The RV parked for six weeks in northern lower peninsula of Michigan was not normal for our home on wheels. August 8th, the day we drove to our 6-wk home was out of the ordinary as well, beginning with a flat RV tire 30 miles north of the Mackinac Bridge. That event, which could have been much worse, set the ball rolling. Or should I say, set the tire rolling and turned our 6-week stay into an opportunity to attend to many things that needed attending to. Tire life was running out, the RV was covered in 6000 miles of dirt, certain things needed replacing or repaired, and not the least of which, our hair was getting long and unruly.

Consequently, our first week at the lake did not include kayak paddling, fishing, or photography; instead, it was to do the following:

Haircuts

Replace all four RV tires

Dental checkup and cleaning

Put mom under hospice care

Replace truck bed cover

Replace all four truck tires

Install new shocks on the truck

Wash and wax the RV

If you enjoy water and wilderness, there is much to do in Michigan’s north country. We were camped smack in the middle of the ‘Tip of the Mitt’, meaning Lake Michigan was as close to us to the west as Lake Huron was to the east, and the straits of Mackinac to the north. We were camped at the headwaters of the Ausable River surrounded by forested land where the deer and elk roam and where one can walk for miles. And there are way too many lakes to discover, all accessible within a day’s time. Adding to the north woods experience was having the RV parked next to a lake where Vivian could roll the inflatable kayak to the boat launch any time she wanted. (Enjoy this slide show of some images from our short time exploring the area).

Despite crossing each item off the list during the first week, we still had little time for exploring and enjoying Michigan’s north country during the remaining 5 weeks. Instead, we spent most of our time in Gaylord, my hometown located 10 miles north of the lake. Daily drives to The Brook where mom lived made Gaylord the focal point of our time in northern Michigan.

I spent the first 23 years of my life in Gaylord where I was born. Gaylord, according to my niece who is the City Manager has a current population of 3200, give or take. The charming town is known as “The Alpine” town where Tyrolean architecture dominates its main street. I’ve always been proud of Gaylord – it is an attractive place, a place to come back to or never leave. I left Gaylord 40 years ago but come back to visit many times. This time, our visit was different. This time, I couldn’t get the memories out of my head, like a TBS movie that keeps playing over and over.

Everything made me think of mom. I-75 bisects Michigan from Sault St Marie to Detroit and somewhere along the way, crosses Gaylord’s main street. Standing tall and new next to Exit 282 is a Tru by Hilton that sticks out like a sore thumb with its modern architecture so opposite of Gaylord’s Swiss motif. Each time I visit Gaylord, fewer memories are supported by iconic buildings as one by one they are replaced with something new. Where the Hilton now stands was for decades the Chalet Motor Lodge and Restaurant, a one-floor building with a suite above the lobby, A-framed by the typical Swiss Chalet sloping roof. Mom worked the reservation desk at the Chalet for years and she often allowed me to hang out there while she worked. I could watch color TV in the lobby, go swimming in the indoor pool, buy a Tab from the coke machine. None of these treats were available to me at home. Watching mom work in her spiffy blue uniform behind the desk where she greeted people from far-away places made me feel lucky and rich.

Vivian and I walked Gaylord’s Main Street where businesses from the past have long ago been replaced. Historic plaques on buildings helped remind me of some of those businesses and many memories of time spent downtown. We passed a community art gallery where Bill’s Party Store once stood. It’s where I stole a 12-pack of beer on a dare. My friends and I got caught drinking that beer on a school bus and when mom found out, she marched me down to Bill’s, made me apologize and pay for the beer. I never stole anything again in my life.

Across the street from Bill’s is the Fifth Third Bank which was once the Gaylord State Savings Bank. It’s where mom helped me get my first loan so I could establish credit at the age of 18 with $500 to buy a new stereo. On the next block over is the Otsego County Building where the county library was in the basement. I can remember mom taking me there to get my library card for the first time, a rite of passage that opened the world to me. I knew that if I checked out a book or two, she would be obliged to take me back in two weeks to return them.

As a sidenote, here are a few more tidbits of information about Gaylord & surrounding area.

Of all the memories I have of mom while growing up in Gaylord, the one that stands out the most involves St Mary’s Catholic Church. The church building itself is memorable, still standing as a reminder of the Sunday morning services my family and I attended for so many years.

Even more memorable were the nuns that ran the St Mary’s School, especially Sister Michaela, who still gives me nightmares. I spent the first four years of school at St Mary’s Elementary. By the time I entered fourth grade, I think my mom had soured on the Catholic Church somewhat. Not the religion, just the church itself. My mom has always been religious on the spiritual side of it, but never guided by the social constraints imposed by the church. This was poignantly clear to me from the story she told me of her visit to a faith healer. Heartbroken and devastated from losing her first baby and barely surviving childbirth herself, mom took an aunt’s recommendation to visit an old Polish farmer and his wife, spiritual healers from the old world. After many prayers, he placed his hand on her stomach and told her she would have babies. This after having been told by doctors she would never have children.

One day, mom received a phone call from Mrs. Bozwiak, the secretary at St Mary’s Elementary. That day was the last Friday of the month, or what we schoolgirls called “free day”. It meant I could wear my own dress and not the standard gray blue uniform. Mom had bought me a colorful dress with bright yellow and red designs to wear on Easter Sunday. I was so proud of that dress as I knew my dad would see me wear it shortly after leaving the hospital where he’d been recovering from his first heart attack. When Mrs Bozwiak told mom that Sister Michalea removed me from class and wanted mom to take me home and change my free-day dress to a more suitable one (i.e., longer so the legs above the knees were not showing), mom went ballistic on the nun. Everybody knows everybody’s business in Gaylord and for sure, that old nun knew my dad was in the hospital. That’s what did it for mom. After that, Sister Michaela never bothered me again. And after I finished that fourth year, mom put me in Gaylord’s public school. Common decency 1 – orthodoxy 0.

