Waking up on a yacht is beautiful. It’s like waking up into a good dream. The waves slowly lap at the sides of the ship, the sea breeze kisses you good morning, and the stillness makes your swirls of anxiety slow down for a few minutes.

When I woke up, the sky was aflame with sunrise. It looked like this:

I went down to Lauren’s bedroom (they’re called “staterooms” on a boat, which sounds fancy) and woke her up because I didn’t want her to miss the gorgeous sunrise. Good thing I did, or she would have missed all the excitement that came next.

We hopped in some kayaks to paddle around the glassy water surrounding our ship. I saw a turtle come up for breath, so I paddled in that direction. Sure enough, an adorable loggerhead was chillin in the sand. When my kayak got close, it pressed itself into the sand and reeds even deeper, trying to be invisible.

I see you, Loggerhead. We’re literally making eye contact. Say cheese!

I didn’t want to freak my new turtle friend out too much, but I stayed right next to him until Lauren got close enough to see him too. Then we went on our way, ooo-ing and ahhh-ing about the many tropical fish and tiny crabs and sea life that we found. That’s a perk of having your yacht anchored close to a sandbar/reefy area. At some places, the water was only a couple feet deep – great for wildlife viewing!

As I was puzzling over some species of fish, Lauren called to me from maybe twenty yards away. “Look, Christine! A dolphin!” There was a fin sticking out of the water around fifty yards from us. Cool! We both paddled that way quickly, hoping to see the dolphin.

As we started to get closer, the fin suddenly sped up in chase of something. A large fish jumped from the water, trying to escape. There was an epic battle, lots of splashing, the fin zigzagging this way and that. Then, having won (or lost?) the battle, the fin started slowly meandering away from the scene.

Lauren and I looked at each other. “Uhhh…” I said. “That’s not a dolphin.”

Lauren’s eyes were wide. “It’s a shark.”

I nodded, eyes matching hers. “Totally a shark.”

We looked at each other, then wordlessly turned our kayaks around and started heading the other way.

“Are you hungry for breakfast?” I asked. NOT that I was scared of the shark, OBVIOUSLY. I was simply hungry. The shark had breakfast – why shouldn’t I?

“Yes,” Lauren replied, a hint of relief in her voice. “Definitely hungry. Let’s go back to the boat and have breakfast.”

“Not that I’m scared,” I said. “Just suddenly hungry. Of course.”

Lauren later asked if this was like when I tear up sometimes, but instead of admitting I’m crying I say, “It’s so dusty in here.”

WHATEVER, LAUREN. YOU WENT IN TOO.

Because, you know, what if the shark lost the battle with the tarpon or whatever it was hunting, and now it thought my red kayak looked delicious? I’m just saying!

So we went in. Eco-Queen Lauren did an analysis of the size of the dorsal and tail fin (we saw the tail fin too during the battle), the coloration, the habitat, and blah blah blah. She narrowed it solidly down to a bull shark or a reef shark (pics from Google…they look pretty much the same to me). We estimate it was probably around six feet long.

So we survived the shark attack (though the shark wasn’t attacking US, strictly speaking). By this time the sun was fully up, and it was time to start packing up to head back to Nana’s.

Our water taxi guy, Mark, picked us up right on time, and we were off. We made a quick stop at the Southernmost point of the United States for the obligatory tourist picture, then it was road trippin’ to Key Biscayne.

I’m so pleased to report that I have no blog info to share from the ride back. No crashes, tickets, or breakdowns. Phewf! I was thankful for an uneventful ride on the beautiful Overseas Highway.

When we got back, Nana had dinner ready for us. What an awesome grandma. Then we watched a sort of depressing documentary about species that are going extinct. Lauren didn’t get in any trouble this time.

Wait, did I tell you about when she got in trouble last time? *scroll scroll scroll* No! I didn’t!

Last time we watched a movie with Nana, Lauren bumped something on the table next to her.

“What’s that noise?” Nana asked, concerned.

“Just me,” Lauren said. “I bumped this…thing.” She pointed to the large pointy item on the table next to her.

“Oh no!” Nana exclaimed. “That’s an African tribal killing weapon. It’s very dangerous!”

“WHAT?!” Lauren looked at it again. People hunt with this? But…how?

“People dig a pit, put a bunch of these in it, then an animal comes along, falls in, and it’s lights out. You could really hurt yourself.”

“Sorry,” said Lauren. “I’ll be careful.”

Even though the probability of someone digging a pit and throwing Lauren on the spear thing was slim, Nana wasn’t taking any chances. “Trade me seats,” she said. “For safety.”

And that’s how Lauren got banned from sitting on the right side of the couch.

I took the danger seat this time, since I can be trusted around African tribal spears, and we had a great night watching our movie and chatting with Nana about our trip and also listening to her travel stories. Then it was time to pack up. Bleh.

Now we’re sitting in the airport at 5:19 AM, waiting to board our plane home. I’m very glad I came on this trip, but I’m also looking forward to seeing Rex and the pets when I get home.

Thanks for following this adventure! See you next time! 🙂

I told Lauren it was a bad idea.

I said, “Lauren, you should not get a tattoo. This is a bad life choice. Think of your future. Do you really want this on your body forever?”

Just kidding. Of course I didn’t say that. I said, “Great idea! Get a tattoo, and then I’ll blog about it!”

So here we are.

After a breakfast of bagels and a morning kayak, we were picked up by water taxi to go into town. We went straight to the tattoo shop to make Lauren’s appointment (this was the “top secret thing” we were discussing last night). The shop was… well… let’s just say Lauren had full faith in it. She even commented how great it was that no one else was there. To me, I thought that made it more questionable. Don’t you want to be at the tattoo shop that’s packed because everyone loves their tattoos? Or something? Oh well. What do I know. I’m a tattoo-less puritan.

This tattoo shop was far from puritanical. Here are two things I saw immediately upon entering:

Mrs. Westerman, I TOLD Lauren to do her research. She claims this was the best place in town. Lauren was the valedictorian of our high school class, right? Or at least close? She’s smart, anyway. We’re going to trust her.

But if she dies of sepsis or something, no one can say I didn’t warn her.

Anyway, Lauren discussed her chosen design with the tattoo person, and we made an appointment to come back at 4:00. Then it was off to snorkeling!

We sat by a family from Ohio on the catamaran to go snorkeling. The dad was a grouse hunter who owns a German Shorthair, so we had plenty to talk about. Because of Rex, I am fluent in grouse hunting.

Once in the water, we saw lots of beautiful fish and coral. Lauren took some GoPro footage. At one point we saw a bunch of jellyfish, which was half cool and half “AHHHH! SWIM AWAYYYY!”

Luckily, we didn’t get stung. We enjoyed our snorkel and then our cool ride on the catamaran, heading back to land while drinking complimentary wine, laughing, and talking to our new friends. Prior to getting on the boat, we’d realized we forgot to bring towels. Here we are posing with the dog towels we bought at a chintzy souvenir shop:

Then, after snorkeling….it was TIME.

