Burdenofglory’s Weblog

Sylvan Lake was my favorite spot in the Black Hills.  Absolutely gorgeous.  Because we camped in Custer State Park, and it took forever to travel on Needles Highway, we only made it to Sylvan Lake twice.  It was worth every hairpin turn.

Katherine, Grandma and I hiked around the lake while everyone else stayed behind to rest and wade in the water.  We discovered a waterfall, steps cut into the stone, and several lookouts to drink in.

My younger kids just love to get their feet wet.

We admired the Cathedral Spires from afar, and Marcus found a trail in them on the trail map.  The brochure said the hike was “strenuous.”  I wasn’t sure about this level of hike with Grandma and all the kiddos, but Marcus was.

Maddie, Ashley and I made it to the end first.  I suppose it was a bit strenuous, based on the moans I heard on the way up.  But it was all worth it.  Side note:  Maddie’s magnificent scrapes came from running her scooter into a camper, not the hike.

Rebecca found so many cool rocks on the hike, her pockets were full of treasure.  Her pants were falling down by the end.  Elastic has its merits, but holding up pockets of rocks isn’t one of them.

The wildflowers were noteworthy, and reminded me of foliage in the Rockies.

Streams and ferns abounded.  Notice Rebecca’s healthy, red cheeks?

Finally, the Needles Highway’s namesake:  The Needle.  See the hole where you stick your thread?  The first time we drove through here, it was so congested we couldn’t even stop to check in out.  So we went back.

If your kids get whiny on the trip, which is a given, you can put them in “time out” under the needle.  Handy.

Wind Cave was alright for a cave, but I remember Jewel Cave being more majestic on our previous trip.

When we were in Fort Robinson, the camp host told us to stop at the Purple Pie Palace in Custer.  It wasn’t too hard to find.

When you stop in for pie and ice cream, take a moment to capture your likeness with the purple pig.  Then your trip will be complete.

You can’t forget Mount Rushmore!  That would be sacrilegious.  Or not.  But everyone needs to see it once.  I’ve seen it twice, but the first time doesn’t count because my kids were little and all I remember is exhaustion.  And Maddie’s shoulder going out of joint.  Eeeww.

When you look at a map, everything seems pretty close.  But these are mountain roads.  There is barely room for 2 cars to pass one another, especially if one is a Suburban.  You spend a day driving to Mount Rushmore, tooling around, and driving back.

The view from Needles Highway is fantastic, but don’t expect to drive over 35 miles per hour.

When you get to Mount Rushmore, you can pose your kids to look like the presidents.

Or you can take super-close up shots of the faces while you hike around.

I like the pine trees in this one – they look like Teddy’s mutton chops.

On the hike you also go through Borglum’s studio, and hear how he created Mount Rushmore.  It is quite an engineering feat.  The studio includes the scaled model on which he based his sculpture.  Marcus especially liked this part.  The talk made me squint my eyes, which is my reaction to an idea that forces my mind to think spatially.  Painful.  The only part I remember is that Borglum used Egyptian pyramid engineering techniques.  Ask Marcus about the rest, if you have enough time.

If Mount Rushmore isn’t enough sculpture for you, head over to the Crazy Horse Memorial.  We didn’t drive in, in part because we felt the $30 fee was exorbitant.  Maddie recorded history in the making right out the Suburban window while driving by at 60 miles per hour.

When you get home from your trip, you can compare your current pictures to the ones you took 11 years ago, or however long it has been.

Kat posted pictures of our Black Hills vacation on her BRAND NEW FACEBOOK account yesterday, and it reminded me that I was really going to do that here eventually.   Maybe.

As far as I can tell, they are called the Black Hills because they are covered in dark evergreens, which makes them look “black” from a distance.  No verification on that.  Just my observation.  Marcus seconded the motion.

I took trillions of pictures, and this will either turn out to be the longest post in history, or I’ll skip a lot, or do installments.  Let’s see…

This was a great vacation.  Here is why:

1.  Wildlife.  Buffalo, which are really bison, but we like “tatonka.”  They were everywhere.

Even though the sign said:

“BUFFALO ARE DANGEROUS – DO NOT APPROACH.”

They let them wander all over – even in our campsite.  I guess it is only dangerous if we approach buffalo, not if they approach us.  Even though they can apparently accelerate to 30 miles per hour in no time.  I took this picture while lying low in the camper.

We found this big boy munching grass in a field.  He was really breathtaking.

