Chapter 5

Official daylight was shortly after five in the morning here in Yellowstone in June, but unofficially, the skies began to brighten a little after four-thirty. Regardless, the trees did little to lend their shadows to our tent, and I was awake shortly after official daylight. Contrary to instructions, I had given into an urge at REI and purchased the solar shower. This was simply a black bag into which you poured water in the morning, allowing the sun to heat it to some sort of bearable temperature during the day. When you felt you could take it, you allowed the lukewarm water to cascade over your body and clear off the soap scum, leaving you moderately refreshed. I didn’t have that kind of patience.

I changed into my swim trunks, grabbed my towel, bio-degradable soap and shampoo, took the bag with me and headed toward the wash-down area. I filled the bag with water, (is it necessary to tell you that it was only just this side of freezing?) and hung it from an overhead support. Taking a breath, I let loose a thin stream, enough to get me thoroughly wet and cold, soaped and shampooed up and rinsed off.

That was the quickest shower in my life. I have to say, I did feel clean though, and awake. On my way back, I picked up the cast-iron fry pan that the Emersons had scrubbed spotless for me and made my way into our camp. There were no embers in our fire pit, so I added some wood and started a new fire. When I was getting more heat than flame, I placed the frying pan on the grate and after letting it come to temperature, laid a few rashers of bacon into it. I should clarify – by ‘a few’ I mean that I peeled all the strips off the two pound pack that we had purchased yesterday and put them on to fry in the monster of a pan that we had brought with us.

There was a collective groan as the delectable smell of frying bacon wafted across most of the 85 campsites at our campground. I think only the Emersons were spared the delicious torture I was providing because they were upwind. Dad certainly wasn’t.

He came stumbling out of the tent, looking just a little worse for wear after spending a brisk June night in Yellowstone with only flimsy nylon sheeting for shelter.

He glared at me, “You forgot to bring pillows.”

I had pulled the bacon off already and it was draining on paper towels. The grease was dumped into the fire, adding a little conflagration to the morning’s festivities. I poured the scrambled eggs into the pan and set it back on the heat.

His glare softened as he looked at breakfast being made, “But you’re forgiven.”

The kettle boiling on the side of the grate gave a piercing scream suddenly. I grabbed it, released the pressure, waited a moment and then emptied it into the French press that was waiting on the picnic table. There was another collective groan from the entire campground as the smell of coffee being made wafted over our side of the lake, mingled with bacon and eggs.

He saw the towel, soap and shampoo I had left out for him. “Do I have time?”

The eggs were beginning to curdle properly, but the heat of the fire had died back and it would be some time before they were ready. “Five minutes.”

Dad grabbed everything he needed and took off like a scalded cat. He came back before I had put the finishing touches on the meal, clean, and even cleanly shaven. I have no idea how he managed that. No matter. He still looked good at 43. Mom always said she married him because of his chiseled good looks, and she often told me I looked just like him. There were differences though: he stood 6’1” where I was an inch shorter, I’d estimate he weighed 205 to my 195, his blue-grey eyes looked into the soul of people, where mine lacked the grey, and were more inviting. Other than that, we had the same short-cropped sandy brown hair, same nose, mouth and ears. If it wasn’t for the fact that his hair was starting to grey at the temples while I still had the vigor of youth, we could have been brothers. Regardless, it was clear we were related and I was glad to know that if I kept in shape, in another 25 to 30 years I could look like my dad did now.

We settled in at the tablecloth covered picnic table for breakfast. Dad pulled out a copy of Our Daily Bread and his Bible and laid them beside his plate. It was an action he hadn’t taken in about a year, and I was pleased to see that he intended to start again. I poured coffee into our mugs and sat down, waiting for him to say grace.

Breakfast was quiet, but not because we had nothing to say to each other, more because we were hungry. We finished eating and took a few minutes to have devotions. It felt good to re-establish traditions we had set aside for a while.

When we were done, Dad took the dishes and washed them in water that had been warming on our grill grate. I pulled out the two folding camp chairs I had packed and set them up by the fire. There was another mug of coffee waiting when Dad rejoined me. We spent a lazy half hour, drinking coffee and listening to the campground wake up around us.

It was close to eight o’clock when the same ranger from yesterday approached us. He gestured at one of the logs arranged for seating by the fire and Dad nodded. I got up.

“Can I get you some coffee?”

“I’d love some, thanks.” He added as an afterthought, “Black please.”

I found a mug and brought it back full. Dad waited while the Ranger took a tentative sip.

“So what can we do for you this morning Mr. Ranger, Sir?”

I don’t know where the Yogi Bear impression came from, but it was spot-on. The Park Ranger almost choked on the coffee he was trying to drink.

