Holding Hands In…

There are very few places that bring complete nostalgia to my brain. Places that overload all five senses and remind me of the best moments in my childhood. 

Yellowstone National Park is this place for me. 

Growing up, we went on so many insanely cool road trips. But almost every one of them took us to, or through, Yellowstone. It isn't necessarily how unique the landscape is that creates my perception of this place. The unearthly geysers, the miles and miles of wildflowers, the endless amounts of diverse wildlife. All of that is what brought us to Yellowstone the first time, but I don't think it necessarily was the reason we kept coming back.

My family sparked my love for travel and adventure. For as long as I can remember, my dad and I would cross state lines and hold hands. 

"Holding hands in Wyoming"

"Holding hands in Utah"

"Holding hands in South Dakota"

"Holding hands in California"

You name a state in the West, we've been there together. 

It was my first form of a bucket list. No matter where I travelled when I was little, I knew that I would experience something for the first time with the people I held closest to my heart. And we had our own little thing that made it that much more special. 

I used to be bothered by our frequent trips to Yellowstone. I didn't appreciate the length of the car ride and the views of the open road. But looking back on our yearly trips, I am full of gratitude. 

One year we went to see Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota. We stopped at the Badlands, the Black Hills, and found this thing called the Thoen Stone. I remember we hopped a fence onto someone property to see it or were definitely trespassing to an extent. And it was super dumb. But it was supposedly a family heirloom and we had to find it. I don't remember a lot of that trip to be honest. But for some reason, this memory stuck. And hitting Yellowstone on the way back is stuck in my memories as well. 

One year we rented an eight seater van. My dads best friend, his daughter, and all five of us piled in and headed back to our little piece of the country. At the beginning of the trip I remember feeling kind of awkward because I didn't know his daughter that well. But by the end of it, after spending a week walking the boardwalks and stopping every five seconds to look at a bison or elk, I felt like she was part of the family.

One year my family spent a significant amount of time in East Yellowstone. We went white water rafting and zip lining. We tried really good food and saw the same sights we had seen at least five times prior. But again, this memory is so strong in my mind. I can picture flying through the trees and my mom panicking because she is afraid of heights. I can still see the kid who fell out of the raft and had to float down the river until another boat caught up to him. I can still feel my dad and I holding hands walking through Montana. 

This sounds so incredibly cliche, but it's the truth. It really isn't about the destination. It's about the little moments along the way that make the memory so special. 

It's wandering through the Old Faithful parking lot trying to see how many different license plates we can find. It's stopping at the 50,000 Silver Dollar Store and buying a pen shaped like a bear or a raccoon hat. It's stamping my National Parks passport with yet another Yellowstone stamp and laughing because I am running out of space. It's using my brothers sweatshirt as a pillow while I sleep at a 90 degree angle on his boney shoulder. It's double checking we locked the food in our car before we go to sleep in our tent at night. It's standing on the side of the road with binoculars glued to my face pretending like I can see the bear everyone is looking at.

Moments like these, they are what make traveling so cool. And my moments aren't anything like yours. And that makes our stories worth telling. 

At twenty years old, I have seen a lot more than I thought possible. But there are so many more places I have yet to check off. And no matter what, I will always remember holding hands in the West and learning to love wandering through the wildflowers at such a young age.