In the beginning….

In the beginning isn’t a Biblical blog, merely the beginning of my return to writing and my travels.    There are days when words spilleth over and others when I wonder why anyone reads blogs at all.  The intent of  Ramblinggirl is mainly to chronicle travels, whether they be nearby trips to the beach, or my travels through this wonderful country of ours.  Generally the  big trips are with my long time friend and former Connecticut neighbor, Carol.

We don’t recall the actual beginning of our annual trips, except for a few to Rockport, Massachusetts where there is a family home.  The year after those trips  Carol and I  went to Maine.  Then there was a trip to visit Carol in California.  The next year we went to Montana and this is where the telling begins.

We met in Spokan, Washington at the airport.  Since Carol and I come from opposite sides of the country there is often a gap in our arrival times.    Carol arrived first, checked into the hotel in  Cour d’alene, Idaho  and rented the car.  She  then returned to the airport to pick me up.

We used to share driving, although on this trip Carol drove most of that trip, giving me the opportunity to wonder in awe  at trees that reach up to heaven.  This too is the place where we first encountered logging trucks. loaded down and driving  every one of the 75 mph speed limit.   The remainder of day one was spent driving around Cour d’alene, the lovely down town area with artisan painted buffalo statues decorating the storefronts until either auction later in the month.

Day 2 we headed for Glacier National Park.  The ride through the park was one of the most terrifying I have ever experienced.  We were there the later part of June and the road through the park had just opened after a long hard winter.  The crew was still working to repair road washout and remove avalanche snow slides that often brought animal carcases  along with it.  The road was a  twisty,  winding, narrow road with a very small  guard rail,  still under repair in places.  We were on the outside of the road and as I looked over the edge I could see only treetops.  How those cute red buses travel this road I have no idea.   Carol kept reassuring me that if I went over the edge, she would too.  I found  little comfort in the thought of being swept down the mountain, like the mountain goats in the spring thaw, with or without Carol.

We stayed at one of the lodges on site.  The  lodge’s vast great room, with a huge fireplace where in the evening families gathered to play board games,  or listen to  Black Foot Indians tell their native tales.  Made from timbers harvested from the trees on the  mountain, it has stood for some hundred years.  The bed rooms were adequate.  Two twin beds, a small table in between, a lamp and a small bathroom that you step up into.  Which means, stepping down out of.  We went to the gift shop and bought a night lite as a reminder  not to fall out of the bathroom and  into the pitch black night.  For high in the mountains, with little outside light the evenings were cold and pitch black.

The highlight of the trip, had to be a dinner cooked in Carol’s honor on the east side of  Glacier at  Red Eagle  camp ground by the family of a young man Carol and her husband Bern had been sponsoring for most of his life.  There on an evening cold enough to see my breath, we met the young man, the grandmother who raised him, his mother and  half siblings, and assorted other aunts and an uncle.  We ate fried bread, similar to that sold at country fairs as fried dough.  It is tasty and an Indian staple.  Then we had hotdogs, followed by steaks and hamburgers.  There was a salsa that went along with the bread, I believe.  We talked and mingled.  The marshmallows came out along with cookies and a cake.  It was getting darker and colder, but the sky was the most beautiful shades of pinks, reds and orange.  I needed a restroom.  One of the aunts, put me in her car and drove me off to the house of a former……someone.  There, abutting the camp ground was a house and next to it, a lovely, well-appointed, clean as a whistle two-seater out house.  I used it…..got back in the car for the ride back.  Shortly after our return, a park ranger came to say there had been a bear sighting and that we would have to leave.  It was a memorable evening, made all the more special because of their appreciation for Carol and our dinner with people who lovingly shared what little they had.

 

Trip 2……more Indians.