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I sincerely apologize for not updating recently: I have been so busy this month working lots of shifts, as well as keeping busy with all kinds of activities. I'll be leaving here soon, in less than 3 weeks, and I'm determined to take full advantage of this place before I leave. I'll give a short review of all that I have been doing.

Since the trauma of my last camping trip, the weather around here has significantly improved and I decided that before I give up camping forever, I should probably give it one more chance, this time a fair one. I admit that I was not excited about going: in fact, it was out of sheer self discipline that I went at all. But since camping kicked my butt last time, I was hoping to kick camping's butt before I said goodbye to it forever.

The team consisted of me, Lauren (not the Lauren from previous posts: the Lauren who accompanied me camping this time is a new employee from England), Mark, and his friends Shaun and Kelsey. Unlike my last camping trip, our short 2.5 mile hike to our campsite was soaked in sunlight instead of rain. It was a comfortable 75 degrees, and our campsite was only 3.5 miles from home, rather than the 8 that we traveled last time. By the time we reached our campsite around 7pm, things were already shaping up to be better than last time. We all helped set up camp and find branches to make a campfire (I have pictures to prove that I personally contributed!), and soon we were laughing around the campfire eating smores, which is by far the best part of camping. Our campsite was beautiful--we selected one at Cascade Lake, a beautiful lake near canyon that is both accessible and scenic. When it got dark, we walked to the lake (a quarter of a mile away) and watched the night sky that was covered with bright stars and an eerie full moon. Mark was kind enough to loan me his army-issued, 3-layer sleeping bag which, along with the 5 layers of clothing I was wearing, kept me very warm indeed, and I slept all through the night. The next morning the weather was beautiful, but the lake was simply stunning. After breakfast, we packed up, hiked back out, and made it back to Canyon by lunchtime. I should probably add that, as pleasant as it was camping the second time, I still don't know that I am cut out to be a camper. As much as I love being outdoors, I'm partial to sleeping in my own bed, among other luxuries camping can't afford. Regardless, I'm so grateful for these experiences and memories that I'm making here in Yellowstone. I'm delighted to be so constantly challenged and stretched beyond what I thought I was capable of accomplishing. I'm grateful for my friends here who are patient with me, and my friends in Springfield and elsewhere who are patient with my snail mail and kind enough to reply. Since I'm at it, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my friends imparticular who have been in regular (though primitive) touch with me all summer: Becky, Glori, Trisha, and Jacob, you are the best!

Other than my camping trip, my recent adventures have included swimming in "firehole" (a river near Old Faithful warmed by hot springs), rafting down the Galletin River, and horseback riding along the canyon. In addition, I have completed my 100 miles of hiking, attended several employee sport league basketball and softball games, had dinner at the historic Old Faithful Inn, sang in the employee talent show, hitchhiked on the back of a motorcycle (sorry mom), saw a grizzly bear, and came close to death by bison. Needless to say, I have been very busy, and let's not even start talking about work.

Well, okay, just for a minute. Besides working lots of hours, I'm being slowly promoted to server (finally). It has involved extra hours of training and server classes. Work is going pretty well, except that we are extremely busy at the restaurant everyday. It is normal for guests to wait longer than an hour for a table in the evenings for dinner. This means that I am able to make pretty good money for dinners, but it also means that there are times when we are too busy and many customers get angry. I have never worked in a restaurant before, so I don't know if this is normal, but I will say that some of the people that come in are far too impatient and unhappy to be satisfied with any dining experience, anywhere, much less at our restaurant. We servers and server assistants work very hard to try to keep everyone happy. My parents sent me a pedometer to use for work, hiking, and running, to log miles traveled. In one dinner shift, I walk a total of 6 miles on average. This doesn't surprise me, either: I'm completely exhausted after shifts. I'll end my work schpeil with this: I urge you to please tip your server well at restaurants. Hourly wages are nearly non-existent, and if your server has a busser or assistant, he or she only receives a small percentage of that tip.

::edit-- 7.28.09::

Per my dad's request, I have removed the final paragraph of this original blog (but I really hope you got to read it first!). Perhaps it is indeed better for me to maintain a morsel of maturity and professionalism on my blog, even if a morsel is all I am able to muster. Dad, I hope this better meets your standards. Thanks for always looking out for me!

::end edit::

When I told my friends at Canyon that I was headed to Lake Yellowstone completely alone for a weekend of rest and solitude, they promptly informed me that I was crazy (as if I didn't already know). But after arriving yesterday evening, I can say that it is perhaps the best decision I have made all summer.

