Revisiting the Past

In 1972, John and I worked for a summer at Yellowstone Lake Hospital. He was an "extern", which was not quite an intern. I worked in the hospital office, registering, billing, filing. We arrived there over Memorial Day with our canoe on top of the car, our little raft and our hiking boots, and John's guitar in the backseat, excited for a new adventure. We drove a Volkswagen Squareback, which was like a mini-sized "station wagon" for a VW. While driving through the park, snow still covered the peaks and Yellowstone Lake was frozen over. Of course we put our canoe on the lake as soon as we arrived, because here is the interesting part.....The ice on the lake was really billions upon billions of icicles on top of the water loosely held together at the surface, so as we paddled, the bow of the canoe broke the surface of the icicles, and we left a small line of trail behind us. Each day as we looked out over the lake, as the sun began to warm it, the surface started showing more water. About the middle of June, with about half of the lake still showing ice, we witnessed the total and complete transformation from ice to water within just a few hours. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen.
That summer was transformative in many ways. We went to church at Lake Lodge in the huge, beautiful wooden recreation room. Two young missionaries were assigned to hold services there, usually only one sacrament meeting, and the few employees who were members did the regular jobs. During the week we often had activities as a group, and one of the missionaries was a folksinger---small world. John had taught himself how to play the guitar when he was 14, and had sung with folksinging groups in high school, and arranged 4-part harmonies of folk songs for 18 months on his mission in France. The fun thing was, this Elder Van Wagoner had a whole series of songs we didn't know (imagine that!) by a songwriter named John Denver. It didn't take long for us to learn all the new songs Elder V sang, and around the campfires we could all add our harmonies. It was so exciting to bring home a new repertoire.
During that summer, we were supposed to meet Ginny and Al and their 3 little kids in Jackson Hole for a river trip in our little raft. Ginny took Mom along to tend the kids while we were on the river. The night before the river trip, after we set up camp and tents, John and Al thought they might take Mom on a little run of the river so she would feel included. Mom sat in the front of the raft, while Al sat in the rear. A small piece of information needed, is that Al was a great big man---over six feet tall, and large. When the raft went through King Rapids, the front of the raft sank into a hole, and when the back of the raft hit the hole, with the weight of Alvin being unbalanced in the front of the raft by little Mom, the raft flipped, sending Mom into the freezing cold water of the Snake River. Now, this might have been an adventure for some, but another vital piece of information is that Mother never learned to swim, and when she flipped out, she came up underneath the raft, which held her down and scared the gejeebers out of her. Another vital piece of information is that before coming to Jackson Hole, she had lost a lot of weight rapidly, and she was already in a compromised health condition which, of course, no one knew about.....she hadn't told anyone, nor had she seen a doctor. So, after fishing her out of the freezing river, she was gray and ashen, couldn't stop shaking, and we had her lie in the tent under all of the sleeping bags to get warm while we went to cook dinner.....which never happened, because Mom started coughing up blood, which necessitated a trip to the Jackson Hole Emergency Room, where they thought she was having a heart attack.....and so did we. Mom spent a week in intensive care, where she was diagnosed with "thyroid storm", which often mimics a heart attack, I guess. Turns out they had a terrific cardiologist in Jackson Hole who caught this in time to correct it. Well, Ginny and Al never got their river trip, John had to go back to the hospital to work, and I stayed in Jackson Hole by myself for two weeks sitting all day at the hospital by Mom's side. To say that it was traumatic for all of us would be an understatement. John was certain he had nearly killed his mother-in-law, Alvin felt responsible, Ginny did too, because it was her idea for the river trip. I remember when everyone left me alone, I went to every motel in town for a room and "there was no room in the inn." As I was passing the Jackson Hole Ward, I saw it was open, so I went inside, and there were older missionary sisters there. As I saw them, I burst into tears and blubbered the story about my mother and no place to stay. Well wouldn't you know it? Within 5 minutes they had found a place for me in a basement guest room of a lady who owned the Antler Motel. The motel was full, but she graciously invited me to stay with her. I wish I remembered her name, but I didn't pay her a cent. I think I gave her flowers when I left. Anyway, while I stayed with Mom, I did several crewel embroidery pictures, which hung on my Mom's walls until she died at age 90, nearly twenty years after her thyroid storm, and our collective terror.