English: Mark Twain (penname of Samuel Langhorne Clemens) in the lab of Nikola Tesla, spring of 1894. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
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English: Mark Twain (penname of Samuel Langhorne Clemens) in the lab of Nikola Tesla, spring of 1894. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
No, I haven’t solved the TTOTC poem, but I will forever remember which way high pressure and low pressure systems circulate in the northern hemisphere!
I can see it spinning.
Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels . . . .I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down and still somehow, it’s clouds’ illusions I recall . . . .
Dizzy now. Where’s that Dramemine?
On a side note:
What Direction Does Earth’s Center Spin? New Insights Solve 300-Year-Old Problem.
So. Is North still North?

A young Amish boy on his way to work at 4:30am looking at the light show on Fuller Road in Easton, Maine. The image was captured by 61-year-old photographer Paul Cyr
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2442531/Solar-flare-causes-Northern-Lights-US-Kansas-Maine-Donegal.html#ixzz2gmD0onGL
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I hope this link works—
Honoring the guardians:
Our local heroes (Quad Cities) are scheduled for tomorrow!
Spc. James Phillips, 249th Eng Battalion (Prime Power), assists World War II veteran Vernon Bolstad as he arrives at Reagan National Airpor from Minnesota as part of the Honor Flight Network to see the National World War II Memorial. http://www.army.mil/armylife/veterans/ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
In the morning, I drove through the tunnel, past Mummy Cave, and the BB Dam again. About the time I stopped to pay my entrance fee to Yellowstone Park, I was struck by a blaze — the blinding kind you get before a migraine, if you’re subject to auras.
At home my remedy would have been to boil water, brew green tea with half a capsule of feverfew, and hit a dark room with an eye mask. On a 2-lane winding highway, I popped a cola for caffeine and downed Excedrin, and took a time out at a pull-out.
Then I spent more time at the ranger station/stuffed animal museum. In the shade.
The ranger called the lone bison I’d seen a “fed-up bull” — fed up of fighting the young bulls in the herd, and at an age where he prefers to go it alone.
There were 5 fires burning in Yellowstone Park at the time, a few pull-outs were closed, but no roads closed that day. I remembered the summer of 1988 and the massive fires in Yellowstone. We could smell the smoke all the way over in Minnesota.
So far, going solo hadn’t been a problem (except for getting creeped out by a guy in a van who asked me where I was from. He had just been staring at my license plate, so I thought it was not a real question. This happened back at the Oregon Trail ruts and Register Cliff where we seemed to be the only tourists out in the 105 degree weather. Not a good sign. Maybe it was nothing, but I didn’t like being followed.)
Another reason I’m going to bring Mr. W next time came about at Isa Lake.
I really wanted to wade into the lily pads to see what was at the end of an under-water marker, but a couple (searchers??) from Salt Lake City was kinda killin’ time, like they were waiting for me to leave.
I won, but then realized, typical female, I didn’t have the right shoes. 
I don’t think I screamed.
From there, not far but too far to walk, I arrived at Old Faithful at the perfect time. People were streaming towards it so I parked and joined them. Another geyser was putting on a show at the same time. Serendipity strikes again.
And then, something else. Remember I left home without a GPS? The only place I might have needed it this trip was in the parking lot at Old Faithful Lodge and Visitor Center. It’s changed in the last 15 years apparently.
The other thing about migraines is the mental shadow they leave you with. It took me an extra 15 minutes (or so) to find my car, and then I scared a poor family picnicking next to it when the alarm went off.
I passed another lone bison as I continued west. My heart goes out to the old and lonely.
And then, of course, the much touted Madison River, which had lots of giant boulders lying around.
I tarried as much as I wanted that day. I had a reservation for that night in West Yellowstone, so no need to hurry. Just tried to absorb the beauty and if a potential solution to one of the TTOTC 9 clues presented itself, all the better. 
No treasure yet, but so far, so good. Any day that doesn’t involve a trip to the hospital is a big plus.
My sights were set on Montana, but I had time to check out (parts of) Wyoming. The state is a collection of mountain ranges and basins. I knew I couldn’t cover it all. Had to scratch off Como Bluff and it’s dinosaur bone house—but it’s not open to the public anymore.
I planned to cover the Big Horn Canyon/Yellowtail Reservoir on my way home, but there was a huge change of plans along the way. So, where did I leave off? Worland. 
In the morning I headed for Cody. First up, the Buffalo Bill Dam in Shoshone Canyon where I met Buck, a volunteer at the Visitor Center.
Wonderful, interesting, happy guy who served his country well.
After that, back into Cody to visit an historic church which the gracious man of the collar opened to me. It has an ancient Wurlitzer organ, of interest to few, but special to me. I told myself I wouldn’t refer to the church by its nickname, but there it was, on a bronze plaque right outside the door….
