Postcard from Yellowstone

Yellowstone Park

Dark of winter, the perfect time to sort through a multitude of cardboard boxes filled with three generations’ photo collections. Treasured finds surface during this process, i.e., this giant postcard from our 1958 Yellowstone Park vacation.

The Thompson and Reynolds families motored off on a madcap road trip, a 2,000 plus mile trek across Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, back through Idaho, through Eastern Oregon, to Sitkum, (just about 40 miles shy of the Pacific Ocean,) us in the family station wagon, the Reynolds sedan towing a small camper. Four parents and five children (six year old me, Michael eight, Susie nine, Joe 11, Charmagne 14,) were in on the adventure.

Mom mostly drove while Dad played guitar and we all sang any song that came to mind. Whenever the parents’ stamina wilted, Michael and I sang our favorite, “This is the story of 26 men who road the Arizona territory. Ride on, ride on, ride on.”

Ride on

Ride on

Ride on

Ride on

Ride on

You catch the drift.


Mile after endless mile we drove; Michael and I amused ourselves as best we could, doubtless with a lot of bickering and wrestling. Once when the back seat was down and there was plenty of room to stretch out, I climbed into my sleeping bag then pulled the zip closed. It zipped all the way around, instant flannel cocoon. Problem was the zip stuck, me trapped inside, unable to free myself. A panic attack ensued. We had to pull off to the side of the road to get me out. New rule: Not allowed to zip the sleeping bag closed. As if…


Sometimes the passenger arrangement switched. One day in the wagon, Chuck at the wheel and Dad riding shotgun, sipping whiskey, a police car pulled up behind and flipped on the lights. Chuck pulled the car off to the side of the road; Dad opened the door and hopped out, tossing the whiskey bottle, but not far enough. He spotted it near his feet so gave it a discreet kick into oblivion. Michael and I were rendered mute in the face of the law (good thing.) No ticket issued, tail light or something, was out.


The usual order of the day upon arrival at that nights camping site: Dad and Chuck erected the canvas tent; Mom and Billie started on dinner in the camper; us kids ran amok burning off long suppressed energy. We’d eat our meal at the picnic table, (now shrouded by a washable plastic tablecloth,) included in the camping space. One particular evening, the sky darkening, I spotted Dad and Chuck sitting in the wagon so wandered over to see what they were doing.

I heard “Tiffy, look over by the garbage can.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Go closer then.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Go a little closer.”

So I did. As I neared the garbage can I eventually noticed a big brown bear ransacking the contents. She seemed close enough to touch. Fight or flight response kicked in, I opted for flight, and madly dashed to the station wagon and hurdled in through the window, opened about six inches. I’m pretty sure Dad and Chuck wouldn’t have put me in any real peril, unless you consider the drinking while driving incident… Hmmm.


google photo

We stopped at a trading post with the added attraction of a buffalo herd fielded nearby, my first sighting. Inside they had a caged monkey (I’ve never liked monkeys,) named “Pinky” who Joe teased. I thought he was being mean, but soon distracted by costumed Indian dolls for sale.


 


google photo

When we arrived at Yellowstone Park our camping site was much upgraded from the usual primitive campsite. Up to now Mom used a zinc washboard to wash our clothes, but this place had a Laundromat (!) and showers. Communal showers, gender based, I never saw so many naked people in my life. I was slack jawed in amazement.




We saw “Old Faithful” spew in sulfuric glory. We saw amazing flying fish and mudpots. Oh yeah, bears. Lots of bears. Any many other types of wildlife.


google photo


google photo

Most clearly, I recall my sorrow at leaving my new red shoes forgotten on some trail head. I loved those shoes.




I need to phone Joe and get his recollections on this trip. He is an inventive storyteller!  

Notice the "Closely Control Children" bit?  Look, there's Michael in a tree...
Me and Michael with the Reynolds family.


Comments

Janice said…
Fun memories! I've never made it to Yellowstone...maybe one day, though I loved Yosemite and have memories of fun family adventures there.
Sun Jan 08, 04:01:00 PM
Catherine said…
Hahahaha .... love it. We didn't have the same sort of adventures. My mom's motto was: 'If God had meant us to sleep outside, he wouldn't have made motels." I'm sure I missed something but, I was rather a pris at that age wasn't I?
Mon Jan 09, 04:18:00 PM
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