Crossposted from Prairie Traveler's Guide
Ever since I watched The National Parks I’ve been trying to express my feelings about “America’s Greatest Idea”. This desire became even greater after my brother and I experienced several of our greatest parks in a trip last October. Every time I’ve attempted to write about it, I’ve just been unable to put fingers to the keys to say what I really want to say.
Sometimes I’ve wanted it to be a grandiose and all-encompassing tribute to the parks. Other times I have tried to just tell what happened. A few times I’ve even tried to create parallels between my experiences, and those of explorers like Lewis and Clark, or the Powell Expedition down the Colorado. Each time ended the same. If I even got something written down, it was nothing more than an incomplete document taking up space on my computer.
Then one day it hit me. What better way to show my appreciation than to share memories of trips to the various National Parks, National Historic Sites, and the other various entities ran by the National Park Service. After all it has the virtue of being the most genuine representation of my how I feel about our great park system.
What our National Parks mean to me
What does our National Park system mean to me? It means many things, all related to the cherished memories of my travels. Some are more cherished than others, while some are more clearly remembered than others, especially those more recent versus those from my childhood. All are fondly recalled, and gather together in a special place in my heart.
Its sitting outside of a concession stand/gift shop at Mesa Verde drinking an awful pineapple milkshake telling my Dad’s camera what I wanted to be when I grew up, and minutes later marvelling at the wonders of ancient cliff dwellings.
Driving down the road in the early morning mist of Yellowstone as a bison materializes in front of you, quietly moving on his way as you pass him.
Going back to Old Faithful several years after my first trip there, wondering if I could skip it, as I had a long day ahead of me and I didn’t remember it being all that great and there it goes eh that’s not so great oh wait here it goes man this is a pretty neat site oh look its going higher man I’m glad I decided to stay and wait for it to go off man what a spectacle I am very glad I added the extra day at Yellowstone.
Starting most visits at the visitor’s center, the place where many adventures of both newbies and old trail hands begin.
Marveling at the vistas of Pima Point at the Grand Canyon, Glacier Point, or along the edge of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone...but not too close to the edge.
Being inspired by the gentle and wise visage of Father Abraham on the National Mall.
Being just as inspired by the unassumng “A. Lincoln” on the door of his modest home at Jackson and 8th in Springfield.
Luxuriating in the refreshing coolness of the entrance to Mammoth Cave, a welcome respite to the triple digit heat of central Kentucky.
Retracing the steps across those tranquil fields and ridges outside of Gettysburg, pondering how terrible it must have been during those three crucial days in July, 1863.
Contemplating how many bullets it took to cut that tree down at Spotsylvania, while also taking care to not slip on the icy snow cover.
Standing amazed at the site of the giant boulders at the alluvial fan in Rocky Mountain National Park, an amazing site amongst the great mountains of the Colorado Rockies, something that was almost alien to a grade schooler from the prairies of Illinois.
Going back to that same alluvial fan several times, and still marveling at the power of nature, and the fragility of the balance of nature that seems deceptively constant.
Standing on the banks of a cold clear lake shrouded in slowly lifting fog at the western end of the Going to the Sun Road at Glacier National Park.
Driving through snow flurries in July along the summit of Trail Ridge Road where marmots dare to tread.
Experiencing an explosion of life in a vast stretch of southern Florida that isn’t quite land and isn’t quite water. Even if most of that life consists of mosquitoes and palmetto bugs.
Sharing the land with the grizzlies and bison of Yellowstone, the elk of Rocky Mountain, the deer in Yosemite, and the black bears at Sequoia.
Sweating through a walk at the end of a tiring day at Yosemite that ended with a glorious view of the lower Yosemite falls that for an instance made me see what John Muir saw at Yosemite.
Walking along the rocky beaches covered with the wood of wrecked ships at Pictured Rocks, and the dunes and lighthouses of Cape Hatteras.
Hiking through the trees of Sequoia that made myself and my brother look small, a very rare feat indeed.
Gazing at the peaks of the Tetons, jutting violently into the sky out of the valley floor just to the south of the wonderland of Yellowstone.
Visiting the island on the James River where the journey towards American Independence arguably began, and then driving the twenty three mile parkway to the banks of the York River where where the journey was finally realized.
Sitting in a parking lot at Badlands, enjoying the setting sun as a giant bison comes walking up an incredibly steep cliff mere yards from our van.
Stopping quickly at a rest area on the edge of Theodore Roosevelt National Park, a short stop at a tranquil territory much like it was when Teddy Roosevelt walked those North Dakota badlands.
Smelling the delightful mixture of sulfurous mud pots and pine trees at Yellowstone.
Thinking about one of the best logos ever designed, the iconic shield with the bison on it.
Listening to a ranger in her iconic iconic uniform and hat which said she knew what she was talking about, for she was a National Park Ranger.
Finding to my everlasting joy that Dinosaur National Monument is oh so much more than just some dinosaur bones in the high desert.
Walking through the tangled trees on a muggy July morning at Shiloh, locating rarely seen monuments and “lost” confederate mass graves.
Making two aborted trips to drive part of the Blue Ridge Parkway, one because my vehicle was very close to overheating, and the other because the road was closed because of “snow” when the temperature was in the 70s.
Taking in the eerie breezes at Little Round Top at Gettysburg, Snodgrass Hill at Chickamauga, and the hills above the Little Bighorn.
Viewing the Grand Canyon, which is just...I mean those colors...And the scale...wow...yeah, I can’t do it justice, you’ll just have to see it yourself. Sorry.
Doing everything in my power to not give in to the temptation to take an exit on the Interstate to go to some as yet unvisited park, despite the fact that I have other places to go, and the trip would be way out of the way.
Trying to keep my car heading in the right direction as I leave a park, knowing that I can’t turn around, but also knowing that if I were to go back tomorrow it wouldn’t be soon enough.
