Ride, Play, Hurl

The other day we drove past a car pulled off to the side of Interstate 70.  This is a fairly normal but extremely unsafe occurrence. As we were driving past I noticed a car seat sitting in the grass and a Dad frantically, diligently, disinfecting with a paper towel.  "iPad," my husband and I instantly blurted, feeling the pain of the family on the side of the road.  So I write this post as a warning to other families: beware your kids using the iPad while driving.  Heed my warning so that you, too, do not end up on the side of some road, cleaning up chunks while your child sits miserably covered in throw up.

This happened to us while on the last leg of our trip back from the Sawtooth mountains last summer.  We arrived late for an expensive night of sleep, a quick swim in the pool and breakfast in Rock Springs, WY. The dread of returning back to work was setting in and led us to take the long, scenic route home. This route traversed miles and miles of open range with only a few signs of development, few and far between.  We followed the Yampa River for about 45 minutes through Hayden, CO where we turned right at a huge power plant in the middle of what seemed like nowhere.  We drove past cowboys riding through fields of yellow mountain flowers and green mountain valleys dotted with white, barren tree skeletons. 

I have no regrets about taking the scenic route because this meant extending our time in quiet and serene places before returning to the constant stimulation of home.  Kenedy and Tucker both fell asleep for several hours of this drive but Tucker woke up, having reach capacity for time stuck in the car.  For the first time in two weeks, we broke out the iPad. 

Tucker loves to play with a mini Lightning McQueen toy on the Cars racing app.  Of course this was Tucker 's game of choice after many days away from the screen.  Tucker started playing this game (simulated driving) while riding down a particularly curvy portion of Hwy 131.  And, sure enough, my daydream about buying that ranch with the blue roof and the beautiful orchard that would grow up out of the surrounding fields...was sadly interrupted by throw up. 

Our Rock Springs hotel offered free breakfast.  The kids love just about everything offered as a part of these free breakfasts: boiled eggs, oatmeal, waffles, yogurt, fruit cocktail, orange juice.  Two weeks of hiking, climbing, digging, swimming and playing every waking hour led them to eat about three times the normal amount.  Plus the car was packed to the point of bursting so the backseat was full of pillows, stuffed animals, workbooks, and shoes. 

In other words...Tucker's iPad hurl was no small ordeal.  As the stench started to fill the car, we pulled over as fast as possible and mobilized. Poor kid. He was buckled into his car seat, covered in throw up. As cars zoomed dangerously by, adrenaline kicked in. I unbuckled him and started pulling off clothes, pulling out toys, the pillow case, the iPad.  Kris had grabbed a roll of paper towels and soon enough we had things cleaned up to a tolerable level.  More cars whizzed by as we tied up stinky clothes into plastic bags and hopped back into the car--home, a washing machine and a shower was starting to sound better despite the chaos. Phew! The iPad will never be the same--a memory from this last day of vacation, and a reminder: do NOT ride and play unless you are willing to deal with the hurl.

Coming home

Idaho is for spawning: a salmon place--where the last of the wild, baby Chinook and Sockeye salmon leave and come home as adults; defying with fishy persistence of our human label: the river of no return.

Alturas Lake



Redfish Lake Creek

And, I keep wondering why. Why does this salmon story stick with me? Why is it beautiful? Why do others care?  Most of all, why do the salmon come home?  What prompts them to stop, turn around and remember: I am a wild salmon. It is time. The next generation needs me and I must go?  And, they do! 900 miles upstream, up the River of No Return, without eating, past eight dams, through eight reservoirs, climbing 7,000 feet in elevation with one goal: TO SUCCEED. Succeed or die trying. Coming home to complete their life's work and knowing that they have done what they need to do to set the stage for the next journey.  A journey for generations that will go on and on and on.
 

The trap at Sawtooth Hatchery. Thousands of sockeye line up to take their turn.

The raceways.  What you cannot see are two opportunistic Osprey patiently circling for tonight's dinner.

You know, some humans do something similar. We also are drawn to place, driven by instinct, maybe willing to pursue at all odds.  We connect with this story when we recognize home, embrace it's authority and make our own sort of enigmatic sacrifices to get back. This is me.

Georgia O'Keefe said: “When I got to New Mexico that was mine. As soon as I saw it that was my country. I’d never seen anything like it before, but it fitted to me exactly. It’s something that’s in the air, it’s different. The sky is different, the wind is different. I shouldn’t say too much about it because other people may be interested and I don’t want them interested.”

She says it so well--home fills us with inspiration, it fits us exactly.  We know it is ours.  The salmon know, too.