“Are we there yet, Grandpa?” Thomas was beginning to get a bit agitated. But I guess any 11-year-old boy would. Being stuck in an old rainbow-colored VW van, chugging along the almost deserted highways of Wyoming aren’t exactly a “fun” experience for any kid. But this was probably the first time in along time that my grandkids and I had some time to get away.
 
Their parents were out for a week. My daughter had always wanted to go on a cruise around Mexico, so the first chance they got, they took it with both hands, and like any good grandfather I took the responsibility of looking after the boys. I didn’t mind at all. It gave me the perfect opportunity to spend some time with the boys. Between the three hour drive from my place to their house in the suburbs of Denver, play practice, soccer practice, etc., we hardly ever had any time to even sit down and have a chat. It would always be Thanksgiving or Christmas, hardly enough time for any serious bonding. I was just the distant, eccentric, long-haired, hippie grandfather who showed up now and then. This made me really appreciate having these four days off to spend with two boys who were growing so fast that I felt I wouldn’t even recognize them in a few years.

We reached Yellowstone on a sunny afternoon in June. The mountains were still capped in snow, and the temperature had certainly taken a dip. Thomas and his younger brother, 9-year-old Eric, were fascinated by the large canyon on the drive in and were excited by the burned trees that stretched for acres. As we followed the signs to enter the camping area, Thomas and Eric were now starting to show a little more interest in their environment. This was something totally new to them. The cool, fresh breeze, the smell of still damp snow, and the tranquility of nature all around were things they had not experienced before. Plus, the stories I had told them about bears, moose and buffalo had made them feel they were in some program they had watched on The Discovery Channel.

We pulled up next to a battered old pale blue RV owned by a young couple in their thirties. They were very friendly, and had driven all the way from Texas to spend some time surrounded by nature. They immediately took to the boys, and were soon entertaining them at their fireside, roasting marshmallows.  I busied myself building our little campfire as well. The boys rushed over to help with the tent, and they proved more than efficient in following my instructions.

After our dinner of sandwiches and orange juice, we sat around. For a long time we sat in the lotus position, legs crossed, watching the orange flame fight the cold wind for survival, as we kept feeding it the dry branches needed to survive. We stayed there for the longest time, completely still, in silence, which was strange, especially with the usually talkative boys.

“You know Grandpa, it feels really good to not be doing anything. Thanks for bringing us here,” Thomas said. Eric nodded his head in agreement. I looked at the boys, and in the light of the camp fire they looked like two little enlightened Buddhas who had just learned the first lesson to a happy, healthy life: remain still and be at peace. I smiled and continued to dream of what more they would learn on our little adventure.