We headed back to the tattoo place, and Lauren was waiting to fill out paperwork when an older couple came in. The lady was sweet – gray hair, a floral shirt…she looked like a grandma, and she looked quite scared. If you took me to the street outside and said, “Pick the one person least likely to go to a tattoo shop,” I probably would have picked her. I didn’t ever get her name, so we’ll call her Betty.

“Are you here for a tattoo?” asked Lauren. Lauren is always making friends.

“Yes,” Betty said. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the setting. “It was on my bucket list.”

From her age and her frightened demeanor, I translated her statement to mean, “I put this stupid thing on my bucket list decades ago, and I just looked in the mirror and realized I’m old. Looks like I’ve got to get cracking on this stuff.”

Her husband was taller than her, and he was wearing an orange shirt and a khaki bucket hat. He said, “I told her, if she can put up with my shit for forty years, she can handle getting a tattoo.”

Well said, sir.

“I’ve tried before,” Betty said, “but I always chicken out at the end.”

“Today’s the day!” said Lauren.

“Yeah,” I added. “You can do it! This is the one!” She needed a cheer squad. I snuck a picture of her to show you.

Betty and Mr. Betty worked on paperwork while Lauren got her tattoo. It’s on her right ankle. It’s a little pug reaching up for a heart balloon. I might be biased because I love pugs, but I think it’s adorable.

The tattoo only took fifteen minutes. I didn’t even dig into the book I brought with me to read while I waited. Who knew tattoos were so speedy? You too could have your body forever altered in only fifteen minutes!

When Lauren finished her tattoo, we wished Betty good luck and headed on our way. We found a Mexican restaurant a few buildings down, and we had dinner. As we were walking back down the street, we peeked in the window of the tattoo shop to find BETTY GETTING HER TATTOO! YAY BETTY! We went inside and told her we were happy for her and said congratulations. She got a turtle on her right arm. I should have taken a picture, but poor Betty was already a bit overwhelmed. I don’t think she needed paparazzi hounding her.

After dinner, we started meandering back to the dock to get our taxi ride back to the yacht. We stopped on the way for chocolate covered key lime pie. I’m not positive that it’s the best dessert I’ve ever had in my life…but I can’t immediately think of one that was better. They were delicious!

Then it was back to camping chairs and watching the sunset on top of our yacht. I could really get used to this life.

I’ll start this post with the same place the day started: at sunrise. Lauren and I have been getting up to watch the sunrise every morning, and most mornings we do sunrise yoga using videos on her phone. The beach is mostly deserted, but every once in a while people walk by and wonder why the heck we’re contorting our bodies in weird positions. Once we were in child’s pose (which is basically bowing on your knees), and I swear someone thought we were worshipping the sun. They probably went home and were all, “Oh Mildred, I think those flibbity flabbing Millennials have started a new sun-worshipping cult…” Alas. At least the sunrise was beautiful.

We went for a walk on the beach and checked out the bird sanctuary again. There was a peacock hangout where we saw sixteen peafowl all in the same area! (I can’t say sixteen peacocks because Lauren will read this and say, “You know, Christine…a female peafowl is actually a peahen, and only males are peacocks.” I want to spare myself the eco-lecture).

After that, we had some breakfast and started packing for our trip down to Key West. It was weird – we were packing for a vacation within a vacation. It was vacation Inception. The yacht owner told us to pack light, so we each packed a backpack and that’s it. Then it was on the road and heading south! Most of the highway was right next to the water, making for a beautiful drive.

We stopped in Islamorada for a break from the four-hour drive. We first stopped at the Bass Pro Shops because, as a Webb, I felt morally obligated to get my picture taken there. Then – what luck! – there was an awesome restaurant right next door. Look at our view!!

I didn’t want an alcoholic drink at 1:30 in the afternoon, but the drinks at the table next to us looked so tasty. I asked our waiter if he could invent something non-alcoholic that was still fruity and delicious, and he knocked it out of the park. It was the perfect fit for the scenery. They were even playing tropical music, which at one point included the limbo song. *shrug emoji*

When we got to Key West, we had a little bit of time to shop before we had to meet our captain at the dock. I got presents for my dogs and cat (nothing for Rex yet…oops). We picked up some takeout so we’d be able to eat on the boat. Then we met the guy who was scheduled to take us out to the yacht – he was about as sketchy as one of those crew-neck grandma sweaters with kittens on them (aka not sketchy at all, unless you have a very strange grandma). That was a relief, because getting murdered sounded really unpleasant.

Our yacht is awesome! Lauren and I each have our own bedroom, and I’m currently writing at the kitchen table that seats six. I did a video tour on my phone, so ask me about it sometime if you want to see it. Here are a couple of pics I pulled from the listing:

We put on our bikinis to go kayaking and took some pics. Please notice that my bikini has ALL ITS BUTTONS (yay – thanks for fixing it, Nana!), and I’m wearing cat-eye glasses and legit boat shoes. I’m so retro-chic that it’s going to break the internet because we’ll all be instantly transported back to the fifties when you look at this picture.

Here’s a pic of Lauren!

After pictures, we hopped in the kayaks (the yacht is equipped with kayaks and paddleboards). We paddled around for a while. We saw a cuuuuuute sea turtle and an osprey who caught a fish, but we didn’t snorkel yet (the yacht has snorkel gear too). Hopefully we’ll see more wildlife tomorrow.

Remember earlier this week when I said I couldn’t figure out what the boat camping equivalent to a campfire is? Well, I found it! It’s drinking wine from a can and eating rice krispie treats while sitting in camping chairs and watching the sunset. We sat around and talked about life, God, and all the things. Then we decided that this is one of those things we’ll tell our grandkids about one day (hopefully we’ll have grandkids one day):

Grandma: Sonny, pass the marshmallows for the rice krispies. Did you know I once ate rice krispies off the southernmost tip of the United States? I was at sea. Ah, those were the good old days when I could rock in a bikini. Did you know I used to wear a bikini?

Grandkid: Um, okay grandma. I don’t care. When will the krispies be done??

Kids these days. I tell ya.

Now I’m blogging while we brainstorm what to do tomorrow. Our plan is to do some snorkeling and then also probably this other TOP SECRET THING, which I can’t put on the blog because my friend Janell would probably get all “Christine! What are you thinking?!” because she had a cow when we picked up hitchhikers last summer. Lauren’s mom would say, “Tut tut, girls! Make good choices!”

Don’t ask me why I just made Mrs. Westerman say “tut tut.” I’ve never heard her say that in my life. It seemed like a mom thing to say.

But anyway, this TOP SECRET THING isn’t dangerous, and I think we’re gonna do it. You’ll have to tune in tomorrow to find out what it is. For tonight, I’m signing off from yacht life. It’s amazing out here.

Today was so chill that I don’t even know what to blog about. The biggest disaster of the day was that a button fell off my swimsuit. I mean, that’s what I get for buying a new bikini that cost only twenty-eight-ninety-five-plus-tax, you know? A button will fall off.

