The Buffalo In the Campground

This is not the buffalo in the campground. This bison was seen many years
later along a trail. I slowly backed away after taking some pictures.

photo by Sara K Joiner

In 1987, my mother, my niece and I took another long summer road trip through the western United States. We again spent most of the trip camping in state and national parks. One of the more memorable evenings I've ever spent in a national park was on this trip.

It was dusk, and Mom stood by the picnic table boiling water on our little Coleman stove to make hot chocolate. It wasn't a cold evening--being late June--but it was cooler than us Texans were used to at that time of year.

My niece and I sat in the rear of the van with the back doors open drinking our hot chocolates. We must have been deep in the conversation of ten-year-olds because we weren't too aware of our surroundings at that moment.

Until we heard an angry shuffling noise nearby.

All three of us raised our heads and looked toward the back of our campsite. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but I was shocked to my core by what I did—an enormous buffalo the size of the boulder he stood beside.

And he was mad!

I don't know if he was mad at us specifically or campers in general. I don't know if he was mad because he had gotten lost from the rest of the herd. I don't know why he was mad; I only know he was.

He pawed the ground with a sharp, furious motion. He snorted.

Mom, who stood closer to the buffalo than my niece and me, said, "Girls, don't move."

As if we could. We were frozen in fear.

Time stretched out between the three of us and the buffalo.

Then, as if cued by some sound on he could hear, he charged!

Mom grabbed her hot chocolate and scurried over to us at the van.

The buffalo ran past the picnic table, across the drive of the neighboring campsite, and off away from the noise of the campgrounds.

Mom asked if we were all right, which we were except for the serious heart palpitations.

I don't remember other campers being nearby (no one was in the neighboring site he crossed), and I don't recall hearing any yells in the distance. Maybe I was too scared to register any other noises. Surely he had to come across other campers before he moved away from the campground.

Years later I learned that buffalo have poor eyesight, so we were even more fortunate. That's probably why he swerved across to the neighboring site from the picnic table.

Every trip back to Yellowstone, Mom and I talk about that buffalo. I hope he was able to reunite with the herd.

Lost In Rocky Mountain National Park

My mother was a history teacher, so we took long road trips in the summers often hitting national parks, monuments and historic sites along with museums and state parks. She adored the Western United States (still does), and many of our trips took us through the mountains, deserts and canyons prevalent in those areas of the country.

In 1986, my mother, my niece and I went to Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado.

We arrived at our campsite, set up our tent and unloaded the van -- except for the food because of bears. After that was all done, my niece and I just wanted to stay in the tent and play with our Barbies. What can I say? We were nine.

Mom, however, wanted to go look for wildlife, so she found a nearby trail to follow.

My niece and I happily played in the tent until Mom returned and insisted we come with her.

Reluctantly, we followed her down the trail until we came upon a herd of elk grazing in the distance. Mom oohed and ahhed. We used the binoculars to get a closer look. Soon enough, my niece and I grew bored, and Mom told us we could go back to the campsite.

That's when things went south.

Walking back to our tent, we turned left when we should have turned right. In no time at all, we were thoroughly lost.

But we were in the campground of the park. Surely we could wander around and find our spot, right?

Wrong!

We trudged all through that campground, waving at cars that drove past, and completely unconcerned for ourselves. We could not find our tent.

We walked up a small hill and looked from on high. We could not spot our tent.

We even ended up walking past the ranger station, but did we ask one of the helpful rangers to point us in the right direction? Of course not! We were nine. We weren't supposed to talk to strangers!

We kept walking. It seemed as though hours passed, but it was probably more like forty-five minutes.

Eventually, among the trees and tents, our beautiful cream and blue van came slowly around a curve in the road. Hooray! We found Mom!

We ran and climbed inside while Mom wondered where we had been. She said she had been looking everywhere. We were right here in this campground the whole time.

Guess who then got told what to do when one is lost? That's right. Two nine-year-old girls who quickly learned to stay in one place to be more easily found.

But what we really learned was to always go hiking with Mom.

Resistance

Rialto Beach, Olympic National Park, Washington

photo by Sara K Joiner

Like many people, I am still angry about the presidential election. I am horrified and appalled by what is happening to the country around me, to people I love, to strangers suffering from doubt and uncertainty and fear. I have called my senators and my representative. I have emailed, and I have protested.

I am still furious, but above everything, I am worried. And I am most worried about the environment and our national park system.