Allow me to clarify that there is nothing or no one at Canyon from whom I need to escape; on the contrary, I love Canyon and everyone with whom I live and work there. However, anyone who has experienced community living would know that it provides neither privacy nor silence in anything more than miniscule amounts. Not only does this weekend mark nearly the halfway point of my stay here in Yellowstone, but tomorow is also Independence Day. For these two reasons I chose this weekend to celebrate my very own independence and get away for a few days. After visiting Lake last weekend with my friends' families, I thought, what a lovely place to stay on vacation. I'd love to stay there someday. It occurred to me only later that I could stay there whenever I wanted, and at no charge to me, other than the amount taken out of my paycheck every week for regular living expenses. I was eager to take advantage of such an opportunity, and a week later, I find myself here. Lake Village is situated literally yards from the beautiful high-elevation lake, surrounded by mountains. The hotel itself is a huge, summer-yellow wooden structure that resembles a 1950s country club, probably because during that time, the hotel's hay-day, it was the vacation spot of elite socialites who would be entertained nightly by the hotel's string quartet, dancing and drinking wine all the while. Although tourists no longer typically arrive in Yellowstone prepared with their cocktail dresses and tuxedoes, a string quartet still plays for guests in the lobby every evening, and Lake Yellowstone indeed still bears the faintest aroma of perfume and cigars I imagine it did all those years ago.

So, what exactly have I done here? Well, last night after dinner, I took a long walk around the Lake and a mile down the road to Fishing Bridge, a popular tourist site and photo-op. I got up early today and went for a run around the lake, enjoyed breakfast, and then read and drank coffee all morning in the comfy lodge, something I don't usually make time for. This afternoon I finished my book in the sunroom at the hotel and, after writing this blog, I plan on taking a nap and perhaps writing some letters. I'll spend the evening enjoying the string quartet, and will head back home to Canyon tomorrow morning. Despite my intentions, I have managed to meet several Lake employees, who are so nice and friendly. Contrary to what seems to be the popular opinion back at Canyon ("Won't you be so bored!?"), I instead wish I were able to stay here a few more days.

Admittedly, I had more reasons than just silence and the holiday to spend my weekend all alone here. I have had a lot on my mind recently and no time or place to let these thoughts be fully manifest. You see, since arriving at Yellowstone, I have been careful to take in every new experience that I can, even the ones that I'm not so excited about: I have been hiking almost daily; I have gone camping (without success- see blog for 6.22.09); I have not worn a stitch of makeup for a month, and I'm in dire need of a haircut, among other necessities whose accessibility I used to take advantage of. The way I see it, all of these things that are out of my typical range of experiences are giving me the opportunity to to make informed decisions about who I want to be, and who I don't want to be. After all, how can you know if you will identify with something if you never get out of your comfort zone and experience it? However, in my open-mindedness, I'm afraid that I may be neglecting some aspects of myself that make me me. Just as I don't want to miss out on activities or people who can enrich my life, I need to be cautious that I don't withhold any qualities I posess that could potentially enrich the lives of others, if only by the sheer diversity that these qualities contribute to the community as a whole. Furthermore, I have been patting myself on the back a lot recently for being so adventurous and open to new people and places, but I have forgotten that, unless I am changed for the better because of the people I have met here and the things that I have done, and unless I add these experiences like ingredients in the mixture of who I am, making them part of me, then they are mere expenditures of time and money, photographs mere records of aquaintances and activities rather than memories. I have failed to properly process much of what has happened since I arrived in the park. So, to speak candidly, I now give myself permission to not enjoy something; to not blend in with my surroundings when my true character does not encourage me to do so. I permit myself to forfeit self-imposed obligation; and, most importantly, to not let my independent nature prevent me from accepting kindness and love.

Also, I have recently felt like never before an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I am so undeserving of all that has been bestowed upon me. Who am I, that I get to live in arguably one of the most beautiful areas of North America? Who am I that I have attained so many friends here from all over the world, having made no effort to speak of with which to qualify myself for such a gift? Who am I to have a family who not only encourages me to see the world, but supports it in every way, flying me across the country and putting up with my unpredictable and too-infrequent calls from the dorm payphone? And for free (in fact, I'm paid!), I get to explore these mountains, canyons, lakes, and waterfalls, and see sunrises, sunsets, and night skies blanketed with more stars than I have ever laid eyes upon. Everyday I thank God for this beauty he created with me in mind, and for all of us to enjoy. I have wanted to write about this overflow of gratitude for weeks now, but have had neither the time, nor quite the words to say. I read the following passage today in a book by Elizabeth Gilbert, and it seems to perfectly encapsulate how I feel:

"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world [and God, I'd like to add] who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."