I only bought a new bikini because I Iost my baby bump and now have a passable bikini body (bleh). To distract myself from pouting about it, I decided to buy a new swimsuit. I got this super cool retro looking one, as it looks fabulous and nautical for boat camping. The buttons even have tiny little anchors on them:

After reading by the pool for a while, I noticed one of my buttons was missing. Ack! We had just sun-dried and were finally ready to go back inside for lunch. When I found out my button was missing, though, the hunt was on. I spotted it at the bottom of the 8-foot deep end of the pool – a shiny little silver dot.

I immediately jumped in without pausing, like it was a pirate medallion and I was Captain Jack Sparrow. I had to get to it before any of those weird kids with snorkel masks spotted it, said, “Oooo, shiny!” and scooped it up like the grabby little hoarders kids can be.

Luckily, I beat all of the (non-existent) competitors and rescued my fallen button. I’ll have to sew it back on before we get to the boat on Tuesday.

And that was the worst thing that happened to me today, so I don’t have a lot of complaints.

Lauren and I spent a lot of time outside today: we walked the beach, checked out the lighthouse, bought freshly squeezed fruit juice, and even took some glamour shots of Lauren so she could update her profile pic. My FitBit informs me that I’m over 20,000 steps for the day. Here are some pics:

We did spend a little bit of time inside, though. Lauren had to read some certification applications (or something), and I had some graduate homework to finish up. Am I nuts for still trying to pass these two grad classes even though my life is falling apart? I think yes. And maybe no. At least it gives me something to do to fill time…I had a high A in each class before the disaster. All I need to do is pass (as Rex keeps telling me – “C’s get degrees!!”). Five weeks left of class… I think I can do it.

Anyway, one of my journal entries for a class had to be about a brief scene that took place this week or last week. I’m going to share this assignment with you since it explains how the “rustic boat camping” Lauren and I planned to do actually turned into “50-ft Yacht Camping,” which will be different but also pretty fab if you ask me.

Sit back, pop some popcorn, and enjoy my homework assignment:

WRITING PROMPT #3

The guy seemed sketchy from the beginning.

My friend Lauren and I wanted to go boat camping over spring break. The thing about boat camping is that you need a boat, and neither one of us have one. But it’s 2021, so AirBnB was an obvious solution.

We reserved a small sailboat to use for boat camping. It would be anchored in the water, and it had two single beds, a small table, and really, what more did we need? It’s boat camping. It’s supposed to be rustic.

The owner of said sailboat is named Mike. Mike was sketching me out from the beginning of our reservation, because his answers to my questions came in short sentence fragments with grammar errors. I’m currently in a grammar class that’s instructing students stop being so judgy about “correct vs. incorrect” grammar, so thanks to Dr. Metz I decided to go ahead with Mr. Sketchtastic and try to practice not being so judgy.

Here’s the thing – once my trip was booked, Mike the Sketchy Guy stopped answering my questions altogether. Total radio silence. Considering that we are supposed to be counting on this guy to meet us at the dock and take us in his dinghy out to the sailboat, and then we were also supposed to count on him to come pick us up from the sailboat at the end of our stay, radio silence seemed a little scary.

Dr. Metz hasn’t had a talk with us about respecting radio silence from AirBnB guys, so I figured now was the appropriate time to start acknowledging my mental red flags.

I voiced my concerns to Lauren. She agreed that, considering my experience with Mike, maybe it was time to look for a different sailboat.

So I did.

I got sucked down the wormhole that is the internet, and about a half hour later I texted Lauren: “Maybe this is the dumbest idea ever, and maybe it’s my grief talking, but I found this fifty foot yacht…”

Of course, a yacht is significantly more expensive than a sailboat (as in, over twice as expensive). It has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining area, and an upstairs. But we wouldn’t have to deal with Sketchy Mike and his dinghy, and boat camping would get a major upgrade. It would be like going from camping in a tent to a fancy-pants RV.

I held my phone, waiting for Lauren to text back. Would she say I’m nuts? I know I haven’t been myself since my loss, but that experience taught me that life is short. You only live once – if you’re lucky enough to be born alive in the first place – and in my mind that translated to, “spring for the yacht.”

My heart leapt when I saw the return text pop up from Lauren: “Let’s do it.”

I quickly cancelled my reservation with Sketchy Mike, even though he finally got back to me in his grammar-lacking way. Too bad, Mike! We’ve moved on! I booked the yacht instead. Robert, the yacht owner, had flawless grammar skills. This immediately raised my confidence in the yacht situation (sorry Dr. Metz). He’s been great at communication this whole time, and Lauren and I are excited for our “Yacht Camping” (can those two words even be in the same sentence?) experience.

There you have it. We are now YACHT CAMPING on Tuesday. With all of my swimsuit buttons. Stay tuned…

I forgot about what it’s like to travel with Lauren “Bear Gryllz” Westerman. Today I remembered. It’s like a constant study of ecological fun facts.

The day started with walking down a trail toward the main road to go exploring. Lauren said, “Wow, look! A snake plant IN THE GROUND!” (Pic below is from Google images in case you don’t know what a snake plant is).

Her comment made me wonder where snake plants are usually found, you know, if they’re not usually in the ground. I pictured some plants flying through the sky. Lauren said that in Michigan, you can only get them as potted plants.

Ah. I see now.

So the snake plant was very exciting (if you’re Lauren). She went through naming a bunch of plants as we walked. I saw a pretty flower and said, “Hey Lauren, what’s this one?”

“An azalea,” she said, as if I’d just asked what color the sky is. Oops. I probably should have known that one.

She also practically squealed in delight when Nana set the table for breakfast and used cloth napkins. “Your Nana uses reusable napkins?!” she said. “She is AWESOME!”

And, I mean, I know Nana’s awesome. But only Recycle Obsesso Lauren would think it’s because she uses cloth napkins.

As we continued walking down the Lauren-knows-all-the-plants trail, we came across a plant that she didn’t know. We had to camp out there for some time while she wowed over it and we tried to figure out what it was. She commented that the seed pods were especially unique. Here’s the flower:

And y’all, I’m all about a unique seed pod, but am I the only one who giggled when seeing it?

Lauren, of course, drew no inappropriate conclusions. Because she’s a scientist, that’s why. I’m a middle school teacher. We each acted in accordance with our professions.

We found a spa and got pedicures so our nails could be beachy-chic. I went with shocking pink, because I’ve recently learned that life can be very short, so for the love just GET THE BRIGHT NAILS. Lauren went with blue. Please note our matching pug masks, which I got us for this trip. We get lots of compliments from people who either actually think these are cool or Regina-George-style think they’re awful and just want to make us feel better about being lame.

As we were walking back to Nana’s from getting our nails done, we came across a man in an Easter bunny suit throwing candy at children in a park from the back of his red pickup truck.

Does that not seem incredibly sketchy to you?!

We stopped to watch for a minute. The kids seemed so happy. Then a cop siren wailed. I thought for sure the easter bunny was going to get arrested (which would have been interesting). BUT NO.

