We dragged ourselves into Yellowstone’s Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel according to plan, just after midnight Sunday morning. We’d driven twenty hours and that last one was hard. We were all road-weary and my husband, who had driven most of the way, was done.
I took the wheel as the temperature plummeted, the wind whipped up and the clouds descended, alternately perching atop our vehicle and on the road in front of us. As I drove, the temperature climbed from fourteen below zero back to thirteen above, the clouds lifted, and snow began to blow across the road, shrouding it more fully than the clouds had done. This cycle–plunging thermometer, cloud-cloaked roads, warming temperatures, and blinding ground blizzard–repeated itself once more, then cleared as we entered Yellowstone through the Roosevelt Arch.
The next morning we slept as late a family of early and late risers crammed into a hotel room could expect to sleep and spent the dawning hours of Super Bowl Sunday walking together through the small community at Mammoth Hot Springs. Soft and substantial flakes floated to the ground, joining the fresh few inches that had fallen in the night. It was cold, not polar vortex cold, but crisp and clear and lovely.
My parents introduced my brother and me to Yellowstone’s winter when I was in high school and my husband and I made a winter’s visit a few years into our marriage. This trip with our children had been brewing since 2002. As much as we enjoy Yellowstone’s autumn, the intense beauty of Yellowstone’s winter is unsurpassed.
We returned to our room for warm layers suitable for exploring away from the civilized settlement. Our destination was the mountainside hot springs of the Upper Terrace. Just two miles away, it was where the grated road ended and the groomed one began. We drove to the end of the road, strapped on our snowshoes, and spent the late morning on our family’s first mountain snowshoe expedition.
The hot springs at Mammoth are different from others in the park. At Mammoth, water rises through limestone and becomes saturated with calcium carbonate along the way. When deposited at the surface, it transforms the constantly growing and changing travertine terraces. Some springs are grey and dry, some white, and others, hues of orange and red, colors indicative of the thermophiles which reside within.
As we walked along a steamy stream of thermal run-off by the road-turned-trail, two mule deer peeked through the trees, then darted deeper into the forest. Our youngest daughter had to be coaxed up one hill, where we found the source of the stream, a spring that resembled Snuffleupagus in both color and shape.
The excursion was enough for the girls. My husband and son drove Yellowstone’s one open road deeper into the park in search of a more challenging trail to conquer and we went to the map room at the hotel where we read and played games. It was Super Bowl Sunday, so at 3 p.m. an employee entered the map room, unlocked the hotel’s one television, and found the game.
No matter where I am, I never really watch the game. I sit near the game. I visit. I watch the commercials and the half-time show, but I don’t watch the game.
Today was no different. As I read, I heard Queen Latifah’s soulful rendering of “America the Beautiful” and I absentmindedly wondered where our national anthem had gone. Buried again in my book, I eventually heard its familiar melody and I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye. People were standing. It could have been a replay of every high school athletic event I’d ever attended.
This, though, was different.
Of the thirty people gathered on couches and around tables, almost half stood, heads bereft of hats and hands covering hearts. They stood, not because they were surrounded by standing spectators; over half remained seated. They stood because apparently, they thought it was right and good and were compelled to do it. As I watched them, I saw the American flag flying between the Post Office, the Visitor Center, and Federal Justice Center through the map room’s paned bay window.
It was beautiful, and it makes me wonder how long it had been since I had been compelled to do anything. It was an uncomfortable question.
You know I’m watching this year. My eyes are open. I went to Yellowstone last week and expected to see, but I was looking outdoors. That I found it indoors, in front of the television, surprised me. And that, I suppose, is something I needed to learn: inspiration is everywhere.
If you’re watching with me I’d love to hear what you’re seeing.
Sharing stories this week at Emily’s #ImperfectProse, Lyli’s Thought Provoking Thursday, Barbie’s The Weekend Brew and Angie’s Inspire Me Monday.
Thank you for your word pictures……..and your thoughts. 🙂 Gentle Joy
Thanks for being here today and your kind words.
Sounds beautiful! Thanks for letting your readers live vicariously through your experience .. 😉
You made me smile. Thanks!
Beautiful images, Natalie. I especially enjoyed the shot of Snuffleupagus! How blessed you are to be seeing with your eyes wide open! Have a blessed week!
Thank you for your encouraging words. I hope that you see some wonderful things this week.
Thank you for bringing such beauty to the screen. Wonderful words too of encouragement. Good job, my sister in Christ, good job.
Thank you for you kind words. I appreciate your presence here today and hope you were encouraged.
Natalie, thanks for reminding me to keep my eyes open. I really want to visit this park… it’s on my list.
So glad you linked up at Thought-Provoking Thursday!
I hope you get to. It’s such an amazing place. Thanks for hosting and stopping by.
Ah Natalie … you are brave, venturing into the wilds in the midst of winter! And your photos capture the magnificence of your journey. It was worth every mile, yes?
It’s nice to meet you on this snowy morn …
It was worth every mile. Every one. Thanks for your presence here today.
This is so beautiful! What an experience you have given to your children.
Thank you so much for your encouraging words and for stopping by.