this land is your land, this land is my land

Any foreigner who visits America and comes away hating it clearly did not visit any of the country's National Parks. I can completely understand how you could hate this country having only visited a handful of its cities, but how can anyone hate it after marveling at its natural wonders? Yes, most of them are off the beaten path, but I've met people who traveled thousands of miles to shop at Macy's. Surely some of that energy could be channeled into spending some time in the fresh air.

While I strongly encourage overseas tourists to visit the Parks, I also urge Americans to visit them as well. After all, the National Parks were established to set aside land for public enjoyment. Our tax dollars fund their protection and upkeep. They're more affordable than Disneyland or a trip to the movies. And to be perfectly honest, a lot of Americans could use a good walk.

That being said, I admit I was one of those Americans who had never visited a National Park.* It wasn't from lack of desire. I've always wanted to go, but could never get the the timing right between school, work, and family schedules. My exposure to the Parks has mostly been through National Geographic photos and Ken Burn's excellent documentary on the Parks system.

Well, I take that back. Apparently my parents did take me to Acadia National Park once when I was very young. I suspected as much as my fiance and I approached Thunder Hole, a narrow inlet of rock into which waves crash with a boom like thunder. Somewhere in the back of my mind hid a faint memory of walking down the stairs and watching the Atlantic Ocean rush in and out of rocks. But like my mom said, "it doesn't count if you don't remember it." (I'll remember that next time I go out drinking.)

So I am now a fully fledged visitor to the National Parks. I'm already itching to visit more. Our original trip itinerary was much longer, and included stops at Yellowstone and Yosemite. Those will definitely be future trips. My fiance is thinking of a mini-honeymoon in Hawaii, so I'll be lobbying for Maui (Haleakalā NP) or Hilo (Volcanoes NP). My sister and I are always lamenting the fact that we've lived a mere days drive from the Grand Canyon and never gone, so maybe the next time I'm in San Diego we'll head over.


And of course I'd love to visit Acadia again. We spent only a few hours there, and barely scratched the surface. Next time I'll do some hiking. I'll ride the carriage roads. Maybe I'll even do a kayak tour. There's so much to discover, you just need to know where to look.




*By "National Park" I am referring to the 58 protected areas overseen by the National Parks Service. The NPS also oversees many historical sites and monuments, some of which I have visited on this trip (Gettysburg, The National Mall, Fort McHenry, Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island) and others I have visited on past trips (Cabrillo National Monument, Jefferson National Expansion Memorial). Basically, I'm talking about the wilderness-type parks.

it's oh so quiet

My grandparents' house has always been filled with noise.

First there were the sounds of my uncles growing up. Playing basketball with the neighbors in the driveway. Watching the new television. Probably fighting with each other.

Then came my dad, the "surprise." Just as things had started to settle down and my oldest uncle was headed to college, the house was once again filled with the sounds of childhood. A 45-record of the theme song to Batman played endlessly. Gilligan's Island on the television. Dirt bikes in the back field.

Next were the grandchildren: my cousins first, and a decade later me and my sister. Eventually a great-grandson came (not by me or my sister, thankfully). More kids, more noise, more joy.

In recent years the noise hasn't been supplied by children, but instead by my grandfather. Years of working in a factory ruined his hearing. As a result, he would turn the TV volume up to insanely high decibels. Everyone else in the room was then forced to carry out conversations in a low shout. Not that it was any quieter when the TV was off, since shouting was also necessary to have a conversation with my grandfather himself.

But on my most recent visit the house was remarkably quieter. My grandfather has started to have major health issues, and was hospitalized shortly before we left for Florida. There was hope that he might come home, but that has since disappeared. With him gone, the TV is rarely turned on in the day. (My grandmother has always preferred doing puzzles to watching gameshows.) Conversations can actually be had at normal levels. The house just isn't the same.

As I write this, my grandfather is still alive, but probably not for long. He didn't speak much during our visits in the hospital, and slept most of the time. His body is weakening, though he can still squeeze our hands with surprising strength. He still has his sense of humor, which I hope he retains to the very end.

He's still my Grampy. It's still his house. But something is different, and it will never be quite the same.