During the first 3 weeks of our 6-week visit most of my time was spent at The Brook and Vivian was with me much of that time. Things were happening way too fast and conversations with attendants and nurses were getting more desperate as we watched mom’s independence dwindle down to nothing. She and dad traveled in an RV up to the day he passed away 30 years ago and even after that, she continued the RV lifestyle on her own until settling in Florida for the winters. Vivian always said mom was the trailblazer for us to get into RV life. Although mom told stories of strangers helping her with the RV while traveling, watching her now relying on strangers to do the simplest things like getting dressed and using the bathroom was more than I could bear.

Fortunately, sadness was interrupted often by our time spent with family and friends, happy hour with our campground neighbor, and by the healing powers of long walks in the woods. Having my brother and both my sisters around me was comforting, we were all in this together. During our final week on Big Bradford Lake, family matters were pretty much tied up and everyone was back to their normal routine. My two sisters had moved on. With the little time we had left, Vivian and I tried to make the most of our solitary time left in the north woods. It may be a long time before we get back here, but we will be back for sure. But for now, we have other places to see and things to do, we have our RV life to live. That’s what mom would do.

After spending months exploring the red rocks, white sand dunes, deep canyons, glacial mountains, plains prairies, and badlands, we were now in the Great Lakes region of the country – the great north woods – the badger and wolverine states. And central to our short time in Wisconsin’s Bayfield Peninsula and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula was the greatest of great lakes – Superior.

On Sep 18 while researching ‘Lake Superior’ in preparation for this blog entry, the Google-search headline “One kayaker dead, and another reported missing at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore” appeared at the top of the results list. Six weeks prior, Vivian and I paddled a kayak along Lake Superior’s Apostle Islands National Lakeshore. Along the peninsula shoreline, we paddled gently over sandy bottom shallow water that revealed a shipwreck and allowed us entry to small caves pock marking the vertical rock shoreline. The warm and calm waters were as far removed from Superior’s reputation as anything could be.

Our morning on Superior’s water brought back memories of our 2004-trip to its most famous island, Isle Royale, a National Park. A visit to the park requires one to fly in or ferry across Lake Superior. After three days hiking Isle Royale, our stay on the island was unexpectedly prolonged as our boat ride back to the mainland was cancelled due to inclement weather – waves reaching 10 feet or higher. At midnight, 12 hours past the normal schedule, we boarded the boat and ferried across “the lake that never gives up her dead” over glass flat water.

Superior, Michigan, Huron, Erie, Ontario – The Great Lakes of North America are the largest collection of freshwater lakes in the world, by total area and the second largest by volume. Lake Superior, the most northern of the five is the largest freshwater lake in the world.

The Ojibwe Tribe that once dominated the northern great lakes region for centuries named the lake “gichi-gami”, meaning “great sea”. Later, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow spelled it “Gitche Gumee” in his poem ‘The Song of Hiawatha’. In 1976, Gordon Lightfoot adopted Longfellow’s spelling for his song ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fiztgerald’. The name “Superior” originally came from the French explorers in the 17^th century that referred to their discovery as ‘la lac supérieur’. The name was later anglicized by the British into its current name, ‘Superior’.

Following the Apostle Islands, we made a beeline across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to a town called Brimley. Our campground was 30 miles north of the Mackinac Bridge which we needed to cross sooner than later. But, before that, we had a couple more days left with Lake Superior. Not far from us was St Marys Falls, a non-navigable 21-ft drop that separates Lake Superior from Lake Huron. To bypass these falls, the Soo Locks were constructed.

In 1855, the first locks were constructed, allowing passage between the two great lakes. Over time, commerce through the locks and canal had increased significantly and gained national importance. In 1881, the locks were turned over to the US Army Corp of Engineers that built two parallel locks that provide a gravity-powered 21-ft lift system. Freighters 1000 ft in length and holding 70,000 tons of cargo pass through the locks frequently.

It is a wonderful thing to stand in the Soo Locks observation platform located in Sault (pronounced SOO) St Marie and watch a 1000-ft freighter enter a lock. From Superior coming in on an easterly direction, ships enter a lock filled with enough water to match the Superior’s level. Several minutes pass as water is released and levels decrease 21 feet. Once the water is level with Lake Huron, the eastside gates open, and the ship continues its course. The opposite occurs when ships go upstream from Huron to Superior. Approximately 7000 vessels pass through the Locks each year, despite it being closed between January and March.

From our campground, we drove about 30 miles or so along the scenic Lakeshore Dr north through the tiny town of Paradise and ending at Whitefish Point where the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum is located. There’s a darn good reason why the museum is located at this cape outpost. Every vessel entering or leaving Lake Superior must pass Whitefish Point, the most dangerous shipping area in the Great Lakes.

More vessels have been lost in the Whitefish Point area than any other part of Lake Superior. It is estimated by most sources that the Great Lakes holds 6,000 shipwrecks and a loss of life exceeding 30,000. One of those wrecks that came onto North America’s collective consciousness lies 530 feet below Lake Superior’s surface about 17 miles away from Whitefish Point.