Downtown for lunch at the Irma Hotel. I gazed in the mirror and looked quickly down, to no avail.
I also picked up a neckerchief in case that would be of help in some deciphering I’ve been trying to do.
After lunch I hit 4 out of the 5 museums at the Buffalo Bill Historical Center where I saw a fetching Fechin, the pre-sale artworks of many talented people, Plains Indian artifacts, natural history exhibits, and so forth. I skipped the Firearms Museum this time as Mr. W wasn’t along. (Been there, done that.)
Supper. A double rainbow. Discovered it was FF’s birthday, so I sent him best wishes and a note on my (lack of) progress.
Next up? I had reservations in West Yellowstone, the Gallatin Valley, and a certain hot springs over the next few days, but . . . .
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I knew I would regret it all winter if I didn’t get out West for my first TTOTC search, but where was my back up: my husband couldn’t get away; a brother just laughed; my friend needed more notice.
So, I just did it. Found a back pack that could easily carry a bronze box, water, and bear spray. Flashlight. Check. Whistle. Why not? GPS. No. Forrest’s book. Definitely.
Packed the car. Took off. It’s amazing how much ground you can cover at 75 mph. The vast, flat, empty Nebraska disappeared in a blur. Made it to Ogallala the first night. Then came eastern Wyoming. Hillier. Also mostly barren. Until the mountains start looming up out of nowhere.
I headed north and stopped in Chugwater, site of an old buffalo jump, a museum (closed), and the state’s oldest soda fountain.
Since it was 105 degrees F, I indulged in a delicious chocolate malt after wandering the outdoor exhibits.
From there I headed for Buffalo and the Big Horns via Casper. On the way I took a quick peek at Register Rock and the Oregon Trail ruts near Guernsey. (See Stephanie’s coverage at her blog ‘What’s A Chase’.)
I passed the reservoir at Glendo, water low, where many ancient layers of rock are visible. Saw a couple antelope roaming, and a couple raindrops made it to my windshield. Fort Fetterman was Closed as was the GlenRock Museum. (It’s not even Labor Day yet, folks. Not that I minded the lack of crowds on the highways, etc.) I also saw the bright red gash where they’re cutting Red Mountain for the rock.
At Kaycee I took in the Hoofprints of the Past museum, which had an outstanding number of arrowheads on display. Down the street was a large bronze of a rodeo rider/singer.
I picked up a book on Wyoming’s geology at the museum in Buffalo. Also, helpful was the museum in Worland, Washakee. I tried to memorize the various ages/layers of stone by color and texture. ( Like, where are the dinosaur fossils, the oil, the ocean beds–a visible geologic clock.)
The most stunning visually is the Tensleep layer, a swirly red and cream, which I saw coming down out of the Big Horns. BTW, there’s a beautiful Meadowlark Lake up there in the woods.
Are the Big Horn Mountains part of the Rockies? Until I hear otherwise from Mr. Fenn, I’m not ruling them out.
[To be continued. . . .]
I’ve got that Sesame Street song in my head. It’s been laying tracks for a while now–the subconscious working on the conscious.
“One of these things just doesn’t belong. . .”
Result: I’ve come to the conclusion that no way were the Fenn’s hungry enough to eat meadowlarks during the Depression. The father had a college degree, steady employment, and apparently, plenty of fish and potatoes. Besides, who would go to all that trouble. I’m going to attribute that to the 15% of the memoir he made up, and add it to the list of questions I’d love to ask him someday. Like, when I drop off the bracelet. (I wish.)
So. Why is that story in the book? Four meadowlarks and a scissortail.
“Can you tell me which thing is not like the other . . .”
Why are four cards and a joker mentioned? Why are there four nuggets and a frog, and a coin, sitting on the map?
“. . . Before I finish my song?”
Or at least before I head west for The Thrill of the Chase.
Not a long post. Just wanted to mention the 2 new pages on this site: Flywater, filed under The Book, and Idaho, filed under The Diagrams. (A great and future destination.)
Okay. I have mixed feelings about crossing Idaho off my top three TTOTC list, but that’s okay.
There’s so much to be done.
Count all the bees in the hive.
Pick another batch of berries.
“The treasure is not hidden in Idaho or Utah.”—–Forrest Fenn
Here’s the link:
http://www.today.com/news/keep-searching-fresh-clue-released-hunt-n-m-treasure-worth-6C10480482
Well. That narrows it down by 168,469 square miles. I can cross one trip off my list and write about where I was going to look.
Darn. It looked like a lot of fun. Wait. Maybe I’ll still go down that canyon. . . .
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