The cop was a police escort for ANOTHER EASTER BUNNY.

This rival Easter Bunny came rolling down the road in a golf cart, wearing the exact same suit, and I thought a few things at the same time: First, “Ooooooooh snap. It’s about to GO DOWN with these Easter bunnies,” and also, “How are those poor parents going to explain to their children why there are two Easter bunnies?!” I mentally catalogued a list of options:

1. The Easter Bunny has an evil twin. He’s the one who steals your Easter candy after you get it, not me.
2. One of them is obviously a robot.
3. You are seeing two bunnies when there’s only one. Oops, time to take you to the eye doctor!
4. One of them is an imposter, like the Santa in Elf when Buddy freaks out. Watch this brawl that’s about to happen. When one pulls the head off the other one, you’ll know who the real Easter Bunny is.

Lauren got confused, as this sudden prevalence of Easter bunnies did not fit her ecological profile of the Florida Keys. “Is this a cultural thing?” she asked me. “They love Easter bunnies around here?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ve never seen them before today.”

I admit I was the tiniest bit disappointed when the Easter bunny with the police escort did a friendly wave to the truck Easter bunny and simply continued on his way down the street. I was really hoping for a “This town ain’t big enough for the two of us” kind of showdown. Alas. The truck Easter Bunny kept on throwing eggs full of candy at the kids, and we headed on our way.

Back at Nana’s, we ate some lunch before going out to the beach. The water is warm and perfect, so we went swimming in the clear sea and also read our books under a beach umbrella. There’s nothing to say about that because nothing happened (which was amazing).

When we got antsy to do something different, we went to the bird sanctuary that’s near Nana’s condo complex. We saw so many birds and even a couple bird families with little pluffy baby birds. They were so cuuuute! I admit I had one sort-of breakdown moment where I lamented, “Why does every creature on the planet have a baby except for meeeeee?!” But I rallied pretty fast. After all, the babies WERE really cute.

One family of baby birds was swimming in a pond where Rex photographed crocodiles last time we were here, so I rushed Lauren away, saying, “We’ve gotta go! I can’t watch these babes get eaten by a crocco, but it’s for sure going to happen. I don’t want to see it!”

Hopefully they’re still okay.

When we got back from the bird sanctuary, I took a nap. Then it was time to get ready for the Yacht Club with the Fab Four. The Fab Four include my Nana and her three sisters-in-law. They’re the best group of 70’s and 80’s ladies that you’ll ever find. We got all dressed up (why didn’t I get a picture of us?!), and we drank blueberry cosmos while watching the sunset over Biscayne Bay. It was a perfect way to end the day.

Now I’m writing this while sitting in bed while Lauren grades some papers or something. *yawwwwn* I’m sleepy from today, but I did have fun. I even laughed. I thought, “WHAT IS THIS ODD SOUND COMING OUT OF MY BODY?!” but it felt kinda good. It made me happy that I came here. ❤

For anyone who follows this blog but may not follow me in real life, my husband and I just lost our baby boy. Today is the one month anniversary of his stillbirth. It was the most awful thing ever ever EVER, and if you want to know more about that tragedy you can read my final post on my pregnancy blog, which is linked here.

This blog post isn’t about that. This is my travel blog, so – as you may have guessed – I’m gearing up to travel.

“WAIT!” I hear you hollering. “You’re traveling?! Why?? Your baby son just died! You march back to that couch, put on some black clothes, and cry for a few more weeks or forever. Queen Victoria wore black for the next forty years after her husband died. You’re going to what, chill on a beach only a month or so after your son died? HAVE YOU NO SOUL?!”

Oh, that wasn’t you hollering that? It was my own mind then.

I struggled (and I mean STRRRUUUGGGLLLEEDDD) with the decision of what to do for spring break this year. Before Charlie died I had a ticket booked to Florida, but I didn’t want to go anymore after his birth. Rex convinced me not to cancel the ticket yet – just in case I decided I could go. After all, he still has to work all of spring break. Here are my options as I currently see them:

A. Cry on the couch at home. Do chores. Be lonely all day waiting for Rex to get home.

B. Cry on the beach in Florida. Hang out with my British grandma and talk about all of Queen Victoria’s black clothes (how did she have so many black clothes?!). Chill with my friend Lauren, who planned to go with me all along, and who has been a complete gem of a friend since Charlie died.

I mean…the choice looks a little obvious when I put it that way (Okay, I admit – it’s Rex who laid that out like that for me). If there was anything, and I mean ANYTHING, I could do to bring my sweet boy back, I would. But there isn’t. And I’m coming to a place where I have to live without him – not that I’m “moving on” from him or “over” my loss, but I have to learn to live with it. I can’t stay on the couch forever.

Therefore, I’ve officially decided: I’m going to Florida.

One thing my therapist said was that I need to find things that make me happy and try to make time to do them, even if I don’t feel like being happy (yeah, I’m seeing a therapist. My son just died. I DARE you to judge me).

Well, you know what I love to do? Write. And travel. And especially write about traveling.

So I’m going to blog about my trip to Florida (or try to, anyway. No promises). If that’s going to offend you because you prefer that I pull a Queen Victoria and publicly mourn 24/7 for my son for the rest of my life, then you don’t have to read this. Plus, I might add that you’re not a very nice person to demand that of me.

Warning: I won’t talk about Charlie much on here. It’s too sad. If I’m writing as a form of therapy, it’s supposed to be fun. So if you’re reading these posts and it sounds like I’m *gasp* having fun, well…I’m trying. And don’t think for a second that Charlie isn’t on my mind all day every day, but I just can’t write about him all the time. Otherwise Lauren and Nana will have to mop the puddle of sorrow that is me off my keyboard, and no one wants to do that.

I might even try to make jokes on here. Because I used to like making jokes.

(I can’t currently think of any jokes, but maybe as I write other posts I will remember how to be funny).

Plus, Lauren and I are going boat camping toward the end of our trip. It’s like real camping, but on the ocean. Take a normal camping trip and simply make the following switches:

Tent = boat

Forest = endless ocean

Bears = sharks

Chipmunks = fish

Hiking = kayaking

Bonfire = (actually, I have no idea, but I’m quite sure you CANNOT have a fire on a boat)

Stars = Stars (those stay the same)

If you’re going to tell me that there won’t be anything bloggable about BOAT CAMPING, then you’re just plain wrong. There will be. Basically I had to write this ridiculously long disclaimer to try to assague some of my guilt about going on this trip.

Oh, and don’t worry – I’ve already informed Lauren that there will be NO picking up of hitchhikers this time. Unless a pelican lands on our boat or something. I have no control over that.

Within a few hours of starting our train ride back, Lauren and I were holding a secret summit in the observation car (so we could be away from our fellow travelers in the weirdo car). “What are we going to do?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“I think it’s time to upgrade,” Lauren said. “It’s going to be a loooong thirty hours in the car with those guys.”