With a crew of 29 men, the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank during a storm on November 10, 1975. At 727 feet in length (considerably short than the more modern freighters), the Fitzgerald is the largest to have sunk in Lake Superior. A U.S. Navy aircraft equipped to detect magnetic anomalies associated with submarines, detected the wreck on November 14, 1975. An additional survey using a side scan sonar determined two large objects were lying close together on the lake floor, indicating that the Fitzgerald had been snapped in two.

The ship’s bell was recovered from the wreck on July 4, 1995. A replica with each of the 29 sailors’ names engraved on it was put in its place. The bell is on display in the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa down

Of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee

Superior, they said, never gives up her dead

When the gales of November come early

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Gordon Lightfoot

Check out my previous Blog about our visit to Michigan 3 years ago.

Among the many things you can see in North Dakota are the largest scrap metal sculpture in the world, the largest land mammal in North America, and the tallest habitable building in North Dakota. I have already devoted at least one blog to the largest land mammal, which is the American Bison, so this one will focus on the other two attractions located in North Dakota “where possibility is as endless as the horizon”. Ranked #1 for the hardest working state (what else are you going to do when it’s biting cold), North Dakota was worthy of the 10 days we spent within its borders.

Somewhere in the southwestern quadrant of North Dakota is a town called Regent, population 157. Saaalute! To Vivian and me, Regent seemed to be another example of the many boom-to-bust prairie towns we have seen on our travels through rural America. But interestingly, Regent, which is surrounded by miles of rolling farmland never experienced a boom. In fact, the greatest census number I could find for Regent was 405 in 1950.

But then came Regent resident Gary Greff. Greff is quoted as saying the following, “I came home one day and was looking at my town and said, ‘you know, this town has gone from 500 people to a hundred’. I thought if someone doesn’t do something, it’s only a matter of time before we’re gone. We don’t have a railroad, we don’t have the population, we don’t have the infrastructure. Why would a major corporation come to Regent? Rather than sit around waiting for someone from the outside to come in and save my town, I need to do something.” And do something he did.

“Nobody’s going to drive 30 miles off the interstate for normal sculptures, but they might drive for the world’s largest”, was Greff’s logic behind his sculptures that are placed along side a 32-mile stretch of highway. Indeed, the most observed sculpture located on the northwest corner of exit 72 where I-94 and 102^nd Ave SW meet is “Geese in Flight” which is listed in the Guinness World Book of Records as the largest scrap metal sculpture in the world. In 1991, Greff completed the first sculpture (The Tin Family) along the unnamed highway that became known as ‘The Enchanted Highway’. Enjoy the slideshow, pictures of Greff’s sculptures along the highway.

In 1861, President James Buchanan signed into bill the creation of the Dakota Territory, which included both Dakotas. In 1883-84, the first capitol building of the territorial government was constructed in Bismarck located in the northern region of the territory. Attempts to admit the Dakota Territory into the Union over several years eventually resulted in the formation of two states in 1889, North Dakota and South Dakota. President Benjamin Harrison hid the order in which each state’s proclamation was signed, so the exact order remains unknown. But, because North comes before South in the alphabet, North Dakota became the 39^th state, followed by South Dakota.

One of the many travel goals we have is to visit state capitols. Unfortunately, until recently in Salt Lake City, this has proven to be impossible in the era of COVID. At last, we visited our first capitol building in Utah where we were impressed by the magnificent neoclassical revival architectural style and exquisite artwork. It’s a hard act to follow, but follow we did to Bismarck, North Dakota. Despite North Dakota’s capitol being only one of two on our travel itinerary, we could not have chosen more dichotomous buildings to visit. If the 50 state capitols were placed on a spectrum according to the ornate qualities of the architectural design, then Utah and North Dakota are on the far opposite ends of the spectrum.

On December 30, 1930, North Dakota’s capitol was destroyed by fire. During the fire, North Dakota Secretary of State Robert Byrne broke a window to get to the original copy of the state’s constitution. Suffering from cuts and burns on his hands, he saved the document. Other state employees also risked their lives to save documents. The Governor George F Shafer organized a team and directed the use of 40 state prison inmates to scour the still smoldering building and salvage the vaults and other items that remained.

The disaster meant a new building would need to be constructed during the Great Depression. Designed by North Dakota architects, the rebuilt capitol became the tallest building in North Dakota and became known as the ‘Skyscraper on the Prairie’. Just under 250 feet and 21 stories, its Art Deco design is anything but ornate. The capitol campus expanded over time with the addition of a State Office Building, the North Dakota Heritage Center and the North Dakota Dept of Transportation, and a Judicial Wing was added to the base of the capitol tower. While the state capitol campus and park were expanding over the decades, North Dakota’s population was decreasing. Today, North Dakota’s state capitol is a popular tourist attraction with its garden-style park, museum and monuments. Enjoy this slideshow of North Dakota’s classy state capitol and following that, a slideshow from its impressive Heritage Center Museum where we learned some history of North Dakota.

One last tidbit about our visit to North Dakota. After leaving our campground in Dickinson, we came to Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park in Mandan, which is on the outskirts of Bismarck. Just a few days past the halfway point of our 216-day trip, we camped on the western bank of the Missouri River for a few days, thus marking the end of our tour of the American West. On July 31, we packed and hitched up and drove the RV east across the Missouri one last time. Soon, we would cross the Mississippi River near its headwaters and enter the great lake states for a totally different experience. Stayed tuned. Enjoy the slideshow below of the Ft Abraham Lincoln State Park.

I invite you to check out a few more of my blogs that relate to this one in some way or another.

About a quirky roadside attraction by a South Dakotan artist.

About our visit to Utah’s State Capitol and other things about Salt Lake City.

