Page 49 of Grown-Up Second Chance

Chapter Fifteen

As promised, Joe picked me up after an early lunch. We chatted briefly while we drove the short distance to the park’s entrance and waited in line to present his senior pass. Once we cleared the traffic, we settled into companionable silence.

A few eagles perched on the tops of pines, their sharp eyes searching for the day’s sustenance. One must have spotted something because his wings unfurled as he pushed himself off the limb. Behind him, the top of the tree swayed. The awkward movements of his wings smoothed out, and he whirled about to swoop down in a nearby field.

Joe pulled over, and we watched as the huge bird zoomed to the ground, talons outstretched, and landed hard, causing puffs of dust to rise around him. He plunged his beak toward whatever was snared in his claws. The muscles at the top of his wings bunched, and he rose in the air, wings cutting the currents, a small animal in his talons.

After watching the bird disappear from sight, Joe put the car in gear and merged back onto the road.

So much to capture with a camera: the power of the wings, the dust-up when he landed, even the effort to become airborne. Something in my soul longed to create an image that would make a person pause in their busy life and consider it.

If I wanted to do that, I was going to need to spend the money on a decent camera. And to do that, I was going to need to get rid of the voices in my head that told me it was impractical and egotistical to think I could show anything to the world it hadn’t already seen.

“There is so much to see,” Joe said. “This is my tenth trip to Yellowstone, and I see it differently every time.”

“Tenth?”

“Yes, we came here every year we could while the kids were growing up.”

“It must be pretty special to you,” I said. “A lot of memories.” Was that jealousy I was feeling? Sorrow that someone else—his wife—had gotten to create those memories?

“True.” He looked at me and smiled. “But I’m always ready for new ones, like the ones we’re going to make today.”

Yes, that’s what we were doing, making memories. My shoulders relaxed.

We traveled north on the same road I’d taken with my sisters to the Artists Paint Pots. All around us steam escaped from vents and geysers burst without any attention to schedules. It was a powerful reminder that we were driving through a cauldron.

“Have you spent time at Mammoth Springs yet?” Joe asked as we approached the area.

“We’re going next week, I think. Kathleen has some sort of schedule.”

“I thought you were the organized one.”

“I used to be. I guess raising two kids and running the ranch required Kathleen to start getting her ducks in order.”

“Life with kids tends to do that,” he agreed, and glanced at me. “We won’t stop at the hotel today, but head straight to the valley.”

“Watch out!”

Joe flipped his gaze back to the road and slammed on his brakes.

A bull elk, paying no mind to the traffic, sauntered across the road.

“Magnificent,” I said.

“Yep.”

There were multiple scars on the fellow, evidence of past battles.

“We came here one fall,” Joe said, as he started moving forward again. “As night fell, the bugles of elk echoed around us. Often we could hear the clatter of antler against antler. We only saw one battle, and that was between mule deer. But we felt like we were in the middle of a giant battlefield.”

“Probably because you were,” I said.

“You’ve got a point.”

We wove our way through the roads, cars, people, and stray elk and bison that surrounded the old hotel at the hot springs. The springs themselves had cooled over the centuries, leaving behind layers of calcium carbonate that always reminded me of tiers on a wedding cake.

“This park has gotten way too busy,” Joe said. “It was bad before the pandemic, but it got worse during those years.”

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