The Trip To Minnesota And Back

On the way back from Minnesota, we drove through North Dakota. The view of The Black Hills is breathtaking, and what makes it interesting is the fact that it is different than what you see in South Dakota.

One major difference is the view from the highway. The pictures in South Dakota are incredible, or at least that is how I remember them; however, you have to drive a distance to get the best pictures, and even then, some hiking is also a good idea.

North Dakota's version is probably the same, yet there are beautiful pictures from the road.

We made a short stop at a rest area, and Jack loved the chance to look around a bit. There was also a bit of sign of buffalo that would wander near that area. Jack found first hand what a "buffalo chip" was, but it was from looking and not stepping.

The rest stop also had some great books and a few other things. I found Jack and Tommy these books and a few other things that each boy found interesting.

Jack liked the archeological thing I found, even though it was a bit "hokey." I thought I was buying something with a real fossil, but it turned out to be just a piece of plastic that he could scratch at to get a feel what those people actually did when they were in the field.

I found Tommy this book on stars, and for Jack, who was also interested, I found a small chart that showed the constellations as well.

It was a very good stop. There are not a lot of places you find along that stretch of highway that have restrooms, and all small boys have one thing in common: not mentioning the need until it is a "dire" need.

My son was like that. Jack is like that, and Tommy does the same thing. It's the frantic tone that catches my attention, even when I'm listening to the Iron Butterfly drum solo on In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.

No one wants to contemplate the alternative, not the boys and certainly not Grandma or Pop Pop.

My only regret about the drive through North Dakota was not being able to stop at Teddy Roosevelt National Park. It is very small, but I love the scenery.
Prairie dogs, wild horses, deer, buffalo, elk are just a few of the things you see, and the best time to be in the park is also the most dangerous, right at sunset or as the sun begins to disappear.

The colors are beautiful, not just the shades of orange and yellow and brown and blues that the sun makes as it disappears, but the canyons also have these rich colors.

Darkness happens quickly, and then you have to watch for animals. The advantage is that it is small. Driving slowly is a must, and it doesn't take all that long to exit safely.

We plan to make the trip one more time to North Dakota, so we can see that park one more time at least.

I have to have some pictures. I figure it will be a fantastic road trip some summer, when we need a bit of time away from the high plains dessert of Idaho Falls.

One thing for certain is that the must of cedar and sage will draw me back. It reminds me of my life on our family ranch and farm.
My father would have loved to see that park. First, he always loved to see deer and elk and buffalo, but the wild horses would have reminded him of his his father.

I only knew my grandfather for three short years before he died of a massive heart attack at the age of 48, but my memories of him are vivid.

And I tend to blog about him often. His passing was in early February of 1956, but I find myself thinking of him often, just like I have my entire life.

And now, I also think of my own father, who died at 57.

I guess there are advantages of dying young. You never get the chance to be a burden to your children. My father used to say that and smile. He would say that it was something to look forward to in your senior years, but he never really had the chance to do that.

And he never had the chance to enjoy life. My grandfather didn't either, yet I say that and realize how much they enjoyed what they did.

Their passion was farming and ranching. It was all my father ever wanted to do, and my grandfather loved to rope wild horses and break them. It was how he spent his free time on weekends.

That's why my dad would have loved Teddy Roosevelt National Park. The feral horses would have reminded him of his dad, because that is what it did for me.

The first time I saw one, I thought of all the stories my father told me about the horses my grandfather caught on the extremely large Holmgren Ranch, just West of our place. I remember my dad telling me that they owned 80 sections of land.

They viewed my grandfather as a friend, and besides, they didn't want the horses on their place at all.