The early morning silence was hypnotizing, as I quietly stalked the horses from a safe distance to find a clear view of the small herd. Standing still with camera in hand, the only sounds I heard were the rapid clicks of the camera’s shutter. This went on for a couple hours. That is, until I heard the deep and alarmingly close bellow of a bison.

One hundred days into our travels and 4520 towing miles later, one week ago Vivian and I completed our west-by-northwest route from Chokoloskee, Florida to Glacier National Park, Montana. We left the Rocky Mountains after having visited nine national parks beginning in New Mexico. Now in North Dakota, we were several hundred miles into our east-by-southeast route. On the morning of July 27, I was photographing wildlife in the badlands within National Park #10.

The legacies of conservationist President Theodore Roosevelt are significant and far reaching. Every time a President designates a National Monument, we have Roosevelt to thank for the 1906 American Antiquities Act. The comeback of the Plains Bison from near extinction is owed to President Roosevelt. As president, he was directly responsible for adding 230 million acres of protected public lands, including five national parks. There I stood in Theodore Roosevelt National Park photographing a herd of wild horses that are also in some way associated with the park’s eponym and his legacy.

I carefully walked toward the herd while examining my surroundings. Way too early for the drive-by tourists, I was alone with the wild horses. Meet equus caballus, the modern horse of North America. One of the mares, the largest of the group stood on a high hill overlooking the herd while giving me the eye. For the longest time, she did not move and neither did I. That’s fine, I can wait. The others paid no attention to me as they grazed casually. Eventually, the mare relaxed and went back to the calm demeanor of grazing. That’s all I needed – I was in.

During the modern ranching era, of which Roosevelt was a part, feral horses were considered a nuisance and cattlemen worked to exterminate them throughout the west. Efforts to preserve them ensued and in 1971, the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act mandated their protection and named them a “national heritage species”. Theodore Roosevelt National Park is one of the few where free-roaming horses live and are part of the legacy leftover by Roosevelt’s open range ranching era.

The small herd of horses gave me a gift in the form of a day-old filly and the mare she identified as mom. Almost entirely, my attention was drawn to the young horse with its long lanky legs barely able to keep her upright as she sprang back and forth in fits of energy, never straying more than a few horse lengths from mom. After short periods of activity, the young one would find a nice spot to lay down for a spell. Her watchful mom never let her out of her sight, and she most certainly was aware of the coyote that stalked the herd from a higher point for a short time that I could see.

For many years, the National Park Service attempted to remove all horses from the park. In 1970, the park changed its policy to recognize the horse as part of its history, yet another Roosevelt legacy. Horse management rather than removal is the park’s current approach. Occasionally, the park rounds up a small number of horses and takes them to public auction. Current management has evolved and includes contraception, genetic research, and low-stress capture techniques.

It wasn’t until after the fact when I began researching the horses that I learned about the North Dakota Badlands Horse, a nonprofit organization that monitors the herds in Theodore Roosevelt National Park. From their website, I found the link “2021 Foals” and discovered photographs of newborns. I was so delighted to find a picture with information on the mare and filly I had spent two hours photographing. The mare’s distinct markings made it easy for me to identify her. From the photograph description, I learned her name and her filly’s name, Dolly and Oakley, respectively. Oakley’s birth date was also provided, July 26, one day before I met her and Dolly. I also learned Oakley’s daddy’s name is Flax, the stallion who appears in a few of my photographs.

From last year’s visit to Custer State Park, I recognized the loud snorts and grumbles that emanate from North America’s largest land mammal. So, when I heard the distinct bellowing of a male bison that came from the other side of a hill where the horses were grazing, I suspected there was more than one bison nearby. Bison run in herds, and I did not want to find myself in the middle. The horses had already begun to move further away, cueing me to leave as well.

Within his namesake park, perhaps the most direct evidence of Roosevelt’s legacy is the extremely large bison herd that interrupted my photo shoot with the horses. The Park is a relatively small patch of land that is part of the Plains Bison’s rich grassland once extending from Canada to Mexico. When you visit a park and see bison in great numbers, you cannot help but think about their comeback from a few hundred shy of total extinction. Among many ways humans caused the bison’s near extinction was the re-introduction of the horse into North America. Horses compete with bison for grazing, but it was the use of the horse for hunting by the Plains Indians that caused a much greater devastation to bison.

But that was then, and this is now. The North American wild horse is a popular symbol of freedom, bravery, determination, and beauty. And for that, I am privileged to have spent time photographing them and observing their equine culture for a short time. After spending two hours with Flax and his harem, Dolly and Oakley, it was time for me and the horses to move out of the way and allow the bison its space. The horse and the bison co-exist in Theodore Roosevelt National Park, but the bison is the landlord. The unnamed bison, the keepers of the grasslands. Thank you, President Roosevelt.

Check out my previous blog about our first encounter with bison, and our 2021 national park experience.

Here are a few more images from our time at Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

We spent the better part of July in Montana. Consequently, we got a healthy dose of authentic cowboy culture. The myth of the cowboy that developed in the late 1900s remains strong today, even decades after John Wayne and the Marlboro Man passed away. Think of a cowboy and you’ll likely conjure up words like independent, free, rugged, and manly. The fact is, cattle herding was monotonous and numbing hard work, considered a lowly job on the fringe of society. But somehow cowboys got recast as the epitome of manly courage and rugged independence; men who, in Teddy Roosevelt’s words, “embody the hardy and self-reliant type who possess the manly qualities that are invaluable to a nation”.

