Page 15 of Grown-Up Second Chance

I pulled back onto the road.

There was a short wait at the stop sign where the road to Old Faithful intersected, but soon we were parallel to the Gibbon River.

“Are we going to stop at the falls?” Liz asked.

“I thought you wanted to go to the Artists Paint Pots,” I said.

“I do. But I want to see this, too,” Liz protested.

“The parking lot is on the right hand side. Might be easier now,” Kathleen added.

“The parking lot near the pots fills up fast,” I reminded them. “It’s why we left early. But it’s up to you.”

“We can get back to this pullout later,” Liz said after a few moments of hesitation.

The falls were visible from the car and my sisters rhapsodized over their beauty as I kept my eyes on the road. With no regard for traffic, a man dashed into the road, causing me to slam on my brakes.

“Idiot!” I yelled.

“Better get used to it,” Kathleen said.

I took a deep breath and started up again.

The parking lot was half full when we got there.

“God, it stinks!” Kathleen said when she got out.

“Sulphur,” I said. “We are at the edge of the volcano.” Right before we’d reached the lot, a sign had announced the edge of the caldera. “It’s a half mile hike. We should take water. And make sure you have your phones.”

“What are you, the Girl Scout leader?” Kathleen asked.

“She’s the oldest,” Liz said. “It’s in her job description.”

“Did you ever listen to her?” Kathleen asked.

“Well, yes.”

“But then you did what you wanted anyway,” I commented.

“I’m not doing things just because you say so anymore, Bossypants,” Kathleen announced before grabbing her water bottle and shoving her phone in her back pocket.

Without any more comments, we walked to the beginning of the path that led to the boardwalk surrounding the field of bubbling mud, steam vents, and whatever else the earth was spewing forth. Steam rose from beyond a screen of trees. When we reached the edge of the field, I stopped.

Spread out before me in circles, ripples, and splotches was the most amazing landscape I’d ever seen. While I’d been through Yellowstone a few times, I’d never stopped to give it the attention it deserved.

“Oh, my,” Kathleen said.

“I have to paint this,” Liz said. “I don’t know how, but there has to be some way.”

I reached for my phone, knowing in my heart it wasn’t going to do the place justice. I needed a better camera to capture the depth and textures I saw. But a camera was just one more thing to lug around. Larry had been right about that. A phone did just fine.

We started down the path, stopping as every new wonder was laid out in front of us. Mud tinted with blues and greens, mottled with sections of orange and yellow that oozed beside us. Bacteria gave it color, a nearby sign told us. White crusty earth surrounded a vent with water tinted a baby blue. Gentle steam rose from within, making it look like an inviting hot tub.

Another informative sign reminded us that it was 185 degrees Fahrenheit, close to boiling. Not much could live in that temperature, and we were instructed to stay on the boardwalk.

In spite of the smell, the place mesmerized me, and I could see Liz was totally immersed. Kathleen looked around, but I could tell her practical soul couldn’t see the point of it all.

A pond of bubbling gray-white mud caught my eye. It looked like a monster was roaming around under the slime, blowing bubbles that occasionally burst into thick droplets. I crouched down to take a picture with the phone, once again longing for a camera. I tried a few different settings with the phone and was about to get up when I felt the boards shake as someone pounded down the boardwalk at a rapid pace.

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