I love our national parks. I have written before about my love of them, but I am now taking that love as a form of protest. Since Inauguration Day, I have been tweeting personal photos from national parks and sites that I have visited. The limited characters allowed on Twitter don't give me the opportunity to truly voice my delight in and appreciation for the National Park Service, one of our greatest government agencies. Park service employees have been facing reduced funding for years and years, and they continue to serve the public. No matter who drives up to the entrance, you are welcome to explore the natural wonders or historic sites of our country.

So this is an extension of my Twitter resistance. This will be me writing about my memories of visits to national parks and sites throughout the United States. I haven't visited every one, but I cherish every one I have visited. I hope to get to more before, as I fear, the current administration drills for oil on them or turns them into golf courses or simply bulldozes them down to build a name-branded skyscraper.

I know my voice is only one in a sea of angry voices. I know that this will hardly make a dent in all the noise. I know for absolute certain that the current administration will ignore me. This is only one way I will resist. I will continue to call and email and protest. I will continue to fight for my country, for people I love, for strangers.

But I need to do more. This is more.

Vacation: Valley Forge

A dreary, rainy, cold day greeted us for our drive into Pennsylvania. When we arrived at Valley Forge it had gotten even colder and was raining even harder.

Valley Forge has been transformed into a lovely park since it became an historic site.


The first thing Mom and I learned was that Valley Forge was not the worst winter the army spent during the war – that was in Morristown – but it is the most well-known.

The second thing we learned was the the “winter” in Valley Forge was actually from December of 1777 to June of 1778. We both always thought it was November to March.

The final thing we learned was that almost 2,000 wooden huts were built by the soldiers for use by the army during that winter. When George Washington was there during the American Revolution, the site would have been much more barren and less green. The trees in the area in 1777-78 would have been cut down for firewood and the huts.


The weather turned truly sour on us at Washington’s Headquarters. He leased the home from Isaac Potts and used it as the “Pentagon of its time.”


Most of the furniture is replicas, but the bannister is original. Imagine how much history that wood has seen? George Washington’s hand used that bannister … and Martha … and Alexander Hamilton.


And then I used it on my own way upstairs. Wow.

We left his headquarters and walked over to the “lifeguard huts.”

These were the cabins of the men whose job it was to protect George Washington – his life guard. The tradition of this unit continues as the soldiers who serve at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

By the time we returned to the car, Mom and I were soaked clean through and completely frozen. Imagining the soldiers in little wooden huts with one fireplace during the long winter of 1777-78 gave me a renewed appreciation for the men and women who fought in the American Revolution.

Vacation: Antietam Battlefield

Our second major stop was Antietam National Battlefield in Maryland. Antietam is the bloodiest day in American history. One hundred thousand soldiers fought in a 12-hour battle at Antietam; 23,000 were killed, wounded or missing after the battle ended.

It's hard to imagine that much carnage.

The battlefield stretches over a large area. Some of the bloodiest fighting took place at Burnside's Bridge where 500 Confederate soldiers battled 5,200 Union troops. This part of the battle lasted about 3½ hours. At the end of the day, 120 Rebels and 500 Yankees were killed, wounded or missing.

During the battle on September 17, 1862, one tree survived the mayhem at Burnside's Bridge. It is called the witness tree, and it still stands today.

An even bloodier part of the battle took place along the Sunken Road, which is now called Bloody Lane. The fighting here lasted 3 ½ hours as well. Three thousand Confederate troops were positioned in the road. Ten thousand Union soldiers came over the rise and found the sunken farm lane and the Southerners posted there. At the end of the day, 2,900 Yankee troops and 2,500 Rebel soldiers were killed, wounded or missing.

This is the road today, still below the countryside around it.

The view a Southern soldier would have had looking over the rise. The Yankee troops would have come over that rise and straight into an ambush.

But the bloodiest place on the battlefield is simply called The Cornfield, because that is precisely what it was on that September day. In that field, 15,000 Union troops and 12,000 Confederate troops battled for 4 hours. When the fighting ended, 4,200 Yankees and 4,000 Rebels were killed, wounded or missing.

Some regiments and brigades were almost decimated in this field. One of those was the Texas Brigade. The monument, erected by the state in the 1960s, reads

Here in the cornfield early on the morning of September 17 the Texas Brigade helped blunt the attack of elements of Mansfield's Union Corps. Almost alone during this powerful federal onslaught the Texas Brigade sealed a threatening gap in the Confederate line. In so doing the 1st Texas Infantry Regiment suffered a casualty rate of 82.3 per cent, the greatest loss suffered by any infantry regiment, North or South, during the War. Of approximately 850 men engaged the Texas Brigade counted over 550 casualties.

According to the book I'll Pass for Your Comrade: Women Soldiers in the Civil War by Anita Silvey, one of the Confederate soldiers who died in The Cornfield was an unknown woman. She was discovered after the battle ended and was buried in a separate part of the field.