As far as the cowboy is an icon of the American West Heritage, Montana is authentic cowboy country with its wild frontier and rugged Rocky Mountains. And it is here where we first experienced the cowboy as an entertainer/athlete and then later as an artist. Neither Vivian nor I had experienced a rodeo before attending the Livingston Round Up (the word rodeo by the way is Spanish for round up). It was the 4^th of July and rainstorms had sabotaged much of the day. By the time the rodeo began, clouds had cleared out and a cool crisp Montana evening unfolded. The arena stadium was filled with enthusiastic Montanans, some clearly there to celebrate the red, white and blue, but almost all to celebrate their Montana cowboy heritage.

That evening under the setting sun of a Big Montana Sky and the bright lights of the arena, Vivian and I sat in the crowded cheap seats. My attendance at an outdoor sporting event is a rare thing, which is more than I can say for Vivian who has never attended one. So, it is of no surprise we both felt totally out of place for that reason and a few others, including being a small minority of hatless persons and most likely the only people who could genuinely claim Miami as home. Expecting a drunken frenzy in the spirit of rugged Montana independence and American patriotism, we pleasantly found ourselves surrounded by the politest strangers we have ever encountered, many of whom watched the rodeo competition with an obvious respect for their cowboy and cowgirl compatriots. Consequently, we caught the cowboy fever and enjoyed the show. More so, we learned a lot about rodeos.

Shortly after that, we left Livingston and came into Great Falls where we parked for a week. While Livingston gave us a dose of cowboy pride, Great Falls offered up the cowboy artist and opened our eyes to Western Art. Great Falls, Montana cannot claim much to attract tourists, but it can proudly claim cowboy artist Charles M Russell. The city on the Missouri River has a significant connection to Lewis & Clark’s Corp of Discovery, so it is steeped in history. But unless you are a history buff, there is not much to see in Great Falls, except a treasure trove of western art thanks to Charles M. Russell.

Art and the cowboy never came together more perfectly than that of C.M. Russell and his paintings and sculptures. Born in 1864, Russell is known as the “original cowboy artist”. Growing up in Missouri, he drew sketches and created clay sculptures of animals, and had a strong interest in the “wild west”. After learning how to ride horses (he was taught on a famous Civil War horse named Great Britain), Charlie left school and went to Montana to work on a sheep farm and eventually on a ranch in the Judith Basin. It is there where Russell learned to be a cowboy and an artist.

He remained in Montana for the rest of his life, but it was during his time as a cattle herder working for a number of outfits that he began documenting the cowboy life through watercolors. He also spent a great deal of time among the Blood Indians, a part of the Blackfeet nation. From them, he gained knowledge of Native American culture. Both the cowboy culture and Native American culture come through realistically by way of Russell’s vivid and detailed paintings.

In 1896, Charlie married his wife Nancy who became his business partner and promoter. Too humble for self-promotion, Russell could attribute much of his fame and success to his wife. As an artist, Russell broke through at a time when interest in the cowboy and American West was great among eastern urban dwellers. Among some of Russell’s collectors were Will Rogers and Douglas Fairbanks as well as fellow artists of the West.

Russell’s remarkable illustrations of life in the Old West became a standard adopted by movies that became known as Westerns. Russell, who died at home in 1926 where he and Nancy resided in Great Falls for many years, produced over 4000 works of art, including oil and watercolor paintings, drawings, and sculptures of various mediums including bronze. On the day of his funeral, schools in Great Falls closed so the children could watch the funeral procession with Russell’s coffin displayed in a glass-sided coach pulled by four black horses (the carriage is on full display at the museum).

Recently, I began downloading magazines through the Miami-Dade Library System to fill some of our “lack of wifi” time while on the road. I was happy to see among the collection a magazine titled “Western Art Collector”. Having been to the C.M. Russell Museum, it piqued my interest. Russell’s legacy permeates the magazine, and his influence is obvious among several contemporary artists’ work. I eagerly perused the pages, enjoying announcements of exhibits with titles like “Vistas, Varmints and Vagabonds” or “The West – A Second Coming”. Western Art has a large following and from what we have seen, it is no surprise to us. Here is a small sample of artwork from other artists (including one of my favorites, Thomas Moran) on display at the CM Russell Museum.

Seeing Russell’s work and other western artists’ work in Montana added a new dimension to our travels out west. Exploring the western wilderness via national parks is priceless but the revelations that come from the art of someone who interprets it as they lived it adds great meaning to our travels. We saw this in New Mexico where Georgia O’Keeffe revealed her intimate connection to the high desert landscapes. And now in Montana, Charles M Russell brought to life the Old West through the art and soul of a cowboy.

Enjoy more photos from our visit to Bozeman, Livingston and Great Falls.

You can read more about how art plays a big role in our travels, including Georgia O’Keeffe, a photographer in a cave, the art of rock n’ roll, and our attraction to quirky, creepy art.

The Americas have several hydrological divides, one of which runs all the way from northern Alaska to Central America. Being the longest of all, this one is known as THE Continental Divide or sometimes as the Great Divide. Compared to the other divides, the great one is associated with the highest peaks along the primary mountain ranges of the Rockies and the Andes. The spine of the Rockies runs through Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico, and is likely the most outstanding feature that defines the American West. I always thought that if I could fly alongside the Rockies at eye level, I might envision the peaks to be an arrangement of musical notes and each mountain range might be a chord.

