Submitted by Ann Ramsey-Moor on Sat, 12/06/2008 - 22:31.
Thanks for the lovely reflection on Yellowstone, which so evidently comes from a heart overflowing with gratitude for natural beauty. I don't remember seeing any snowmobiles in Yellowstone when our family visited it 15 years ago. (The air was clean; it was perfectly quiet; and our view of Old Faithful was unimpeded!) However, I do recall our surprise and delight on encountering red-furred baby bison, along with their mothers, in the still-snowy park that spring. The animals had intelligently "set up shop" in areas where steam vents had melted the snow and exposed the tender grasses for munching purposes. It was fascinating, and a bit scary, to watch these great beasts and their young and to imagine just how many more of them once roamed the area.
My favorite wild place to come home to -- where I truly have left a piece of myself -- is Yosemite. To some folks, it is a vacation cliché. To others, as they look at the smog, the backpackers' trash, and the long lines of summer traffic, it is a cautionary tale about how not to manage a national park. To me, though, it is a place that never ceases to thrill and amaze. Having visited it several times a year, in all seasons, during the 20 years we lived in California, I know its anatomy fairly well. And I still find it incredible when I meet Easterners who have never been there.
There is nothing like standing at the base of El Capitan, in the silence and darkness of night, with the glint of some climber's lantern visible high up the sheer cliff face, for gaining a sense of perspective. (Enormous, timeless monolith versus tiny, mortal me!) Or standing close enough to Nevada or Vernal Falls to hear the water's roar and feel the mist when the snow melt has created a colossal spring runoff. Or, as my daughter and I did when we returned to the park two summers ago, gazing down into Yosemite Valley from Glacier Point -- a heart-stopping, panoramic view beyond words. Or gazing across Tuolumne Meadows in late summer at a riotously colorful expanse of alpine wildflowers. Or cross-country skiing the road to Badger Pass in winter.
I continue to be thankful for all such places in our country, as in the wider world, for they offer us the gift of renewal. There, apart from the metropolitan rush, we can slow down; take some deep breaths; contemplate what is beautiful; value what is unspoiled; restore our bodies; and consider that the compulsive, driven way we often approach our daily lives may not be the best way after all.
Yellowstone Remembered -- and Yosemite National Park
Thanks for the lovely reflection on Yellowstone, which so evidently comes from a heart overflowing with gratitude for natural beauty. I don't remember seeing any snowmobiles in Yellowstone when our family visited it 15 years ago. (The air was clean; it was perfectly quiet; and our view of Old Faithful was unimpeded!) However, I do recall our surprise and delight on encountering red-furred baby bison, along with their mothers, in the still-snowy park that spring. The animals had intelligently "set up shop" in areas where steam vents had melted the snow and exposed the tender grasses for munching purposes. It was fascinating, and a bit scary, to watch these great beasts and their young and to imagine just how many more of them once roamed the area.
My favorite wild place to come home to -- where I truly have left a piece of myself -- is Yosemite. To some folks, it is a vacation cliché. To others, as they look at the smog, the backpackers' trash, and the long lines of summer traffic, it is a cautionary tale about how not to manage a national park. To me, though, it is a place that never ceases to thrill and amaze. Having visited it several times a year, in all seasons, during the 20 years we lived in California, I know its anatomy fairly well. And I still find it incredible when I meet Easterners who have never been there.
There is nothing like standing at the base of El Capitan, in the silence and darkness of night, with the glint of some climber's lantern visible high up the sheer cliff face, for gaining a sense of perspective. (Enormous, timeless monolith versus tiny, mortal me!) Or standing close enough to Nevada or Vernal Falls to hear the water's roar and feel the mist when the snow melt has created a colossal spring runoff. Or, as my daughter and I did when we returned to the park two summers ago, gazing down into Yosemite Valley from Glacier Point -- a heart-stopping, panoramic view beyond words. Or gazing across Tuolumne Meadows in late summer at a riotously colorful expanse of alpine wildflowers. Or cross-country skiing the road to Badger Pass in winter.
I continue to be thankful for all such places in our country, as in the wider world, for they offer us the gift of renewal. There, apart from the metropolitan rush, we can slow down; take some deep breaths; contemplate what is beautiful; value what is unspoiled; restore our bodies; and consider that the compulsive, driven way we often approach our daily lives may not be the best way after all.
-- Ann Ramsey-Moor
Ellicott City, MD