Family traditions

I seem to be unable to upload pictures in the blogger post page; I've been posting pictures by importing them via the Hello program. But when I do that, I can't intersperse pictures and text, and each picture appears as a separate post. The four pictures below are meant to be read as part of a single post. If you read the captions, you'll see that Small Boy and I returned to some old family haunts on this vacation - in fact, Small Boy is the fourth generation of my family, going back to my maternal grandfather in the 1950s, to vacation in Ketchum/Sun Valley, Idaho. He's also the fourth generation to visit West Yellowstone and Yellowstone National Park, though I suspect that is a less unusual family destination than Ketchum, Idaho.

I have to confess that I expected some sort of epiphany upon seeing my son on the banks of his grandfather's beloved Madison River. I expected some sensation, as if by squinting and looking into the sun at just the right angle I would see my father on the far shore. I didn't. And much to my surprise, I didn't feel the loss of it. I was too caught up in watching my son throw rocks and occasionally point up to the sky and say "bihr" (bird). I was too caught up in the moment to think about the past. That's a good change in me, and a much needed one. My son is, of course, my parents' grandchild. But he's my son and R's. And above all, he is his own self. We will make our own traditions and find our own special places. I will always circle back to the Rocky Mountain West, to those sage flats, to the cottonwoods, dragging Small Boy in my wake; I can't stay away for too long. But I won't weigh those trips down with emotional baggage anymore - I carried it out with me in September, but like Small Boy throwing rocks I threw it in the river and left it there.

The trip home was lighter.