By “those guys,” she was referring to the two stars of our coach class experience: Cory, Lauren’s new boyfriend, and Mr. American Idol, whose name we will never know. Here’s a picture from the observation car, where we held our summit.

When we first got on the train this morning, we asked about getting an upgrade. We’d been spoiled on the way out with our sleeper car, and the thought of spending thirty hours seated in coach was a little bummery. But, when we were quoted the price of the upgrade, we declined. (That’s actually a much longer story that includes both of us walking all over this train looking for different people when one guy said, “Go ask that guy,” and then that guy would say, “Go ask that guy,” etc., and we had to walk car to car searching for these people like they were suspects on the Orient Express).

We resigned ourselves to sitting in coach. It wouldn’t be so bad, really. The train isn’t full, so we could each have two seats and an aisle between us. I could lay down on the chairs if I scrunched myself up really tight like a closed accordion and didn’t breathe too much.

Right as we were sitting down, Cory came to chat with us from his seat further back in the car. He was a lanky blonde guy with a lazy eye who looked to be in his early twenties. Cory recently got out of jail and has been homeless for a while, but he’s heading east to start a new life with his “almost girlfriend,” a young lady who lives in Minot, North Dakota, and invited him to move in with her three weeks after they met (well now, isn’t she in for a treat).

Lauren was her usual friendly self, but I basically said hi and then attempted to be aloof. After all, I didn’t want thirty hours of chatting with Cory the ex-con homeless guy. I buried my nose in a book and turned away.

Disappointed by my exiting the conversation, Cory tried to rope me back in. “What are you reading, Christine?”

“It’s a book about spies, Cory, thanks for asking.”

*buries my nose harder*

While Cory and Lauren bonded, the guy behind me started singing. Now, when I say “singing,” I don’t mean “humming softly and murmuring a few words.” I mean, “WHY YOU HAVE TO BUILD MEEEEE UUUUP?? JUST TO BREEEEAK ME DOOOWWWWN??” at a volume that was clearly audible to everyone around us. I think because he had earphones in, he figured it was all good to sing along with his jams. He was probably congratulating himself: “These poor people on a thirty-hour train ride. I will provide them with a free soundtrack.” He warbled mangled lyrics that sometimes vaguely resembled an American top forty song, but he was so off-key that it was hard to tell. He would also sing random lines, really loudly, and then mumble through the parts of the song he didn’t know. Sometimes he would go silent entirely. But then, when it was back to the part of the song he knew, buckle up. He was going to be back at full volume.

I started trying to guess what songs he was singing by the lines he threw out there. Sometimes I could tell, sometimes I couldn’t. I laughed a little to myself when he belted the Billie Eilish lyric, “I’M NOT JUST SOMEBODY’S DAAAAUUGHHTER!!!”

I wrapped myself in a blanket, scrunched up in my accordion position, and attempted to take a nap. Meanwhile, I heard Lauren finally extricate herself from the Cory conversation by saying, “Okay but really… I’m going to read my book now.” Books, man. I tell you. They’re lifesavers.

A little while later, I heard Cory come back, sit behind Lauren’s seat, and say, “I see you’re taking a break from reading now.” Apparently she had put down her book for a second, and he’d been watching for it. Eeeep! I closed my eyes tighter, playing dead so Cory wouldn’t talk to me again too. At this point we’d heard all about his son (“Two years old, but I lost custody of him at six months. Here’s a picture.”), his bike (“Very sentimental because it belonged to my mom. Want to hear about how many locks I have on it?”), and even his phone plan (“Sometimes I don’t pay my bill, but I promised T-Mobile that I’d recommend them to others if they cover the bill for me. I think it’s gonna work. But I might need to borrow your phone.”)

Luckily, I think everyone believed I was asleep. Eventually, I did fall asleep. I’m not sure how long I was out, but I was woken up by an outburst of lyrical passion sung by Mr. American Idol: “BITCH. ASS. HOOOOOOOOE!!!”

Ack! I sat up, a little disoriented as to why a large man was singing profanities at me. Lauren gave me a look that said, “What have we gotten ourselves into?” and picked up her knitting.

Cory appeared behind her again. “I see you’re knitting. What are you knitting?”

FOR THE LOVE, CORY. GO BACK TO YOUR SEAT.

At this point, Lauren had been chatting with listening to Cory for the better part of four hours. I sent a text to her that said, “How committed are you to taking coach the whole way? Your boyfriend and Mr. American Idol over here are pretty obnoxious.” She texted back that we should sneak away for a lunch summit to discuss this.

The dining car isn’t open to coach peasants like us, so we went to the cafe car (which is closed for seating, but you can get food to go). On the way out to Montana, I’d looked at the cafe menu and thought it looked pretty good. Sandwiches…bagels…pizza… plenty of options! Today, they were out of almost everything. I got stuck buying a lunch that was called “macaroni and cheese” but could have been more aptly named “chewy bits in glue.”

As I ate my chewy bits in glue, shuddering to think of how this was going to gum up my insides, we started talking about how to get out of there. “I think we should spring for the upgrade,” she said. “This is going to be a really long trip. At least we should try to transfer out of the weirdo car.”

It was not a hard sell. I quickly agreed. We called Amtrak to try and secure the upgrade (that’s what the conductors told us we had to do earlier), but they quoted us TWICE as much as what we had been quoted that morning! Ack! My heart sank. There was no way we could afford it. I was going to die from either ingesting thirty hours of chewy bits and glue or having a heart attack from Mr. American Idol’s outbursts.

I told Lauren to hang up and that I’d call back and hopefully get someone else. Sure enough, I did. He quoted us HALF of what we’d been quoted on the train earlier. Like, dear Amtrak – do you have a dart board with prices on it, and when someone calls you just throw a dart and see where it lands? Why do you all have different numbers?? I tried to lock that number in, but he couldn’t change it because our tickets had already been scanned.

To make a long story short, we ended up with a napkin full of notes and math that we scrambled to pass back and forth while we took turns calling Amtrak and hunting down conductors to try and figure out how to make our escape happen. It felt historically accurate – once you’re a peasant, no one wants to let you jump social classes. Go back to your chairs of doom, peasants! Let all the first class passengers gawk at you trying to accordion sleep as they float past you on their way to the all-inclusive food plan in the dining car!

Finally – after talking to TWELVE people (we counted), we secured the ticket upgrade. We even got it at the super low price I was quoted from the one guy (which turned out to be a mistake on his part, but Amtrak honored the quote). YESSSSSSSS. We all but ran back to the coach car to get our things, escorted by George the attendant who was super nice to us now that we were first class.

As we passed by our friends, Cory was on someone’s phone (“I am a paying T-Mobile customer! This is unacceptable!”). Lauren grabbed her things and said, “We got upgraded, bye” as we slid past him. She said it so fast that it all sounded like one word: Wegotupgradedbye. And we were outta there!

Once in our room, we breathed the biggest sigh of relief to be back in a private room. The attendant came by to take our dinner reservation – red wine braised beef with vegetables, salad, and dessert? Included in my ticket? Don’t mind if I do.