So world, because it is all I can do, I say thank you. I really do wish I could do more, but my meager existence (which the mountains surrounding me magnify) offers me no resource with which to adequately do so. My voice, my most potent of weapons, can't even stand a chance. It is blown away over the lake, or lost in echoes through the mountains. Perhaps this is God's way of letting me know that my fortunate circumstances are not of my doing, but because of His Grace shown to me everyday through others. Maybe this is a clue to the only way any of us can appropriately express gratitude: by offering the same grace and kindness that is shown to us, whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Thanks to some awesome new friends and a little bit of good luck, I had the opportunity to get out of the park for a bit this weekend.

Thursday, my friend Mary's best friend was flying into Jackson Hole from Missouri to visit Yellowstone for a couple of days, and she invited me and Cara to accompany her on the nearly 3 hour drive there and back. The ride to Jackson Hole takes you through the Grand Tetons, a majestic mountain range right outside of Yellowstone. The weather has improved greatly over the last few days; it is starting to look like the sun might be here to stay. We had the most perfect sunny day for our roadtrip, and we had a blast chatting, basking in the sun, and listening to music all the way. When we got to Jackson Hole, we had some free time before Mary's friend Caitlin's flight was in, so we of course seized the opportunity to pick up some essentials at K Mart. I will never again take for granted the convenience of going to the store to get whatever I need, whenever I need it. Also, on a side note: unless you have ever been living in a remote place for a month, then go unprepared to K Mart for only 15 minutes, you will never fully understand what I was thinking as I walked into the store, trying to account for all that I would need, possibly for another month or two. I considered just buying everything in the store, but then I calmed down and settled on my items, including but not limited to: shampoo and conditioner, fabric softener, bugspray, headbands, and wheat thins. Like I said, essentials. Ironically, as soon as we walked into K Mart, we saw several girls who work with us at Canyon! And do you want to know the first thing they said to us? "Hey, guys! Guess what? Michael Jackson died!"

After that, it was time to pick up Caitlin at the airport. The drive back was faster due to less traffic and more company. We stopped at Old Faithful to watch the sun set. Amazingly, it was still 65 degrees, even at 9:00pm. We all enjoyed seeing the geyser errupt on such a beautiful evening. After grabbing a cup of coffee and further exploring Old Faithful a bit, we headed home under a blanket of night stars.

The next morning, I was given the privilege of going to Cody, Wyoming, to see the Cody Rodeo with my friends Lauren and Keri, and their families who had come to visit. Total, there were 9 of us crowded into a minivan the whole day: Lauren, her mom, dad, and brother, and her boyfriend who works with us at Canyon, Lance, Keri, Keri's mom and dad, and me. We started the day at Yellowstone Lake, which is about 16 miles south of Canyon. The historic Lake Hotel is a beautiful area of the park: it is the second largest wooden structure in North America and is situated right on Yellowstone Lake, the largest high-elevation lake in North America. The Lake Hotel is definitely the most sophisticated area of the park, with large, expensive rooms, and a 5-star restaurant. We spend some time exploring there. Lauren and Keri's dads were planning on fishing there at the lake, but unfortunately the weather didn't hold up like it had the day before: it was very cold and a little rainy. We proceeded to Cody slowly but steadily, making frequent photography stops. We arrived in at around 3:30. Cody, home of the Buffalo Bill Historic Center and "the greatest rodeo on earth", is a very interesting town that is dominated by cowboy culture. There are lots of shops that sell everything from cowboy hats and boots to camping gear to Yellowstone souvenirs. By this time the sun had decided to show its face, and we spend the late afternoon shopping. After eating dinner, it was off to the rodeo! In Cody, during the summer months of June, July, and August, the rodeo happens every night. We enjoyed watching the cowboys and cowgirls on their horses, riding all around the arena. By the way, I can attest that Wyoming sunsets are just as incredible as you have heard. Around 10:30, the nine of us began our 2-hour trek home; under the stars, I drifted slowly off to sleep.

