Note. Voiceless in Yellowstone
Frustration, hope, and more to wonder about
Yellowstone National Park is magnificent, majestic, gorgeous. My week there was miserable.
The trouble was not with the Park, nor with my tour group. The trouble was with the three-alarm response my immune system sends out. A grain of pollen might as well be an invasion from Mars. I’m thrown into laryngeal spasms: convulsive coughing and an inability to start or finish words. Silenced.
Yellowstone is not unusually filled with allergens. I’ve been through these flareups other times, other places. Last week, besides the laryngeal spasms, I was sleep deprived and dealing with a virus. Add to that the elevation. I was far too tired to keep up with the group.
And so I found myself voiceless and exhausted, sitting within the massive log walls of the Old Faithful Lodge. Gradually a group of overweight middle-aged men filled in the chairs near me. When all the chairs were filled, a newcomer sat on a radiator rather than ask me to move. Old friends, the guys began shooting the breeze: sports, travel, TV, politics. A swipe at Biden; another at DEI. I listened idly, since I couldn’t have spoken in any case.
Suddenly a sentence leaped out at me. The most outspoken among them argued that one particular group of the undocumented should not be deported, at least not in the way it’s being done. In his words, they had crossed the border, said “Hi, I’m here,” then got jobs and built lives. He understood that the rule of law – I doubt he’d use that exact phrase -- might require that some be eventually deported. “But not like this. They don’t deserve this.”
I remembered my last post, about personal conversations across our political lines. At that level, it’s more important to connect than to convince. We need to weaken the assumption that only on our side of the line is there any truth.
If I had had a voice, I would have said “I agree.” And that would have been enough. One more chink out of the walls that separate us.
As hard as the week was, it left me not only with that one special memory but with many things to think more about. In particular, the concept of wilderness. What is it, exactly? Does it still exist? Is it worth preserving? Why? And how?
A couple of lighter observations. Kudos for a Park that forbids plastic water bottles. Hotels give away metal ones. Thumbs down to a state that does not require grab bars in hotel showers. Unsafe!
Finally: What gives us such pleasure in seeing wild animals in the wild?
More soon.
I am so sorry you were not able to fully enjoy Yellowstone. We are going there later this summer, and I love the water stations in all the lodges. We carry a gallon jug and thermos wherever we go, and it is lovely. We wondered if we were abusing the "free water" by bringing gallon jugs, and they assured us they were delighted to have us use their watering stations as much as we like. Your question about loving to see wild animals in the wild is a good one. I don't have an answer to it, but I am reminded of Carson’s observation in Silent Spring, “One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, ‘What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?’ I put a sign with that quote in my little garden to remind me to keep paying attention and marvel at the complexity of the planet. I don't need the reminder when I see a mama moose and her baby, or a coyote in a field. I know in my bones that I haven't seen it before and that I might never see it again. No reminder sign necessary! Why does it feel so much better to see them in the wild? I am not sure, but it is a completely different visceral reaction than seeing them anywhere else.
Listening was probably a great contribution. If you would have been able to provide any contrary thoughts, would it have softened any hearts? Would it have caused any changed opinions?
Wilderness. Is it within or without? Whatever it means!
Michael McAuliffe