“We should have known better,” Lauren sighed. “You own a literal tiara, Christine. I don’t think you were ever cut out for peasant life.”

To be fair, I think coach class would have been doable. It may have even been enjoyable if we weren’t busy trying to avoid everyone else in our car. But this – a private room with good food, a shower, and beds? This is way more fun. I have a feeling that my cross-country coach days are over. Lauren and I agreed the views were better from first class, even though that’s impossible. But there were lots of pretty views!

I sent Lauren back to coach at one point and said, “Go get a selfie with Cory. I need it for the blog! I’ll give you $5 if you let him kiss you on the cheek in the picture.” Shockingly, Lauren decided to forego the $5. She did, however, go get a selfie with Cory. Because she’s a team player.

She came back with the pic, and I said, “Ummm…why is he wearing a hard hat?” She said she asked him the same question, and he said, “I was sick of having it stuffed away and packed up.” So. There’s your explanation to that obvious question. She also kept the selfie distanced. Because of COVID. Allegedly.

Cheers to a good night’s sleep! This has been a phenomenal trip. I’m sad that it’s almost over, but very happy that we get to end it in style. Thanks so much for your support and comments as you followed along on this blog. See you next time! 🙂

We only had the car until 1:00, so Lauren and I got up at dawn to spend the most possible time in the park. We were both sleepy, but we assured each other we’d catch up on sleep on the thirty-hour train ride home. For today, it was time to explore the mountains!

Our target for the day was the Trail of the Cedars and Avalanche Lake. They’re two of the more popular hikes in the park, and we’d had quite a few people recommend them to us. We hoped that by going early in the morning, we could avoid the worst of the crowds.

It was 51 degrees when we started our hike. Chilly! We put on all our layers and headed out. The sun was just peeking over the mountains, and we could see the rays kissing the tops of trees and filtering to the forest below. As usual, it was a beautiful hike.

When we got back to Avalanche Lake, the views were absolutely amazing (are you over me saying how amazing all these views are?? I’m over my inability to properly describe them to you). Because this is a popular hike, we saw plenty of other hikers even early in the morning. When we finally got to Avalanche Lake, we sat on a log to drink some water, eat a snack, and enjoy the tranquility of the scene.

Enter “The Yelling Family.”

The Yelling Family came out of the woods behind us, and everyone seemed pretty unhappy. Here’s what I remember of their conversation. Names have been changed to protect their anonymity (and also because I don’t remember their names).

Kid 1: Where are my oreos?! I WANT OREOS!

Dad: We can’t have oreos until later.

Mom: I said they could have oreos!

Dad: We get oreos at the BOTTOM of the mountain, not the top. Here kids, have some granola.

Kids: *Grumpily crunch granola*

Mom: Smile for a picture, kids!

Dad: THEY’RE EATING! Gosh, Sheila, can’t you even give them a BREAK TO EAT?!?

Mom: They can stop eating for ONE SECOND, Gary!! KIDS, SMILE!

Kid 2: I can’t stop eating for one second!

Mom: SMILE!!!!!!!!!

*click* *happy family photo*

Kid 1: CLARA! STOP DROPPING YOUR GRANOLA ON THE GROUND!!!!

Kid 2: I’LL PICK IT UP LATER, OKAY?! GOSH!!!

I have to admit, it did change the ambiance a little bit to have The Yelling Family around. It kind of seemed like they hated each other, but I’m sure the mom’s instagram full of happy family photos (“SMILE, DANG IT!!!!!”) makes it look like they’re having a great time. #blessed

Lauren and I decided to walk around the lake a little ways to try to distance ourselves from The Yelling Family. We found this really cool rock to climb up and pose on, and we smiled without yelling at each other to smile. The lake was much more tranquil once we were on that side.

After our morning hike, we had time to check one or two waterfalls on our way out. Then we had to head back to town to return the car. *tear*

When we returned our car, a funny older lady was there to get it. We remembered her from our pickup because she’d arrived while we were waiting, looked at the mess of plexiglass someone had been using to attempt to build COVID barriers, and said, “Whoa. How’d all this go tits up??” It’s a phrase neither Lauren nor I had ever heard, but it made us laugh.

The lady asked how we planned to get back to town. We said we planned to walk (it was only a mile and a half). She offered to give us a ride for free. YAY!!! Rides are hard to come by in Whitefish, Montana, free or otherwise.

While on our way to town, Lauren asked the lady how long she’d lived in Whitefish. The lady gave a sigh and answered in a gloomy voice that reminded me of Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh: “I was born here… I’m going to die here… but I suppose there are worse places to die.”

Whoa. The chipper attitude in the car just went tits up.

The lady pointed out her dad’s house when we drove by it. “There he is,” she said, pointing to a gnarled old man sitting in a chair and staring at his garden. Since she’d clearly been around Whitefish for a minute, we asked her where we should eat lunch. She dropped us off at The Buffalo and said that’s where all the locals eat. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the best places never do, do they? We had a DELICIOUS lunch and huckleberry shakes for dessert.

We went back to our room for a nap (we’d only gotten four hours of sleep, remember?), then we went back downtown to wander and finish up some souvenir shopping.

For dinner, we went to Casey’s and ate at their rooftop bar. This was the first day they’d opened up after being closed for COVID, so everyone was really happy to be there. We’re so lucky that we got to see it. The panoramic views of the mountains were breathtaking (again), and we split some bison sliders and chicken tacos. Yum.

A major point of discussion during dinner was the waiter with the mullet. The thing is, we both agreed that this guy looked good with a mullet, like maybe that’s how mullets were designed to look back in the eighties when they were cool. His neon eighties-style sunglasses and high tops really added to the look. But…but… an attractive guy with a MULLET? Was it possible?? We had to text a variety of people for their opinions on this. We texted our sisters, I texted Rex…there was quite a buzz going about this mullet. In the end, we hypothesized that this is what happened:

Mullet Guy, one year ago: “I’m so great with the ladies.”

Mullet Guy’s Friend: “Oh yeah? Think you could still be a lady killer if you had a MULLET??”

Mullet Guy: “Hold my beer.”

So really he’s just trying to prove a point. Do you think it’s working?

After the sun set over the mountains, we got our check and got ready to go. Then we heard the bartender call last call – what kind of bar closes at 9:00 PM, I ask you?

A bar in Whitefish, I guess.

Back in the room, I typed up a blog post and we got ready to leave. Time to catch a train home bright and early tomorrow. We’re not ready to go, but we’re thankful everything has gone so well!

Yesterday was the day we finally got our wheels. Whoo hoo! We were only able to get a rental car for 24 hours (a hazard of COVID, which apparently caused Montana to be low on cars (?), and also a hazard of planning a week in advance instead of the recommended six months). We chose to pick up the car around lunch time, that way we could have a whole afternoon/evening of one day and a morning of the next in the park. Before we got our car, we decided to spend the morning checking out the Whitefish City Beach. I counted on Lauren to navigate us walking through town, since she claims to be “so good at maps.” Instead, she took us two miles out of our way, on a walk by the river. Turns out Bear Grylls has a Kryptonite when it comes to navigating a city. She’s better off in the wilderness. Luckily, we eventually made it to the beach and had a great time swimming!

