad in their signature short sleeved navy and white wide-striped shirts. While Dennis was definitely the cutest of the group, Brian was the music maestro. And there he was, slouched in the second row seat on the right side of the bus. With a little coaxing I ended up sitting on his lap with my knees facing the bus window. He kept remarking how much he loved my name, Caroline, and he kissed me on my left cheek. After lots of nervous chatter and the gathering of autographs, my friends and I floated down the steps of the bus, having experienced a teenage dream come true.

My knee-length sleeveless red and white dotted Swiss dress (homemade by my sweet mother) lay on my bed for days as an untouchable Beach Boys shrine. Friends even came to visit it and squeal! Of course I didn’t wash my face for days. God Only Knows I had been kissed by my idol, rivaling Kim MacAfee’s experience in Bye Bye Birdie…only better.

My Beach Boys autographs disappeared – I hope they’re stashed somewhere with my Paul Hornung autograph. I’m convinced I was Brian’s muse for his song, Caroline, No which came out a couple years after that kiss on the bus. Yes, I know it wasn’t written for me but a girl can always dream, can’t she?

In early spring before the park roads are plowed and reopened for the summer season some sections of the park are open to administrative travel and non-motorized recreational vehicles such as bicycles, roller skates and roller blades. On a sunny spring morning a friend and I packed lunches and our bikes and headed to Hayden Valley.

Approximately 7 miles long and 7 miles wide, Hayden Valley is a large, sub-alpine valley which straddles the Yellowstone River between Canyon Village and Yellowstone Lake. The valley floor along the river is an ancient lake bed from a time when Yellowstone Lake was much larger. In addition to being the largest rut of free roaming bison in the world, the valley is also an outstanding wildlife habitat for elk, grizzly bears, wolves, coyotes and a myriad of other smaller mammals and birds such as pelicans, trumpeter swans, egrets, Canada geese and many kinds of ducks.

Decades ago as a college art student I explored my passion for minimalist art using a litho press, creating white on white embossed landscapes with titles like "Terra," "Ag Spectrum," "Strata," "Boundary Waters," and "Watercourse." Graduation ended my access to a studio press but I continued my embossed art using my car tires as a press and driving over the paper to create the impressions. In Hayden Valley I now witnessed my color-free landscapes come to life with the rolling valley terrain and the twisting Yellowstone River duplicating my earlier embossings but with added, passionate color.

We began our biking exploration at the north end of the valley with paradise all to ourselves. The winter-poxed pavement was fairly dry with the residue of winter leaving occasional snow banks on either side as well as random patches of snow in the grassed and sage terrain. We biked a couple of miles into the valley and didn't see another soul. But we did notice a large, circular wet spot in the middle of the road.

At the top of a small dip we encountered two female researchers who were following a pregnant bison cow, taking notes on her behavior and movements and awaiting what they hoped would be the arrival of a little "red dog" calf. We excitedly tagged along. The cow bison meandered along the river's shoreline and then to our surprise, she swam across the river and back, twice. Her slow, steady plod was interrupted every few minutes by a stiffening that could only be the onset of labor pains as the baby moved down her birth canal. Entranced from afar, we followed her every move in anticipation.

After sessions off wandering amid a couple of small herds of her hairy and pregnant compatriots the big mama painstakingly made her way to the crest of a small hill. The researchers' cameras clicked away as the slippery lil one finally made its appearance into the the wide, wild world. Uncluttered with camera lenses we witnessed the birth with our naked eyes, albeit from a safe and respectful distance. What followed was a spectacle of flailing, skinny legs attempting to stand and on the fifth try, success! Second only to standing was eating. We chuckled at the round about game with the wobbly calf searching for mama's udders as mama tried to catch and lick her baby clean. 

It was hard to tear ourselves away from the sight of the new mother and child. We pedaled back to our car, past the wet spot that could only be the mark of mama bison's amniotic sac. It wasn't until halfway home that we realized something that made our lil red dog's birth even more special...it was the world-wide observance of Earth Day.




***I'm returning to Yellowstone in a couple of weeks to resume my adventures and explorations...and oh yeah, work. I will miss my three grandgirls, three dogs, two cats and the man and woman of the house in the woods. (hearts here)
  

My first taste of Yellowstone was in 1963 when my mother, father, little brother and I headed west for adventures in the Blue Goose.

In 2009 I began writing a book about my first five years working and playing in Yellowstone National Park. This year would have been my 16th in the park, but with “that which shall not be mentioned” I am in Wisconsin, caring for three granddaughters and two grandpuppies. I love being here with family but I miss my Yellowstone family, too. To keep a piece of my heart in the park, I will share sections of my book and photos of my adventures in the world’s first national park on this site. But for now the sweet two-year-old is waking up from her nap…

As the 737 circled for a second landing attempt, I wondered if this would be the beginning of the end to my journey. High winds from nearby tornadoes rocked the aircraft through the twilight sky as we lowered closer to the runway. I huddled against the window, my eyes squeezing closed as my ears waited to hear the thud of the tires finding earth. At touch down a single handclap turned into a wave of spontaneous applause from relieved travelers. “Lucky again,” I murmured. When I opened my eyes to a lone tumbleweed whirling alongside the wing lights of the plane, I knew I had chosen the correct path. I loved tumbleweeds. To me they epitomized the unkempt, roaming spirit of the West, a place from my dreams.