“I think that was the best voice I’ve heard yet, and I’ve been doing this job for the last five years.” He looked at Dad before taking another tentative sip. “Just wanted to stop in and say good morning, see how everything was going.” He glanced around our campsite and noted that all the food was put away, there was no trash lying around and everything was clean.

Dad asked him about the fishing on the lake, and that got the conversation started. Apparently, we had snagged a prime spot last night, not that our results hadn’t already told us that. There were a few other locations that boasted fishing at least as good as the inlet we had found, but most of them were too far away to be practical for us to walk.

The Ranger, whose surname was Lewis, asked what we wanted to see and do while we were here. We gave the standard answers: Old Faithful, mud pits, geysers, hiking. Lewis let us know that we should get in to see most of that early, as the crowds really started to pick up around mid-day. We chatted for a few more minutes until he got up to leave.

“Uh, if tomorrow’s a repeat of today, do you think you could save me a couple pieces of bacon?”

We roared out with laughter, probably waking anyone still inclined to sleep in on this beautiful morning. “Will do.” I promised. Ranger Lewis smiled and invited us to stop by the official shack some time.

Dad and I were still trying to decide how to spend our day when Mr. Emerson stopped by to ask if we wanted to join their family for breakfast. We told him that we had already eaten, but we’d be happy to come by in a few minutes if they had some coffee on. He headed back, whistling, while we cleaned up our camp and locked away portable items in the Tahoe.

The Emerson camp was just finishing their Wheaties when we figuratively knocked on their door. We were invited to sit with them by the fire they had going. Since Dad and I had brought our folding chairs with us today, we gladly joined them. I noticed that the twins weren’t happy about this, as they were still eating and had to stay at the picnic table until they were allowed to mingle.

First Tara and then Sandy announced that they were finished, drawing an inspection from their mother. She allowed that yes, they were done, but needed to clean up, which meant helping with the washing. She enlisted them to help her get some potable water at the campground spigot after they wiped off hands and mouths with a washcloth. They were reluctant to leave, but being good girls, followed their mother as she led them away.

“Good,” said Mr. Emerson, “I needed to ask you two something without the twins hearing it.”

We glanced at each other and Dad shrugged, “Ask away.”

Bill looked a little embarrassed, “Tara and Sandy really enjoyed Tim’s company yesterday and wanted to know if the two of you could join us at Old Faithful today. We’d love for you to come with us, but only if you want to and don’t have other plans for the day.”

Dad laughed, “We were actually just trying to make plans when you came over to invite us for coffee. Let me talk to Tim for a moment and then we’ll let you know.”

Bill excused himself to go up to their tent and tidy up a bit. It wasn’t much, but it gave Dad and me the opportunity for some semi-private conversation.

“What do you think, Tim? Can you handle that much female adoration?”

I didn’t want to sound blasé about it, but this had happened more than once with Mom’s after-school ballet classes. “No problem, Dad. Besides, they’re a really cool family, and it’s fun spending time with them.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Bill that we’re in, and we can work out the logistics together.”

We sat there by the fire, not quite enjoying the cup of instant coffee we had been provided, waiting for the Emerson family to show up. When we could hear the girls’ voices approaching the camp, Bill rejoined us.

“We’d love to see Old Faithful with your family, Bill.” Dad told him.

The happy smile he gave us was tinged with relief, likely because he didn’t have to tell his little girls that we wouldn’t be accompanying them. “That’s great, thank you, guys.” He looked around his camp, “We could take our mini-van if you don’t mind. We’ll just have to lock up some stuff in your vehicle if we do.”

“Sure, that’ll work. Is there anything we can start with?” Dad offered.

“If you’ll hang on until Angie gets back, she can let you know what can be put away.” Bill replied.

We didn’t have to wait long at all before the three Emerson women reappeared, although the squeals from the twins made us wish we hadn’t been there for that. Dad and I excused ourselves in order to make room in the SUV and pack a day bag with anything we might want – snacks, water, warm clothing etc.

Tara and Sandy came running into our camp with a load of clothing and other items that needed to be packed into the Tahoe. Their mother followed at a more sedate pace, loaded down with a heavier burden. We accompanied them back, returning with a second armful to be locked up in our vehicle. After that, it was simply a matter of waiting until everyone had made a trip to the outhouse, got cleaned up and buckled in, and we were on our way.

I found out, with an excited Sandy chattering in my ear, that the family had been on vacation for a week already, tomorrow was their last day at Yellowstone after which they were going to drive home to Chicago. She was seated in the second row, strapped into a booster seat. Her sister was relegated to the third row along with their mom, and had been promised that she could trade places with Sandy on the way back to camp. Dad was riding shotgun for Mr. Emerson, keeping up a lively chatter about the flora and fauna that was to be found to the side of the road.