After swimming, we had a quick snack of huckleberry pie (thanks for the great recommendation, Aunt Eileen!), got our car, and finally headed into the park. In my last update, I was struggling to come up with proper adjectives to describe the scenery out here. Today, there is no struggle. Why? Because there ARE NO WORDS for the amazingness of Glacier National Park. You could throw a whole dictionary of words at these mountains, and they would fall pitifully short. Here are some pictures, which – as always – aren’t going to be as good as the real thing. Please come see it for yourself – you won’t regret it.

As we were driving along the Going To the Sun Road with Lauren in the driver’s seat, I was busy trying to pick my jaw up off the ground while looking at scenery when Lauren noticed some hitchhikers. The following is an approximate recreation of the ensuing conversation:

Lauren: Ooooo! Hitchhikers! Let’s pick them up.

Me: Are you insane? We are not picking up hitchhikers.

(A problem when disagreeing with the person driving is, well, they’re driving. Lauren pulled off to the side of the road and waved the people over).

Me: Are you kidding? What is wrong with you? We’re gonna get murdered.

Lauren: No we’re not! They look nice and completely normal. Plus, they NEED A RIDE. We can’t just leave them on the side of the road. *waves them over again*

Me: Ack! This is a terrible idea. We are not picking these people up.

Lauren: *rolls down window* Where are you headed?

Potential Murderers: Logan Pass?

Lauren: That’s EXACTLY where we’re going! Hop in!

Me: *facepalm*

These new friends of ours, Kaitlin and Jese, said that they were on their honeymoon. LIKELY STORY. I said, “Ooooo! I love weddings! Do you have any pictures from yours?” I said this because…

1. Legit. I love weddings. I wanted to see all the pics.
2. If they are “on their honeymoon” and had no wedding pics, it was time to reach for the bear spray.

Turns out, I think they were actually on their honeymoon. They showed beautiful pics of their wedding in Arkansas, where they got married next to the fourth largest tree in the state (weird, I know). Apparently this tree owns the property surrounding it, and no humans can own the tree because it has its own land? The whole thing was a little hippy dippy, but we didn’t end up murdered. No thanks to Lauren.

After dropping off Kaitlin and Jese at Logan Pass, we met a motorcycle gang on their way to a motorcycle rally in South Dakota. One of the guys had a giant stuffed gorilla on the back of his bike, and the gorilla’s name was “Clyde the Motorcycle Monkey.” Clyde has his own instagram and everything, so you can feel free to follow his cross-country travels. I thought Clyde was all cool and fun, but Bear Grylls had to come in and shatter the illusion. As soon as the motorcycle gang left, Lauren said, “I don’t mean to be rude…but do they realize that Clyde’s not even a monkey?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Of course he’s a monkey.”

“Gorillas are apes,” Lauren said, like this was oh-so-obvious. “Monkeys have tails. Apes and monkeys are in different families, so technically Clyde is an ape.”

“Clyde the Motorcycle Ape” doesn’t sound nearly as cool as “Clyde the Motorcycle Monkey,” so I had to rescue the situation. I told Lauren that it’s 2020, after all, and I support Clyde’s decision to identify as a monkey. She needs to be a little less closed-minded.

I’m not sure that’s how science works, but I tried.

From Logan Pass, we hiked the Highline Trail. This was the most scenic trail of the whole day, where a dramatic person might say something like, “THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL I AM GOING TO DIE. I CANNOT HANDLE IT.” (Not saying I said that. That’s just what a dramatic person might say. *nervous laugh*). There was a rope to hold onto on the edge, and when Lauren said, “Don’t look down,” I should have listened. The straight drop from the narrow ridge where we were hiking was more than a little disconcerting, but I focused on watching my step and trying not to fall (read: die). In the event that I did look over the edge, my stomach did that weird flippy thing where it threatens to jump out of my body.

After surviving the Highline Trail at Logan Pass, we continued driving the Going to the Sun Road. We pulled off to take a picture at St. Mary’s overlook, and we saw a hiker coming from the trail. She told us that about a mile down the trail, there were some beautiful waterfalls. We decided to check it out. “People are jumping off the bridge by the falls,” she said with raised eyebrows, showing she clearly didn’t approve of such shenanigans. “But the falls are definitely worth seeing.”

We grabbed our packs and geared up for the hike. “I’m totally jumping off that bridge,” I said to Lauren as soon as we were out of earshot of the lady.

“Seriously?” Lauren’s eyes grew wide. I had managed to shock Bear Grylls.

“No,” I said. “Not seriously. But if I say it enough times, I might talk myself into it.” Because that’s how psychology works, obviously. Ask anyone.

After a beautiful mile of hiking through a ghost forest (a fire stripped many of the trees in 2015), we got within view of St. Mary Falls. Sure enough, there was a small group of guys encouraging their fellow dude bros to jump off the bridge and into the icy blue glacial waters 25-30 ft below.

As we got down to the falls, a lanky guy about our age walked over to the bridge wearing nothing but his board shorts and his man bun. He climbed over the edge, and I held my breath. He looked into the water, took two deep breaths, and then jumped.

When Millennial Man Bun came out of the water and was clearly NOT DEAD, a hot mix of FOMO and YOLO churned in my stomach. “I’m doing that,” I said to Lauren. “For real this time.” I started looking around for a place to put my pack. Forget the fact that I had no swimsuit and would have to hike back in wet clothes…how many times in your life do you have the chance to jump into the base of a glacial waterfall? Not many, that’s for sure.

“Seriously?” Lauren asked again, but she could tell I was serious this time. “Fine,” she said. “Then I’m doing it too. Because I can’t be the person who comes home as the weenie who wouldn’t jump off the bridge.”

I went over to the side boulders and took off my hiking boots and socks. Was I really going to do this? Well, I’d just declared I was going to, so there wasn’t any going back.

Of the two of us, I had to jump first since, after all, this whole thing was my idea (let’s review – Lauren tried to get us brutally murdered, but I only tried to get us dashed to bits on some waterfall rocks. Not as bad, right? RIGHT?? Okay. Someone stop us from traveling together anymore). I climbed over the wooden edge of the bridge and watched the bright turquoise water swirl angrily below me. This was simultaneously the worst and best idea ever. I held my breath and then let it out again. I yelled to Lauren, who was recording from shore, and said, “I need a countdown!”

Lauren and the dude bros counted down for me. 5! 4! 3! 2!…..1!

I jumped.

There was that terrifying moment, hurtling through the air toward the water, when I knew there was no going back. I was about to be plunged into this glacial river. Then, with a splash, the icy water enveloped me. It was COLD COLD COLD, but so very worth it. I popped up smiling and started swimming toward shore. The current pulled me a little ways down river, but I got out eventually and felt quite victorious. If I was tech savvy, I would post the video here. Since I’m not, here’s a still that Lauren took while I was swimming toward shore.

