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.

White Christmas

First real snowfall of December saw 7.3" fall in one day.

photo by Sara K Joiner

This year is the first year we're celebrating Christmas in our new home. While I was living here last year, I was alone and had only started my new job four days earlier. It even snowed this past weekend to give us a extra-special Christmas feeling and set the stage for December 25.

But it's not the first white Christmas I've experienced.

In 2004, it snowed along the Texas Gulf Coast on Christmas Eve and the wee hours of Christmas Day. The Miracle Snow some people called it. The strangest thing about that snow was that areas closer to the beach received more snow than places farther inland. At my apartment we probably had four or five inches!

I heard stories from people waking up their children in the middle of the night to go play in the snow. It's so rare to see that much snow in Texas that it truly is astonishing. People still talk about the Christmas Snow of 2004. There was even a book published.

Now I live up north and snow has lost a little of its appeal, especially after having to shovel it for the first time ever. A snow thrower soon became my most desired Christmas gift.

But it sure is nice to sit inside with a cup of hot chocolate and watch it fall so silent and peaceful.

Books I Love: Ramona Quimby, Age 8

Title
Ramona Quimby, Age 8
Author
Beverly Cleary
I first read this book
during third grade, approximately 1985

Like the Harry Potter books, I truly love all the Ramona books, probably even more than Harry Potter because I read these as a child. There's that great line in You've Got Mail where Meg Ryan's character talks about books we read as children having a far greater impact on us than anything we read later in life.

I think that's true. It's certainly true of Ramona Quimby, Age 8. Ramona Quimby is still one of my very best friends, and she always will be. No one can convince me she's not real. She has a statue!

Ramona Quimby immortalized in bronze

in Portland, Oregon.

photo by Sara K Joiner

Ramona's very specific problems are what makes her so universally appealing and so enchanting to meet in the pages of a book. How on earth does a fad like cracking hard-boiled eggs on your head start anyway? I have no idea, but it does. Naturally, Ramon is going to have a problem with this situation. Does she learn a lesson? Do readers? Not necessarily the one adults might like.

Being a kid is tough. Ramona Quimby helped me through some pretty difficult times when I was younger. She still gets me through rough patches today. I can only hope the characters I create speak to my readers the same way Ramona Quimby speaks to me.

And if someone decides to build a statue of one of them? That wouldn't be so bad either.