In less than a half hour, we were parked by the Visitor Education Center at the Old Faithful geyser. There was a clamor for everyone to be let out of the vehicles. Mr. Emerson turned in his seat to face his girls.

“Tara, Sandy, you make sure that wherever you go today, you let me or your mom know where you are. That means that before you drag Tim or Uncle James,” Dad looked nonplussed at his sudden elevation to uncle status, “somewhere, you check with one of us first. Understand?”

There was a dual chorus of, “Yes, Daddy.”

Dad looked at me and held up his phone, “Are you charged, Tim?”

I nodded, having taken time on the ride to top off my phone’s battery. This mini-van had just about all the luxuries you could want, not least of which were USB ports for electronic devices. I noticed that the adults had done the same thing with theirs as we drove.

Dad and I exchanged numbers with Bill and Angie, taking identifying pictures to match with names and digits. We waited a moment while calls were made and phones rang, verifying the correct input of information. Having completed that, the van doors swung open and we all piled out.

I had just managed to get my backpack in place when both of my hands were captured, one each by a young lady. I simply smiled, beginning to walk toward the Visitor Center so we could find out what time the main event was due to occur. I had to shorten my stride slightly so that I wasn’t pulling my little limpets with me. I didn’t know at the time, but their parents were behind us, snapping pictures like crazy.

That set the tone for the day. We sat in the bleachers, waiting for the geyser, the girls on either side of me with the proud parents taking pictures. We found some trails that were manageable for the girls, and walked off some of their energy. At least one of my hands was constantly occupied. I know this because the shots that showed up on Facebook later demonstrated that.

When we had seen enough of Old Faithful and the surrounding environs, we all piled back into the van, got on the road, and headed north again toward Fountain Paint Pot. That was pretty amazing. Again the cameras on the Emerson’s phones were busy. The rest of the day was similar. We’d drive for a little bit, find something interesting to see, snap a thousand photos, then continue on. Somewhere in the middle of all that, we found a vendor shack selling bison burgers which Dad bought for everyone. The girls kept complaining that it didn’t taste like regular hamburgers, which made all of us smile. There are several shots of that on Mrs. Emerson’s Facebook page as well.

Mid-way through the afternoon, as we were driving another segment along the loop that would take us past the northwest shore of Yellowstone lake, the girls finally succumbed to sleep, lulled perhaps by the drone of the wheels on pavement. Mrs. Emerson took the opportunity to talk to me.

“Tim, you have no idea what this means to my babies. Thank you so much.”

I put on my, ‘aw shucks Ma’am, it’s no big deal’ face, “It’s my pleasure.”

“How did you get so good with kids?”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to answer that, but healing was part of this trip. “Mom owned a dance studio and I helped out from the time I was the age of your kids until about nine months ago. She used to make me the designated boy for her ballet classes, at first only with beginners, but as I got older and bigger, she had me in all of them.” I smiled at the memory of being dragged in against my will. “When I got big, the beginners were intimidated by my size, sort of like your girls were, and so I had to learn how to help them overcome that.”

Mrs. Emerson laughed softly so as not to wake her kids, “Tim, it wasn’t only your size that was intimidating them. I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror, but you are a very handsome young man. You’re big, yes, but I’ll bet that in the last couple of years, the older girls were acting shy around you too, and you probably just poured on your natural charm until they were all comfortable again.”

I thought back to all those girls in Mom’s classes and realized that Mrs. Emerson was right, that’s exactly what happened. I flashed a quick smile at her.

She wasn’t done. “Tim, I have a favor to ask: I looked on Facebook and can’t find your page. I wanted to friend you for my girls’ sake, but there’s nothing there.”

My smile widened, “That’s because I don’t have a profile. I’ve never felt the need to plaster my every move on the internet for the world to see.”

“Oh, that explains it. Okay ... then, could I have your permission to post some of the pictures of you with Tara and Sandy on my wall?”

This lady had class, asking for my permission like that. I couldn’t see where that would be a problem, “Sure, that should be fine.”

“Uh, one more favor?”

Mom used to get me with that all the time. I’d say yes and get roped into some nasty chore simply because I agreed before I heard what she wanted. “What favor would that be?” I asked.

Mrs. Emerson looked unsure of herself, “Well, the girls have a cousin, Amanda, my sister’s daughter, who’s about your age. They adore her, and she loves them right back. She’s a great role model for them, but because she’s older, Amanda always gets to have the life experiences first. She has just recently been allowed to start dating, and as of this morning when I checked, my niece still hasn’t had a boyfriend.”