Traveling away from Jackson, we park at the far side of Jenny Lake. The calm, blue lake is rimmed with alpine trees and the sun is warming the bank. Climbing on the rocks on the lake’s edge, I watch as anglers cast their lines while others put in their kayaks. The vibe here is chill. We chatted with a Canadian couple who, like us, have been traveling the states. During our trip, conversations with fellow travelers have been easy and comfortable. Common purpose rules the day. There is unity in this informal gathering of pandemic-avoiding, cross-country travelers to which we are happily members. So, onward, we go.

There is an oxbow on the Snake River where Francesca spotted a beaver the other day. We stopped in anticipation and while there were no beavers, I am not disappointed. One look at the lazy river and I am sleepy, and relaxed. Like Dorothy in a field of poppies, my eyes won’t stay open. Soon, we are opening the doors of Van Diesel, putting up screens. We lay in bed on this beautiful, sunny afternoon taking in the sounds and aromas of the place. While I never see a beaver, I am oddly comforted by this sculpted landscape. My busy brain quiets and I hear the solo cry of a sandhill crane flying above. I like to think the crane is saying hello to his beaver friend in the waters.

We have been traveling for 30 days now. Each day has been literally a new adventure, and we needed this soulful rest. Tomorrow is another dip into Yellowstone before embarking on the last leg of our journey – home, towards the Pacific Ocean.