You know how Princess Diana said that famous thing about there being "three of us in this marriage"? Well, I feel like there are four of us in my marriage, and the other two are John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman.
Who are John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman? Oh, they're just the radio commentators for the Yankees games, and they come with us everywhere. They even came with us to Yellowstone.
Gorgeous, huh? Less gorgeous when there are people shouting "the bases are loaded!" in the background.
I mentioned this to Sean as we were driving through the park, and he laughed. "Huh," he said, "Don't forget the 26 Yankees as well."
"You're right," I sighed. "That means there are thirty of us in this marriage. My god, it's getting crowded."
I'm kidding, of course—I mean, I'm not kidding that we do seem to listen to AN AWFUL LOT OF BASEBALL GAMES; well, one of us listens and the other one tunes out and imagines all the reasons Suzyn Waldman's parents didn't just go with "Susan"—but it's not like the splendor of Yellowstone could have been diminished by anything anyway, because it's just that jaw-droppingly gorgeous.
Parts of it are like another planet. Like the weirdest bits of your weirdest dreams. We were walking around one of the bubbling pools, the steam misting up over the cracked red edges, the view changing every time the wind blew, and the only thought I could summon was the tremendously deep and probing question: man, how does this even exist?
I mean, yeah, I get technically how it exists—by which I mean that I read the information boards around the park, then filled in the gaps with a pieced together recollection of geography class and, when that failed, a blanket shrug of "eh, science!"—but despite all that, it's just so staggering to see in person.
Old Faithful, particularly, was incredible. The park rangers had a fairly decent idea of when it would erupt, but as we were all standing around eagerly, waiting for it to happen—the sign said 6:31pm, give or take ten minutes—it suddenly struck me as particularly hilari(a)ous that nobody was actually in control.
Well, except Mother Nature, of course. And that bitch likes to keep you waiting, I think.
6:33pm? Preposterous! With whom do I lodge my complaint?
I took a video, but it doesn't quite capture the craziness of seeing it suddenly happen in front of you.
We managed to visit a pretty good chunk of the park—winding between Montana and Wyoming; sometimes not really knowing when we'd crossed over to each—and a nice little bit of Big Sky as well, which was where the wedding we attended took place. And man, it was a Wedding with a capital W, which is really just my veiled way of saying I danced like a madwoman in my stockinged feet for three hours.
Pre-dancing, clearly. You can tell because my I've got my shoes on, my hair is still in place, and I'm pretending like I don't have a routine all planned out later for "Livin' on a Prayer."
Don't worry, though, I wasn't forced to listen to baseball on the radio the entire time. When we didn't have the fantastic album by the Lumineers on repeat—new favorite, and not just because there's an awful lot of handclapping, though it certainly doesn't hurt—we passed the long drive by creating an homage to the final scene of two-weeks-ago Mad Men. You know, the one where Don asks Creepy Glenn "What would you do if you could do anything?"
(That song is Butchie's Tune by the Lovin' Spoonful, by the way, and it is wonderful. It is also equally wonderful to imagine a real life person named Butchie. Put that one down on the future baby name list!)
More photos of Yellowstone and Big Sky here. Let me know if you ever go so I can creepily stow away in your suitcase.