Not to be outdone, Lauren jumped after I did. I got a video of her too, and we were both oh-so-glad that we did it. The sun dried us quickly, and we were ready to hike back to the main road.

On our hike back, we were walking alone (with our bear bell, of course). A deer popped out on the trail ahead of us, and she seemed completely nonplussed by humans. We walked with her, maybe twenty yards back, for quite a while. She seemed to enjoy the trail, and she’d stop every now and again to eat a flower. It was kinda strange, hiking with a deer, but I didn’t hate it!

Back on the main road, we headed into late evening. Most tourists started leaving the park, and it was like we had the entire thing to ourselves. We stopped for a picnic dinner out at a lake, and I was freaking out that we would run into a bear. After all, dusk is prime time for bears, and bears have to drink somewhere, right? Luckily, no bears. Just the best picnic scenery in history. We sat on the log pictured here and enjoyed our sandwiches.

Driving back toward town, we took in some beautiful views of the sun setting over the mountains.

Our mountain goat sightings for the day totaled nine mountain goats, including five that were chillaxing in this parking lot.

It took us a few hours to wind over all the switchbacks, get to the front of the park, and finally head back to the hotel. By the time we were got close to home, we were hungry again. We decided to split a pizza, which we did in our hotel room while screening Lauren’s future husband prospects on match.com. It was a girls’ night at its finest. Our middle school versions of ourselves would be very pleased with how this friendship turned out, I think.

Then, after midnight, it was finally time for bed. We had to be up again at 5:30 this morning, which is why there was no time for blogging last night. Too much adventuring meant writing had to take a break. All in all, though, it was a fantastic day. I wish I could bottle it and drink it on those days when life is hard. At least I’ll have the pictures to help me remember it!

When I was a child, my parents taught me to never take candy from strangers. They never mentioned what to do if a stranger pops out from some bushes in the mountains and offers you sketchy-looking berries that he swears aren’t poisonous.

Would you have eaten the berries? Do you think Lauren and I did?

Let’s rewind.

Lauren and I woke up this morning in our faaaaabulous hotel room. It has an upstairs bed and a downstairs one – check it out!

Okay, you don’t care about our room. I get it. Do you care about our picnic breakfast? Continental breakfast is being served COVID-style, which means we place an order and the nice old lady packs us a breakfast in a lunch box, like she’s our mom wishing us luck on our day ahead. There were picnic tables outside to use, and they were beautiful. Have you ever had eggs packed in a lunch box for you? I have.

After breakfast, we walked over to the chair lifts. They were right near our hotel. We rode a chair lift to the top of the mountain, and then we hiked seven miles of trails to get to the bottom. “Beautiful” is an insufficient adjective for these views. “Stunning” comes closer. “Tranquilizing” sounds sort of violent, but they were tranquilizing. When you look out at mountains like that, you feel small in the very best way. All of your problems are there at the bottom of the mountain, but none of them are able to make it up to that altitude. Up there, it’s just…peaceful.

Toward the beginning of the trip, Lauren saw a berry and said, “Hey look, I think those berries are probably edible!”

I responded somewhere along the lines of, “Whatever, Bear Grylls. We’re not eating berries on a ‘probably.’ I am not carrying you down this mountain to the ER.” Lauren sighed because I am such a fun killer, and she pointed us on the trail to Flower Point. We proceeded without eating berries.

I mentioned that we might not see too many wildflowers at Flower Point, because aren’t wildflowers mostly blooming in spring and early summer? Lauren responded with, “Well, most flowers in the aster family are August and September bloomers.”

Isn’t the Aster family the really rich family that sank on the Titanic? But I think that was spelled “Astor.” Either way, since I didn’t know what flowers belonged to the aster family, I mostly pictured a field full of 1912 first-class ghosts. Turns out, that’s not what Lauren meant.

Flower Point did indeed contain many, many flowers. Predictably, they belonged to the aster family. It was gorgeous.

For a good portion of the hike, we didn’t see any other people. It was weird to feel like we had the whole mountain to ourselves. It also made me nervous that we would run into a bear, especially when we saw a small animal dead in the trail (I think it was a pika?). Like, PREDATORS ARE HERE! BEWARE!

As we got nearer to the bottom of the trail, we looked up and saw a couple guys with their families, and all of them were rustling around in the bushes. (Let me clarify – my thought process upon seeing people was mostly, “AH! BEAR! FREAK OUT! Oh, just a regular guy. Don’t panic.”). We asked what they were doing, and they said they were harvesting huckleberries. They come up to Whitefish every year to pick huckleberries, and they were holding plastic containers like the ones I use to pick berries at home. One of the guys held the container out to us, offering some of his treasure.

Of course, they were the same berries that Lauren said looked edible.

We each tried a berry. I felt a little like a Disney princess, where a huntsman comes out of the woods and offers creepy poisoned fruit. “So sweet, dearie…just take one bite.” So it wouldn’t have been surprising at all to find myself in a hundred year sleep after this, but turns out the berries were really good. Lauren and I hopped up in the bushes and picked some for ourselves. Yum!

When we got to the bottom of the mountain, we regrouped for a little while in our room and then took a shuttle into town to explore. We had a great time looking in little shops, and we had dinner at a Mexican place. While there, Lauren decided to name her future son Robbie Falcon. That needs to be in writing here so she remembers it later.

After a great dinner, we were exhausted. Over 25,000 steps today for me! We attempted to order an Uber to take us back up the mountain since the shuttles don’t run after 6:00.

There were no Ubers.

We tried Lyft.

There were no Lyfts.

We tried taxi services.

They didn’t answer.

Apparently the very few people in Whitefish who like to drive people around were not available on Monday nights, so Lauren and I sat outside of a sushi place on a bench and tried to figure out what to do. Our conversation was punctuated with interruptions where we had to say things like, “No, we didn’t order any sushi.” “No, we’re not Julia, and we’re not looking for the wasabi.” “No, we’re not waiting for an order, we’re just sitting here STRANDED IN TINY TOWN MONTANA AND WILL NO ONE HELP US??!” Lauren suggested we hitchhike. I suggested that hitchhiking is how people end up on Dateline.

After struggling to find a way to get back up the mountain to our hotel, we did what any intelligent, resourceful young women in this position would do:

We decided to drown our sorrows at the nearest bar.

The nearest bar was called the Bulldog Bar, a dive where the walls were decorated in Bulldogs. Pretty cool! Things don’t seem nearly as dire when you’re drinking a beer with a couple hundred bulldogs.

Finally, around an hour after we started trying, we found a taxi guy who was willing to come get us. Hoory!! J.C. saves the day! (That’s the taxi guy’s name, by the way – J.C. I was not alluding to Jesus Christ. Though I guess Jesus provided the taxi, so… *shrugs* He saved the day too.).

Now we’re finally back in the hotel room, and we’re making battle plans for our hikes tomorrow. I can’t wait to see what happens next!