Each moment of this amazing weekend, I found myself reflecting on how lucky I was to be in my position. I have met some incredible people and gone on so many adventures thus far. It amazes me to think that the decision to spend the summer in Yellowstone has enriched my life in so many ways. First of all, I was introduced to a whole world of culture that is found in my own country, yet I was unaware even existed. Camping, fishing, and even hiking are not activities that I frequently participated in before this summer. Many people I have met here live very differently than I am used to living, but that does not mean that one of us is wrong and one of us is write. That is the thing about culture: to truly experience it requires humility, patience, and often a complete re-evaluation of ideas upon which you may have previously based your life. Unless I am willing to close my mouth, open my ears, and take the opportunity to learn about their lifestyle, I will go on believing misconceptions. Not only that, but I will have likewise forfeited an opportunity to clear up possible misconceptions about my lifestyle. There is so much to be gained from saying no to your own insecurities and comfort zone, and diving head first into new experiences, knowing that it might bruise your ego. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, weak, and inexperienced; sometimes I feel like the luckiest girl alive. But throughout the emotional mountain peaks and valleys of the summer, I'll maintain an attitude of gratitude for the people and experiences I have had here. And the best part?

The summer has only just begun.

To say that my first camping experience was a little rough is a gross understatement. It can be best described as mildly traumatic. Allow me to start from the beginning.

When Keri, Emily, and I left in the pouring rain to hike the 4 miles to Wranger Lake, we hardly thought twice about the weather since it rains daily here. We were going to meet Adam, Lance, and Tommy, who had ventured to our campsite and set up camp the day before. Having never been camping, Emily and I were anxious and ready to get to the campsite. So, with at least 10 pounds of gear and provisions on each of our backs, our rain gear donned, and a ride to our trailhead, we were on our way.

Immediately we encountered our first challenge which, in hindsight, I think we should have considered more seriously as an omen: a hail storm. Hiking through the marsh due to a recent abundance of precipitation is hard enough without fighting 30 mph winds and hail hitting you in the face. Yet, we traveled on. (For me, this was more because we got a ride to the trailhead. Therefore, it would have been a longer hike back home to Canyon than to the campground.) We kept ourselves distracted by calling "Hey, bear!" every 5 seconds, and hoping aloud that the guys had a fire going at the campsite despite the weather. Along the way, we passed our first bison of the journey (very common everywhere in the park), but we failed to give it nearly as much room as we should have. So sue us, we were a little preoccupied fighting a hail storm.

Before leaving for the camping trip that day, I received an echo of a warning from the backcountry office that I had heard from the boys the day before: that warning was that there was a river, Sour Creek, which we would have to treck across to get to our campsite. Well, after about a mile (by this time the hail at fortunately ceased, but it was still raining), we came across what I would describe as a decently-sized stream, one that we could easily leap over. I, the least experienced camper of us all, was optimistic that this was the river about which we were warned. But as a group we came to the concensus that when we got to the infamous river, there would be no doubt in our mind that it was the one. So, after another mile or so when we came to a river that was too wide for us to leap, we were positive this had to be it. We came prepared with sandals to wade through it, but opted instead to go straight in with our hiking boots, since they were already soaking wet anyway. On the other side, we congratulated one another on our successful crossing of the river and kept moving.

Another very chilly mile later, we realized just how sorely mistaken we had been: here we came face-to-face with a river that made the previous one seem like a trickle of a stream. We had no doubt whatsoever that this was the river about which we were cautioned. Having no other option and greatly anticipating the warm campfire that we hoped was waiting for us, we trecked across the 5-foot wide, 2-feet deep river, squealing like girls all the way.

We finally arrived to our campsite a half hour later, soaking wet, but happy to see our friends, and even happier to see that they had managed to get a fire started despite the weather. When we got there, the guys confessed the bets they had going that we would turn around and go home when we saw the river, and us girls couldn't have been prouder. The rain had stopped at this point, but it had gotten colder, about 40 degrees. Regardless, we had a great time around the warm campfire, eating smores and laughing into the night.

Upon awakening the next morning from perhaps the worst night of sleep in my life, we found that it had been raining for hours. Even though I had managed to stay relatively dry, most of our clothes and shoes were soaked. My sleeping bag for one did an inadequate job of keeping me warm all night, as did the 5 layers I wore all night. It was a frigid morning, not much warmer than the overnight low had been. After breakfast we took awhile to get the wet gear packed up, and in low spirits our crew started its long, soggy treck home.

As high as the water had been along the trail there, it was certainly much higher on the way back due to the rain. This meant that (you guessed it!) the river we had crossed had risen significantly. When the guys valiently volunteered to cross first, we saw just how deep it was: closer to 3 feet than 2. The brave girls I was with crossed fearlessly even though the water reached their hips. I'm not sure if it was the pitiful look I was wearing on my face, or just the air of dread that was inevitably encompassing me, but whatever it was, my friend Tommy who had already crossed came back and carried me and my heavy pack across the river on his back.

I will refrain from going into much more detail about the trip back. Aside from a few bison detours, another stream mishap, and the return of the rain, it is probably pretty predictable. To be fair, I should mention that the rain had cast a mystical blanket of fog upon the mountains, and I managed to enjoy the beautiful view in spite of my discomfort. Also, we received a ride from a friend from the trailhead so that we didn't have to hike another 4 miles home. We went straight to the EDR to eat, of course, and our friends who saw us inquired as to why we looked like we had been through hell and back, to which we replied simply, "Don't ask."

For your statistical pleasure, I have compiled a feature entitled:

My Camping Trip By the Numbers

Number of campers- 9
Hours total- 19
Miles traveled- 8 round trip
Detours due to bison- 3
Inches of rain- approximately 3
Rivers forged- 6 (3 there, 3 back)
Smores I consumed- At least 4. I lost count.
Layers of shirts I wore- 5 (plus scarf, hat, and gloves)
Hours of sleep- 3 very cold hours. maybe.

Needless to say, it will be awhile before I'll be able to make a return overnight trip to the backcountry. I have been reassured that I have been through the worst, and that most camping experiences are much more enjoyable. I am proud that I made it through (seriously, I didn't know I had it in me), but I will likely think twice about camping again: as of right now I have no intention to do so whatsoever. Stay tuned to see if my friends are able to convince me to camp again for the rest of the summer. I much prefer the warmth and comfort of my own bed, and really, can you possibly blame me?

Something happens when I lace up my hiking boots. There is an intrinsic power associated with them; when I put them on, a jolt of simultaneous authority and oneness with nature is sent through my whole body. My boots are heavy and sturdy, designed to help those who don them to maintain stability and balance when exploring various types of terrain. They teach me to stand firmly and solidly. They keep me rooted on the ground, reminding me of my place and keeping me humble: I am small. I cannot fly. I am limited in my strength and ability. But I am intrepid, and I am determined. This summer I am stripped of everything that once fooled me into believing that I was capable of anything (my car, my cell phone, my comfort zone, the convenient accessibility of friends and family, my close proximity to anything I could ever want or need). However, my hiking boots show me that I never needed those luxuries at all; that, with confidence and determination, I can combine my own life energy with that of the earth, using the aid of nothing more than my boots and my own two feet. I am capable of dominion over mountain peaks and carnivorous wildlife; over snow, rain, hail, and wind; over isolation from modern civilization. My hiking boots teach me to come to terms with my own limited physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental strength. They also teach me that my limited strength is enough, but only when combined with the strength I attain from God, from others, and from the earth.

My running shoes have a completely different effect, but they are equally powerful. Rather than planting my feet firmly and rationally on the ground, my running shoes seem always to be scheming and daydreaming. They are happiest in mid-air. When I put on my running shoes, it's like my feet grow wings and fly me wherever I tell them to go. My running shoes feel more like an extension of my legs than the unattached, inanimate objects that they are. Light as air but ruthless as the elements, they seem to taunt me, pushing me to go farther than the day before. My running shoes are hopeless dreamers, and the more I tell them to shut up and let me rest in the reality of my own inadequacies, the more they prove to me that I am not inadequate at all. Don't be fooled: my running shoes are anything but soft. They work me to breathlessness, sweat, and exhaustion. They wake me up early in the morning and don't listen to any of my excuses. They are trainer, friend, enemy, travel companion. In fact, it is they to whom I credit my love of the great outdoors. Although I met them while traveling, our (admittedly somewhat dysfunctional) relationship showed me that beauty is all around me no matter where I find myself. All I have to do is go outside and open my eyes.

Although my hiking boots teach me that my strength is indeed limited, my running shoes show me that it is far more than I think. While my hiking boots tell me to accept my role on the earth, my running shoes challenge me to take the initiative to define that role myself. When my hiking boots (in their humble way) remind me of the youth of their influence in my life, my running shoes assure me that there is a first time for everything. My hiking boots take me to mountain peaks, while my running shoes elevate my mind and spirit to new heights of euphoria. Both gently help me breathe more deeply. Both take me to places I would have otherwise never seen. Both make me a stronger woman. But most of all, both challenge me to be a better person: my hiking boots, by keeping me down-to-earth, and my running shoes, by teaching me how to fly.