We also saw a trillion (this is my new number word, since I hear it all the time associated with national health care) prairie dogs, lotsa deer, and wild donkeys.  I refuse to post pictures of prairie dogs, even though the younger contingent ooo’d and ahhh’d over them excessively.

I forgot to take a picture of  the sign that commanded people not to feed the animals.  You know – they get used to getting fed, then in the winter they kick the bucket when no tourists are there to feed them pb & j’s.  Most people didn’t bother reading the sign before feeding these guys their second breakfasts.

I wasn’t sure where to put Jake, the little neighbor in our campsite.  After formal deliberation, I definitely decided he belonged under “wildlife.”  He obtained a plastic knife from the Crazy Horse gift shop, and proceeded to terrorize the girls with it.  Especially Ashley.

He had the best red rubber fireman boots on.  If I ever have a grandson, I’m buying him some boots just like them.

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.

LaBoeuf: What are you doing?
Rooster Cogburn: Lookin’ for sign.
LaBoeuf: You couldn’t see it if you saw it. – True Grit

When we’re driving in the mountains, we occasionally find the signs ludicrous, and comment that we definitely don’t have signs like this back home. I really dislike mountain driving, so if these signs didn’t make me laugh, they’d make me cry. The bottomless gorges are always on my side of the Suburban. Marcus is a shoulder driver, while I tend to track more towards the center line. This adds to the feeling I’m going to fall off the ledge. I lean toward Marcus to make sure my weight doesn’t make us go over. He commented that I need my own steering wheel and brake pedal on the passenger side. For more on my control issues, see Kerri’s blog: Driving Miss Kerri.

OK. We may have a few S curves on the plains. I’ll give you that.

But how many signs in Nebraska warn you about steep inclines?

And how many signs around here warn you a rock may fall on your vehicle?

How many of your neighbors has this trailer parked in their driveway?

Last, but not least. I could have easily seen this in Nebraska, but I didn’t. I will resist saying any more.

We returned from Colorado Sunday night, after 12 hours on the road. It was a good trip. But I had plenty of time to reflect on our definition of “vacation.” In a fallen world, you still have to deal with your sin and that of your fellow vacationers(my nuclear family), lack of sleep, and all the rest, even when you’re not home. Why can’t we take a vacation from our sin? That would be better than mountains and no humidity.

Vacations help me get perspective. The world, in fact, my world, runs just fine even if I’m not around faithfully returning emails or blogging! All those urgent pleas for my time really can wait, even if I were home. My vacation was enhanced by not bringing my planner or a watch. The Sam’s cheesecake in my cooler helped me remember Marcus’ birthday, but besides that, I was in la-la land.

I even picked up a couple good books at the library, without anyone recommending them. The Double Bind(mom swiped this, and I don’t know the author’s name), and Shakespeare – The World as Stage by Bill Bryson. I know how to live dangerously.

On August 1, we drove 14 hours to the Great Sand Dunes National Park(this is southwest of Pueblo, CO). It is rather bizarre to see foothills of sand in front of just regular, rocky mountains. There are 30 square miles of these puppies.

Marcus and his siblings remember sliding down the dunes in boxes, so Luther, his brother, brought the boxes. No go. We were informed by a local that only worked after a rain, when a crust forms on top of the sand. We only had the morning, so that wasn’t going to happen.

Someone suggested you could always roll down the hill. I thought this was a bad idea, considering we had a day of travel ahead of us, and no secure shower destination. But Ashley and Cousin Allie were not daunted, and rolled.

We thought about walking to the top of sand mountain. The people up there looked liked ants, according to Maddie. The sand was already getting hot by 10:30am, and burnt your feet. We decided to retreat to the little stream that runs along the base of the dunes. The kids attempted to dam it, as they do every time they come to a stream of its size, but no go – no sticks, twigs, or mud. A beaver would have been at a loss.

If life hands you lemons, make lemonade. People watching is always a favorite pastime, and there was plenty of fodder. We squinted at a couple and their dogs(yes, plural) who brought their umbrella and folding chairs, and sat down just like they were at the beach, staring at the hill of sand instead of the ocean.

But my favorite was a group of Amish(Amish to me is anyone in really conservative clothing) folks, who took their shoes off to enjoy the sand and water. I am such a dork – I had to sneak a picture of Amish women with bare feet!

After a nice lunch in the shade by the stream, we loaded the truck, and headed west for our next destination: Mesa Verde.

Ladies and gentleman, feast your eyes on what our family of 6 + 1 grandma will call home for 10 days. Here we come, Colorado! I am glad we’re now going on vacation, instead of just getting ready to go. Whew!