While camped on the Henry’s Fork near West Yellowstone, we devoted one day to drive a long distance (110 miles one way) to Grand Teton National Park. Inside the park, we viewed the peaks named by the early French voyageurs, ‘les trois tétons’ or ‘the three nipples’. What makes the Teton Range so famous is that they have a dramatic elevation on the eastern side, which is where the national park is established. From the valley floor, the staccato-like peaks rise sharply 4000 to 7000 feet without foothills or smaller peaks to block the view. This is because the Tetons are relatively young and have not yet eroded into the slow tempo of soft hills. In fact, the Teton Range is the youngest among the Rocky Mountains. The young summits rise as high as 13,775 feet.

When most people vacation in the American West, it is with the intention of being in the mountains, to stand in awe of the grand peaks, to hike up or climb on. Like a melody, the mountain peaks inspire us and evoke emotions. Consequently, I felt a touch of guilt as I stood on the Teton valley floor looking up at those spectacular peaks feeling a bit uninspired. Maybe it was the high-pitched expectations, after all we were told by a few that the Tetons would drown out Yellowstone on any day. Not so for me.

And here is why. We saw the Tetons, but we didn’t experience them. We heard them, but we didn’t really listen to them. Admittedly, we were in the park for a half day, barely enough time to hike along String Lake or capture a few shots of the peaks from popular locations like Schwabacher Landing and Mormon Row. The peaks remained a distant pattern, like the repeating sound of a jazz drummer’s ride cymbal. From our very short visit, we can only say we have been to Grand Teton National Park where I took a postcard photograph of the famous peaks. And that’s about it.

After staying near West Yellowstone, we pulled the RV a short distance north of Yellowstone NP where friends Mike and Kris built their home near the Yellowstone River. They generously gave us their driveway to park and then introduced us to the Beartooth Mountains, another mountain range offspring of the Rocky Mountains, but much more mature than the Tetons. Classical vs contemporary. These mountains are part of the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem, which makes them unique and diverse. Among them is Granite Peak, the highest point in Montana (12,799 ft) and through which Chief Joseph led the Nez Perce Indians while attempting to reach Canada in 1877.

The Beartooth Mountains contain large plateaus that exist at altitudes above 10,000 ft and contain 25 small glaciers, and over 300 lakes, some with waterfalls. We had the pleasure of hiking a small portion of the Beartooth plateau (where no trees grow), which allowed Vivian to touch snow for the second time in her life. Unlike our Grand Teton visit, we were IN the mountains. An octave or two above the valley at 10,000 feet, we stood on large rocks (among some of the oldest on earth) and looked at the mountain peaks at eye level. We were in an alpine environment where winds can blow above 100 mph and temperatures can drop to 70 degrees below zero. It is where an inch of topsoil can take up to a 1,000 years to develop, and where plants and animals survive a growing season lasting three months or less. If this environment were music, it would be the harsh and loud brass instruments that can also be lured back into a steady and calm note to support the softer melodic woodwinds.

Later, we hiked through a subalpine section (8000-10000 feet) where we found respite from the hot daytime temperatures that had prevailed for several weeks on our travels. Wildflowers were beginning to come out of dormancy and entice us with brilliant blues, reds and yellows. Small glacial lakes offered brilliant water reflections of rock and snow patches. I could almost hear the lilting sounds of a clarinet concerto. Avid hikers and climbers, Mike and Kris have spent many days and nights playing these mountains and memorizing the notes. A small sample was given to us as they pointed to sections of the range and described their climbs – the woodwinds over here, the percussion over there.

If the mountains were a grand symphony, then our short time in the Teton and Beartooth Mountains amounted to one note. But it was a spectacular note. Maybe on our next visit we will hear a few bars.

This blog is inspired by our first visit to Yellowstone National Park. But I will warn you now, I am going off on a tangent, sort of a Bill Bryson “Short History of Nearly Everything” kind of tangent.

Many years ago, I picked up an oversized book at the local Borders bookstore titled “The Animal Kingdom”. I think I paid $10 ($2 per lb) for it as it was among many on a table of discounted books. As someone fascinated with how life forms adapt to their environments, I loved that 1000+-page book and referred to it quite often to indulge my armchair analyses of the natural world. And it was only when Vivian and I purged most of our belongings to live in a 300-sq-ft RV that I parted ways with it.

What left an impression on me from that book came from its introduction. In it, the main topic ‘Animals’ was placed into a broader context in which all living things are organized (biological taxonomy). The information was current enough that it described the three-domain system devised by Carl Woese in 1990. Basically, all life can be categorized into archaea, bacteria and eukarya. Stay with me here, this blog really is about Yellowstone National Park.

To put this into a casual blog context, there are two kinds of cells in this world. One is the well-known eukaryote which contains a membrane-bound nucleus where all the genetic coding exists. Eukaryotes are what animals and plants are made of, and thus, animals and plants (along with fungi by the way) fall into the eukarya domain. Whereas, the unicellular microorganisms of the archaea and bacteria domain are prokaryotes, cells with no membrane-bound nucleus. And here’s a fun fact, prokaryotes were the first life forms on this planet, eukaryotes evolved from them. Nevertheless, eukaryotes are profoundly different from prokaryotes.

In the 1970s, scientists began sequencing DNA and RNA. Applying this cutting-edge technology, Woese & colleagues discovered that bacteria were just as different from archaea as they were from eukaryotes. As a result of their work, Woese determined that any known life form could be classified within one of these three domains – archaea, bacteria or eukarya. I don’t know about yours, but in my mind that offers an interesting perspective on life considering that humans are only one of millions of species within the animal kingdom that is only one of four within one domain that is one of three on the entire tree of life.