For more of my photos from Antietam National Battlefied, visit my Flickr page.

Vacation: Shenandoah National Park

We spent the first three days of our vacation driving to our first major touristy stop. Along the way, we spent a great evening with a friend of mine in Tennessee visiting with her and her children. Mom really wanted to take my friend's son home with her!

Our first destination stop on our vacation was Shenandoah National Park in Virginia. Mom and I had never been to this park before. It was established as an "Eastern park in the Western tradition" and features the Skyline Drive. The park's creation forced the people who lived in the area to be relocated, so the park is "still recovering" from human habitation.

The views of gaps and hollows along the drive are lovely … when the weather is nice.

The first full day we spent in the park began slightly overcast with a bit of a drizzle. And the day only got worse. Thick fog, freezing cold and rain. It even sleeted briefly!

But before the weather went downhill, we saw some beautiful sites.

Mountain laurel, which was planted in the park by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, was just beginning to bloom in the mountains.

But then the fog started rolling in,

and we had to be careful about deer on the side of the road.

Our second day in the park was gorgeous! The sun shone, and the skies were bright blue.

I hiked down to see the Dark Hollow Falls which was described as having "steep sections." The trip down was great, until I ran into another hiker who told me that the bear he saw at the "metal part" might still be there. "Great, thanks," I said with some trepidation. He reminded me that people were more dangerous than the bears. I agreed and walked on keeping my eyes and ears open for the bear. All the while I was thinking people may be more dangerous, but I can maybe outrun a person – or at least outfox one.

Fortunately, I didn't see a bear. Also unfortunately, I didn't see a bear. Even though I would have probably fainted if I came across a bear on the hiking trail, it would have been neat to see!

Nevertheless I continued on the hike until I got to Dark Hollow Falls.

And then I had to hike back up the trail to the parking lot. Straight up! Those steep sections? The entire trail!

And along the way I got a phone call from a friend. That was so odd. Right after I hung up the phone, I had no service.

But Mom and I continued on our way, and we did see a bear! It was calmly walking through the woods on the side of the road. I couldn't get a great picture of it, but here's what I got. Can you spot the bear?

Mom and I both hiked along the Limberlost Trail which was described as a gentle stroll. I'm pleased to report that it was a gentle stroll.

Although Mom still needed a break.

The wildlife we saw on this trail were squirrels, an Eastern Towhee

and a chipmunk.

More gorgeous views could be seen on the drive.

Our final hike was the Fox Hollow Trail which was named after a family that had lived there before the park's establishment. Evidence of the family's life in the hollow could still be seen in the rockpiles

and the cemetery.

While we were hiking this trail, a thunderstorm developed. We got caught in the rain and were drenched. Fortunately, we weren't struck by the lightning we saw.

More pictures of Shenandoah National Park are on my Flickr page.

Our next stop was Antietam National Battlefield.

Of Parks and Memories

I've been watching the Ken Burns documentary The National Parks: America's Best Idea on PBS this week. I find myself amazed at the vigor and vitality of those early users of the parks.

Having been to seventeen of the national parks in this country (and four in Canada!) and hiked some of the trails, I cannot imagine climbing mountains or hanging over cliff edges or rafting down rapid-filled rivers without the helpful guidance of the National Park Service.

I remember going to a campfire talk at Yellowstone back in 1987 and learning that, before the handy boardwalks were built around the hot springs, geysers, mud pots and fumaroles, tourists were told to follow buffalo chips. If the buffalo could walk there, then people could walk there. I think the theory was that if the earth's crust, which is thin at Yellowstone, could support a buffalo, then it could certainly handle a human. Can you imagine that?

I have so many fond memories of the parks. I've gotten lost in Rocky Mountain National Park, nearly been run over by a buffalo in Yellowstone, walked on a glacier on the tallest mountain on the continent in Denali, rode in a boat with a drunken captain in Kenai Fjords, and floated down the Snake River in Grand Tetons.

I haven't been to every national park. I probably never will get to them all, but I have loved every one of them. This documentary has gotten me thinking about my childhood, which has made me nostalgic for those lazy, adventurous summer days with long vacations in a van filled with books and toys and music down some of the most scenic roads in the country.

I had so much to be grateful for about those trips - the parks, the scenery and wildlife, the country and my mom. Without realizing it, I had other things to be grateful for, too. Thanks to Ken Burns, I now know how much gratitude I owe John Muir, Theodore Roosevelt, Stephen Mather and John D. Rockefeller, Jr.

I don't really know what this post is about, but I just felt like writing this down. Thanks for reading!