Herding Cats: Family comes to town

Sister Annette just called. They finally got plane tickets. Her family, my sister Janet and her extended family, are all coming to town in 2 weeks and they are staying for 2 weeks. Ages range from 11 months to 71 years. An interesting mix of fitness and interest levels for sure. We invited Kevin and Deb and their dogs for that exact same time period. Ho’ry smoke, we are going to have a houseful.

Short notice, we have work to do. The snow has finally melted. Time to rake and cut. Weed and plant the gardens. Flowers, lots of flowers to replace everything that died under 6-months of winter. More flowers in pots to beautify the porch. Vegetables, Terry loves planting vegetables. They never produce enough output to justify the effort, but it’s her thing. We get it done.

Cleanout the garage, wash the windows. Get the house in shape: the bathrooms, the kitchen, the floors. Go, go go. We work furiously. Dust off the ping pong table, set up the horseshoes. Finally heading out to buy food. We put together an exotic dinner with moments to go.

Welcome. Good to see everyone. Please come in, make yourselves at home. How was your flight? No, no, no, we didn’t do anything special. The house always looks like this. Dinner? It was nothing. We cook like this every night.

We’re out on the porch. Emily, one of our cats, walks up. Kev’s dog Bodie takes off after her. Woof, Woof! Raaarr! Flower pots and porch furniture go flying. Kev lunges, yelling “Bodie heel!” I open the door a cat width, Emily puffed out in full cat freakout, turns hisses at Bodie, squeezes through. Critter crisis resolved.

The first adventure is Hyalite Canyon trail, its waterfalls make good turn around points for less than intrepid hikers. We take four cars and meet at the reservoir just as a hail storm unloads on us. We wait it out. “Are we hiking here?” “No, just making sure the group is together.” We make it to Hyalite trailhead. Storms continue to threaten. We stroll together to Grotto Falls. A first subgroup of hikers heads back. At Arch Falls we lose a second group. At Champagne Falls thunder gets closer. We decide to turn back. On the return to Arch Falls, the first splats of rain arrive. I can travel faster. I lock into the baby backpack, and begin the race to the cars. I don’t have keys. I hide under a tree in what is now a hail storm wait for others. Yell, “I need keys,” then race to the parking lot in the worsening storm. Alden, the little guy on my back, takes it in stride.

The Bridger Ridge is requested for the next morning. The whole group slogs up to the “M.” A large subgroup including Alden’s mom and dad want to make the Ridge. I suggest that I carry Alden up, they agree. Alden is not impressed. Screams loudly. Mom catches up. “He’s tired. If he keeps screaming we’ll have to turn around.” No one, except maybe Alden, wants to turn around. Strategically, I race ahead. Get Alden out of ear shot of momma. Give him a chance to pass out before she pulls the plug on the venture. It works. I crest the Ridge with a sleeping baby, carry him to the first knob. He sleeps, I await reinforcements.

The Ridge trail is too steep and has too much loose rock for the Bostonian parents to carry Alden down. I hoist him. He’s awake, but stays quiet for the descent. We stop at the trailhead to await mom and dad. His building sense that I am completely inadequate bursts forth. The screaming begins. The undertone is clear "You are not my mom, you are not my dad, you have no food for me." We sit. I hug him, I jiggle him on my leg. I talk in a smooth, happy voice. No dice. My inadequacies are glaring. The screaming continues unabated. After what feels like an eternity, mom and dad appear. Baby crisis resolved.

We manage another feast that evening, and a killer breakfast the next morning. Hey, we’re pretty good at this. We appear competent, even relaxed, in the midst of roiling turmoil.

The mix of family members adjusts with the days. Some head home, others head to the parks. We get a down day as the group wanders about town, Peets Hill, Museum of the Rockies, but then more hikes. A day hike to Lava Lake--of course. A backpacking trip to Emerald Lake in stormy weather. My New Jersey based nephew Josh proves his mettle by swimming in Emerald with snowfields all around. I make baby dinosaur noises as I try and wade far enough into the frigid water to prove that I’m a Montanan. I race out screaming like a wounded brontosaurus.

We scrape our way up Fairy Lake road in my little hybrid. A hike to Frasier Lake, another swim. This time the water is warmer. I manage a few strokes, make fewer noises. We race back to the car as another storm threatens.

Terry orchestrates a 4th of July feast, then we have a last killer breakfast, and finally goodbyes.

The trip is a complete success. The wildflowers, the views, Lava, Emerald and Frasier Lakes stun the easterners. Quiet beauty, hard to come by in dense, fast paced cities, abounds here. They can’t seem to get enough. In its own way, even the weather cooperates; frequent storms keep the temperatures down, the bugs at bay.

With the last folks off to the airport Terry and I sink into the couch. It was a lot of work, but it was fun. We did it. Terry’s phone beeps. “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s a text from Sister Barb. Word is that we are great hosts. My side of the family will be here in 2 weeks.” We look at each other for a few seconds as our expressions shift from comfortable exhaustion to panic. “AHHHHH!”