Upon my discovery of the three domains, I turned my attention away from the sexy topic of eukarya and discovered a more seductive one and while at it, picked up a new favorite word – extremophile. Almost entirely within the archaea domain are the prokaryotic unicellular organisms that live under extreme conditions. Having spent a better part of my adult life studying human physiological adaptations to physical stress, I was drawn naturally to the idea that there are organisms surviving, strike that, thriving in environmental conditions so extreme that a human could not survive beyond a millisecond. Our physiology allows us to endure a lot, hot and cold temperatures, excessive physical demands, and high and low atmospheric pressures. When our physiology reaches its limits, our brains devise ways to overcome those limitations. Up to a point, that is. To that end, extremophiles make us look like wimps.

Some extremophiles live in ice, some live thousands of feet under the ocean surface next to sea vents and some live in Yellowstone National Park. While you were self-isolating to avoid a tiny virus spreading across the land, you may have run across a story about a discovery in Yellowstone in 1966. On a visit to the park, biologist Dr. Thomas Brock made a discovery that microorganisms lived in the extreme heat of Yellowstone’s hot pools.

A couple decades later, another scientist, Kary Mullis was attempting to make copies of a single DNA molecule. To do that, he needed an enzyme that could work at high temperatures. Guess where he found his enzyme? From Brock’s discovery of Thermus aquaticus in Yellowstone, scientists like Mullis could purchase a culture and grow batches to find the heat-resistant enzyme. It worked and those enzymes became the key to a widely used method to make millions of copies of genetic material. That method, called polymerase chain reaction or PCR, has such a significant effect on scientific advances, that a Nobel Prize in Chemistry was awarded to Mullis in 1993. And In 2020, scientists used the PCR method (remember the nose swab?) to detect the genetic material of COVID-19. You got to love science.

But I digress. The real reason most of us come to Yellowstone is not because of a fascination of tiny microorganisms that can live in temperatures above 170 degrees or pH levels below 3, but rather because our eyes perceive it as one of the most beautiful and fascinating places on earth. Earth needs to let off a little steam and heat, and it does so through its geothermal exit points – geysers, fumeroles, hot springs and mudpots. And where there are geothermals, there are thermophilic archaea and bacteria thriving among them. Because these extremophiles love to interact with heat and light, they become a feast of colors to the human eye. The creation of art through the collaborative efforts of biology and physics. Art on the edge brought to you by extremophilia.

And that is where we are left standing, in awe of earth and its life forms that present themselves beyond our human boundaries. That’s the nature of nature, and Yellowstone National Park offers one of the best ornaments on the tree of life.

We drove north to Utah’s most northern border which meant we were very close to Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons. We could smell them in the air, that’s how close we were to them. But first, we had to take a detour and see the moon. Yellowstone would have to wait a few more days. So, let me tell you about our short time on the moon, and then we’ll get on with the granddaddy of national parks, all in good time.

It amazes me that during the 1920s when laissez faire government dominated the post-war, pre-depression era, 11 national monuments that remain in existence today were designated. Among them is Craters of the Moon National Monument & Preserve that was declared in 1924 by President Calvin Coolidge. What is even more amazing is how it and many other parks and monuments came to be in the first place– through the passion and dedication of visionaries that insisted these lands be preserved and protected.

Before describing a fascinating story of a fascinating Idahoan explorer who took up photography to document his adventures, let me introduce you to Craters of the Moon. In short, the park service describes it as a “weird and scenic landscape where yesterday’s volcanic events are likely to continue tomorrow.” On the Snake River Plain in Idaho are three young lava fields covering a half million acres. For about 15,000 years up until about 2000 years ago, lava erupted through several deep cracks that all together are known as the Great Rift.

When you come into Craters of the Moon, you will not see a large volcano like Mt St. Helens, for instance. Instead, you’ll see fields of rugged lava flows with several volcanic cones, cinder cone fragments and lava tube caves. This harsh landscape was created from fissure eruptions, along cracks in the earth’s crust. The eruptions were many, but relatively mild, thus producing several small cinder cones and extensive lava flows. Each cinder cone is a small volcano, the highest rising about 600 ft. Long ago, it would have been twice as high before the top blew off.

How did Craters of the Moon get its name? Here’s where the story of how it became a national monument turns interesting. During the late 1800s, people who traveled this area found nothing to love about the inhospitable lava beds that posed only as an obstacle to travel. One of Idaho’s most enthusiastic promoters thought differently. In 1918, Robert Limbert’s interest in the area piqued when he heard of a species of dwarf grizzlies. He made a couple short trips into the area and while he never found his grizzly, he did discover a great interest for exploring the lava fields.

In May 1920, Limbert, his Airedale dog Teddy and friend WC Cole went out with 2-weeks provisions. Weighing in at 55 lb, his backpack included a large camera and a rifle. By this time, Limbert had become a well-known naturalist writer for magazines like Outdoor Life. To illustrate his articles, he became a photographer. He set out to discover the lava fields with intentions of recording his discoveries on film.

After walking several miles through sagebrush, they came onto their first lava flow, thick piles of sharp, irregular rocks. Limbert described it this way – “Like a pile of millions of cups and saucers where every time you took a step you slipped and, every time you slipped, you cut yourself”. The trek over the irregular rocks took its toll on the dog whose paws became raw. Limbert and Cole took to carrying the dog or waited for him to pick his way through the rock. At one point, Limbert cut patches of leather from his jacket to cover and protect the dog’s feet.

