Driving (Migrating) for the Summer (5/19)

It was unfamiliar country, the drive to Bryce Canyon. A sprawling pattern of low mountains and wide basins stretched out over the course of the 12 hour drive. My ears popped and adjusted every other minute as we climbed from the Northern California valleys to the southwestern corner of Utah. The clouds loomed over the landscape, expansive and casting their shadows far beyond their sky borders.


The snow peaked tips of mountains piqued our interest and excitement as we neared my summer station, my parents, who drove the entire way, my parents had a little too much fun on the winding mountain roads. On our descents especially, I felt as though I were simultaneously in a car commercial and back on the SSV Corwith Cramer, watching cars glide down the hillside while trying to keep my eyes focused on the horizon as my body (and stomach) rolled with the pitch and keel of the car.

The trip passed surprisingly quickly, we made good time, the half hour we dropped off of our arrival time was picked up during lunch, but we were in the speckled canyon towns by dinner.

We knew we were close when we hit an elevation of 7777 feet, not too long after we saw a pronghorn on the side of the road. My parents saw it before I did, and I had searched out of my backseat window until exclaiming an, "Oh, hello!" that quickly prompted my mother to take on a deep voice and reply to me with the animal's greetings. "We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival, Elizabeth, welcome to Utah."
Nevada was big. I always end up forgetting just how big those 'N' states are. During my drive from New York to California after my freshman year of college, I must have listened to The Police's entire discography three times before getting through Nebraska. Drives like these are subtle reminders of my relative size to the world, and of the possibilities that exist within a country as large as ours.

We passed through quite a few odd little towns built up along the highway. I haven't seen a McDonald's in the last 500 miles of traveling and it was quickly apparent that cell service is going to be only slightly more dependable than it was when I was hundreds of miles away, in the middle of the ocean. I'll be camping in the Visitor Center's library to post my summer tales.

It's currently much colder than I thought it would be, and I am mentally kicking myself over the active decisions to pack cool and light while back at Vassar. I distinctly recall holding my fleece in front of my face and thinking: "It's Utah, the desert, in the middle of the summer, you won't need a fleece."

I should have brought the fleece.

Always bring the fleece. Summer lesson number one.

Anyway, we spent the night in a nice, but overpriced little cottage after eating the umpteenth overpriced meal. The area surrounding Bryce Canyon National Park is far more touristy than I had originally thought, dotted with small restaurants with too many scraps of leather decorating their walls.

Yet, tourism aside, as you near this particular corner of Utah, the countryside becomes striking in variety and vivid beauty that's completely outside the realm of everyday America. Stepping into this region was like leaving the planet instead of simply crossing state lines.

Red Canyon, hugged up inside Dixie National Forest, was stunning. The deep red stains of the earth and the bright oranges are beyond comparison, almost unnatural in the rich saturation of colour.
The next morning we watched tour bus after tour bus steam by from our parking spot adjacent to the large stone placard welcoming visitors to Bryce Canyon NP. Families from all over, ourselves included, got out to take photos to commemorate their trek from faraway lands with a snapshot of wound-up kids and tired, but excited adults in front of the sign.

I watched from the backseat, jittery after having put off my nerves for as long as I could until I began watching for the car that would bring me to my first in-person meeting with my summer supervisor. My stomach was in knots, and I kept thinking over a line from the new Lemony Snicket book I had read on the way over, which said something to the effect of being frightened after the fact, because in the midst of things there's too much to do.

The next few hours were a blur, meeting my supervisor, talking about where we would meet, and how early (5:30!) and if I was okay with capturing the hummingbirds we'd be banding (AM I EVER). I met my housemate, who in a great flurry of activity managed to give me the low-down on everything that was wrong with the government house she had been staying in (that I would be staying in), while one of the maintenance guys installed something on the hot water heater, while discussing other issues and projects. All of this while standing in the doorway with a decent portion of my earthly possessions, alongside my parents, my supervisor, and her adorable little boys.

We dropped my things and bolted for the general store.

Things are very expensive here.

Things were very, very expensive at the general store attached to the inn/ restaurant/ gift shop/ historical monument that's been breathing alongside Bryce Canyon since before it was a National Park. Luckily my parents are generous enough not only to have driven me the twelve hours to this little corner of the universe, but set me up with a few days' worth of provisions so that my collegiate heart wouldn't give out under the weight of a $5 loaf of bread.

I did nothing for a while, wandering around the house that reminded me very much of the temporary living facilities on the air force bases of my youth. I didn't want to unpack and settle too much because my first roommate had said she was leaving right after she had listed all the things wrong with the house.

I'm happy to have a roof over my head. I haven't had a garbage disposal since I lived at home. And even if it doesn't work, it doesn't take much to make me happy. I finally decided to unpack after perfecting my grocery list.

I met my other roommate, we ventured into Tropic to go to the grocery store/ restaurant/ art gallery there. Red meat is cheap, but that's about it. We suffered together on the way back, complaining about the cost. That time my collegiate heart did give out under the cost of spaghetti noodles. Why is linguini two dollars cheaper? Why do spaghetti noodles cost more than two dollars to begin with?

I decided to eat less and have an even less discerning palate after that little stint. Although living the young liberal life will be difficult. It seems as though the only Greek Yogurt this side of the state line is pineapple. Yogurt has been a point of stress in the past, I'm currently reminding myself that it's just yogurt, but if I don't get wound up about yogurt, I will freak a little about the lack of fresh produce available, which is a bit more of a problem.

I'll be eating a lot of cucumbers. And a lot of linguini this summer.

But my roomie and I both decided we'd deal, because it is unbelievably beautiful here, and the stars will be bright above our heads, and we'll be doing exciting, fulfilling things.

It was an interesting day, spending time with her while wondering where in the state of Nevada my parents had gotten to after our second trip to the general store. I have a really, really good feeling about the people I met today. I'm looking forward to living and working with all of them.