Burdenofglory’s Weblog

Marcus and I have planned on going to the Black Hills for several months.  We needed something easy.  The Black Hills qualify as “easy” because you can drive there in a day (about 10 hours), and you don’t have to do much when you get there (besides see the faces on Mt. Rushmore).  This would differentiate this trip from the last two years’ vacations, when we drove all over southwestern Colorado and Washington, D.C.

Oh, yes.  I bet you are wondering why my title says this is about Fort Robinson.  Or maybe you are used to my free-flowing style, knowing that I will eventually get to the point.  Or not.

While planning for the trip, Marcus said he would really like to visit Fort Robinson again.  He had gone there in high school for a family reunion.  He fondly remembered the chuck wagon and horseback riding.

When Marcus mentioned this, my inner voice said, “Ick.”  My inner voice protests whenever someone suggests something that requires:

A. Work on my part, and/or

B.   Something  I really don’t want to do.

Since one purpose of my husband is to sanctify me, it seems like he is the one that most often triggers the whiny inner voice.  When I first got married, I didn’t have an inner voice.  Only an outer voice, that voiced its opinion immediately and often.  After 17 years of marriage, I have learned to ignore my inner voice, unless it has any significance after time, prayer and pondering.  Usually, it doesn’t.

Besides this, Marcus wanted to drive through the sandhills.  A different relative always talks about how much she loves the sandhills.  I barely look up when Marcus compliments them when we drive by on I-80.  I usually nod in agreement, and get back to my book.  If I happen to be driving, they don’t even get a nod.  I’m too busy man-handling the suburban,  checking  the camper in the rear-view mirror to make sure it’s still behind me, and wondering whether I should pass a truck with the 50 mile-an-hour gale broadsiding me.

Well…

Shockingly enough, I was wrong.  As soon as we turned northwest at Ogallala, I was shocked at the rocks and grassy slopes of the sandhills.  Yellow flowers were everywhere.  Wow.

One of the main reasons the sandhills looked so appealing must have been the abundant rainfall they’ve had this year, as evidenced by the Hoke’s Cafe parking lot in Ogallala.

And Fort Robinson?  Beautiful buttes surrounded a large campus of brick 2-story homes, previously officers’ living quarters.  Many of the lovely homes now have rooms you can rent while you stay there.  There were also museums, a playhouse, horse stables, an activity center, a pool, the area for the bi-weekly rodeo, and other historical buildings that have been recreated for tourists.  They’ve done a top-notch job.  By the way, I am not a country-western music fan, and I liked it anyway.

The highlights for us were the horseback ride into the buttes, and “Annie, Get Your Gun,” the musical we attended. 

Marcus loves westerns, and I know he was pretending he was the Outlaw Josey Wales or some such heartless character while we trudged up the butte.  Marcus almost didn’t go, because the last time he went horseback riding, he was sore for a week.  I’m not sure what was sore, due to his scrawny backside, but I probably didn’t need to point that out.

This very patient cowboy rode next to Rebecca most of the time, ready to catch her if/when she fell off.  We were worried because she couldn’t quit cackling, no matter how serious the threat.  I’m not sure how she held on, because she had to be weak from laughter.  But she did.

Katherine made sure it was glaringly evident that we were city slickers, via her pie-plate earrings and huge sunglasses.  If that wasn’t a tip-off, the kids filling out their questionnaires about how much riding experience they had would have done it.  Did I mention they all cackled insanely during the questionnaire AND trying to mount their horses?  (head shaking slowly)

We were all surprised to see a pronghorn cross our path when we headed back to the stable.  Icing on the cake.

Watching Marcus pretend he was Clint Eastwood was pretty entertaining, but not as entertaining as “Annie, Get Your Gun.”  The acting, the voices and the script were pure delight.  Most of the actors came from North Carolina, and it looked like they put on a show every night of the summer.  If we would have stayed longer, I would have been tempted to watch one of the other two musicals they were doing on alternate nights.

On Sunday morning, we wanted into Crawford, 2 miles away, and found the First Congregational Church.  The pastor was a missionary from Utah, who felt called to minister in small communities who have no Biblical teaching.  He was great!  We felt humbled and encouraged that this man, and his family of 4 little girls, was preaching the gospel in Crawford.  God is at work.  Even in Crawford.

In our down time, Rebecca and I wandered around, enjoying the beautiful weather.

This is actually the road on the way to the tent campground.  Like I said, alotta rain.

Maddie joined us one afternoon and made Mermaid Island.

We went on a scenic drive, where we viewed Fort Robinson’s own herd of buffalo.  I know they are really bison, but everyone calls them buffalo.

I call them very large, and a bit intimidating.

Tag, anyone?

One of the only hiccups on the trip came from my inner voice escaping in Rebecca’s hearing.  Marcus was taken by a lookout we had seen, and wanted to have a picnic at the spot.  I had chicken thawed, and didn’t want to haul raw chicken up to the lookout, and try to cook it with no way to wash up anything.  Bleh.  But I said we’d go if Dad “really wanted to.”  As soon as Dad walked up, Rebecca informed him Mom thought hauling raw chicken up to the lookout was really gross, but I’d do it for him.  Thanks, Rebecca.

We made the most of it, by penning up Maddie in the gate around the picnic table.  Not sure why picnic tables need protection.  It was best not to be negative at this point, so I acted like it was natural.

Ashley tried to find her own seating, but found yuccas inhospitable.

The other hiccups came from cottonwood seeds.

We had to try not to inhale or swallow them.  But the cottonwood trees surrounding us were majestic.

Oh, yeah.  My point is that I really enjoyed our time at Fort Rob, and recommend it if you like history, musicals, buttes, bison, or horseback riding.  The end.

P.S.  I have many more bison pictures, but was advised not to put them all up.