They crossed 28 miles of jagged lava flows during the first three days of the trek. Setting up camp at night was near impossible with very little level space to lie down upon. Waterholes were located by following old Indian or mountain sheep trails and watching birds drop down from the sky to drink water. After 17 days and 80 miles, they completed their journey upon arriving at the base of the Pioneer Mountains. Limbert summarized his experience this way – “To stand and gaze with amazement mingled with fear at things of which the world knows nothing…passing alone through volcanic craters…crossing miles of folds of rock similar to the folds of a huge blanket was indeed an experience never to be forgotten”.

After that, Limbert continued to explore the area (without the dog) and brought scientists and civic leaders with him while arguing for the protection of the volcanic region. During these trips, he made over 200 still photographs and 4,000 feet of motion picture film. Limbert described his experiences vividly with stunning photo essays accompanying his articles in newspapers and magazines, the most prominent of which was in the March 1924 edition of National Geographic. Limbert also sent President Coolidge a scrapbook with pictures and descriptions of his experience in the Great Rift. Within two months following National Geographic’s publication of ‘Among the “Craters of the Moon”, Coolidge proclaimed the establishment of Craters of the Moon National Monument.

Under the Wilderness Act of 1964, Craters of the Moon was designated in 1970 as the first wilderness area in any national park unit. In 2000, its territory was expanded by 495, 000 acres. By the way, Craters of the Moon is not an extinct volcanic area, rather it is dormant. In other words, those volcanoes are not dead, they are only sleeping – for now.

At this point, Utah’s colorful landscapes within premiere parks were the crème de la crème of our travels. For the past three weeks we had been exploring Utah’s iconic rock landscapes by way of four national parks, three state parks, and three national monuments. It was time for a change and a little down time. Utah’s exquisitely expressive rock formations will always remain vivid in our conscious and will be what identifies Utah for us. But while Utah’s geological history became front and center in our travel lessons, the state’s human history also piqued our interest. After several weeks among its national parks, we had additional time to spend in Utah as we necessarily drove through Salt Lake City on our way to Idaho. Consequently, we stayed in the Great Salt Lake area for six days, first at Deer Creek State Park near Provo and then north of SLC in Ogden.

Looking up in the museum’s lobby from various perspectives, I could not stop photographing these translucent filaments that refracted rays of light like a giant prism. This is the work of artist Gabriel Dawe.

Up until then, the fact that Utah is often identified as a “Mormon State” stayed on the back burner of our minds while we explored its remote and wild desert regions. It was only during our time in Bluff that we thought about Mormons while learning the fascinating story of how and why Bluff was founded. Each state in the union can claim it’s fame from something unique to it, and I suppose the fact that two thirds of Utah’s population (about 2 million people) identify themselves as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-Day Saints is quite a unique quality.

Indeed, Utah is the only state where most of the population belongs to one church. As the President of the Church, Russell M. Nelson is given the exclusive right to receive revelations from God on behalf of the entire church or the entire world. The president is the highest priesthood authority on earth. That’s a lot of power for one person. One Man and one Church equals the majority rule in Utah.

And by the way, during our tour of Temple Square that was led by two very young and enthusiastic members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I never once heard the word “Mormon”. Later, I learned that in 2018, President Nelson said that God had “impressed upon my mind the importance of the name he has revealed for his church”. Thusly, the church announced, that its members should no longer call themselves Mormons, or even use the shorthand LDS. Instead, they should use the full name Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or Latter-day Saints for short. Because Nelson is revered as a living prophet, the announcement came with divine weight.

So, the church that has been popularly known as the Mormons or Mormonism, wants people to stop using the ‘M’ word. As a person not associated with the Church of Latter-day Saints, or any Church for that matter, I can understand their reasoning. The word ‘Mormon’ has often been used to identify a specific group of Christians that don’t fit in with the other kids on the playground of Christianity. I have witnessed ridicule and derision toward Mormonism and this was in far-away Michigan where it’s doubtful many Mormons reside. One of the reasons for a certain disdain has to do with polygamy, although Utah was granted statehood in 1896 on the condition it ban polygamy. However, perceptions die hard.

No other Church community can claim a “Great Migration” in the U.S or as great of a colonization as the Latter-Day Saints. The fact the Great Mormon Migration occurred from Illinois to Utah was due to the growing influence and power of its charismatic leader and founder, Joseph Smith. By 1847, Smith’s relatively new Church was expanding in numbers and gaining a foothold in Illinois politics. Outsiders perceived it as clannish and of course, there was the seedy polygamy issue. Following Smith’s murder by an angry mob, his successor Brigham Young gathered up the church members and convinced them to get out of Illinois where violence and persecution against them were ramping up.

(We spent a couple hours walking around the newly renovated state capitol. Take a look at this slideshow and you’ll see why we spent so much time there.)

So, with handcarts and a handful of slaves to help them on the way, Young led his followers to a secluded place where they could prosper – the Promised Land. The pioneers made the 1300-mile trek from Illinois to Utah and on July 24, 1847, found themselves in the Salt Lake Valley where they settled – without the approval of the Mexican government or the indigenous people already living there, of course. Once settled in the valley, the pioneers proceeded to spread out far and wide across the Utah territory, forming a strong foothold in the area.

(Here is a slideshow with photos from our day spent on Antelope Island, where the bison and antelope roam free.)

Because the combination of religion and politics should never be brought up in conversation, I will leave you with one final point of interest – Utah’s state motto. It is one word – ‘Industry’. Do you know the significance of a state motto? It is representative of what is valued most by a state. For Utah, it is the legacy of its pioneers that relied on industry to survive in a place where few material resources existed. But then again, so did many people back in those days, including those already living there.

One last view of our time in Ogden, a few scenes from its historic downtown area: