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SLICE OF LIFE: Outrunning the Storm

By Erin Stolle, Publisher/Editor Macaroni Kid Alpharetta-Roswell-Milton July 10, 2017

It started out as a beautiful afternoon. The sun was shining, but not beating down on us, the humidity at an incredibly low level that would make any southerner think twice about spending another summer at home. We climbed the 1/4 mile hill to the learning pavilion to begin our afternoon journey at Madison Buffalo Jump State Park in Three Forks, Montana, the site where the Native Americans drove herds of bison off of a massive cliff in order to obtain food, clothing and other necessities to help them survive.

The informational area was fascinating to read about how the Native Americans studied and learned about the habits and tendencies of the bison and, for about 2,000 years, found their survival from this early form of hunting.

But to get a real feel for what took place and let our imaginations run wild with recreating the drama that took place, we decided to climb to the top of the jump. Through a gradual, meandering trail, and eventually a steeper incline that put us staring out to what was likely the tipping point for the bison, we surveyed the steep cliff and what must have been an eye-opening scene as little as 200 years ago. Incredible.

My ever-adventurous nephews decided to take the shorter, but steeper, climb down the cliff while our family of four opted to take our time and the longer, but simpler, way down. Or so we thought.

At about that time, the wind picked up and the dark clouds on the horizon began to roll in our direction. A clap of thunder followed by a flash of lightning would send my 6-year-old into a state of panic as we found ourselves on the top of a mountain with nothing to duck under to shield us from the elements that were inevitably coming our way. We proceeded down our trail, not seeming to make any progress downward and only to be marching onward toward a coyote I spotted across the cliff in our path. 

It was that moment that we did an about-face, quickened our pace and started to head back the way we came, though we knew it meant quite a long distance to travel. My youngest who has all the confidence in the world...until he gets scared....starts citing the mantra "A scout is brave" with a quick repetition that made us chuckle and search for anything we could say to reassure him. It was that moment that, while holding his hand, I tripped over a rock and proceeded to plan my fall over what seemed like the next 3 minutes, but I'm sure translated into 3 seconds! A scraped hand and ankle later, we were up and making our way down the trail, but we began to reconsider our route.


Perhaps we could make it down the steeper route. The route the bison took during their fateful leap....without the leap, that is. Seeing that my nephews had made it, we decided we could traverse the steep slope using teamwork to get our little man through the climbs that required a bit more height than he had to give. 

Once past our first obstacle, I stayed with him while my husband teamed up with our older son, each pair guiding one another down the steep, slippery path. The wind continued to blow, the thunder announced its presence, and our trail seemed impossible with its slippery gravel causing us to slide down much of it on our backsides, whether we chose that route or nature chose it for us. 

I was astonished at how quickly my little one was making his way down, only stopping from time to time to fold his hands in prayer. So sweet and endearing, but so hard to know that he was so nervous about being caught in a storm.

About halfway down, we reached a point where the trail became more grassy, and finishing the distance on foot was no longer a problem. It must have been the adrenaline that consumed him, but my 6-year-old took off running at that point and didn't look back until he reached the top of the hill where the covered learning pavilion stood and the comfort of his Mamo was waiting for him to scoop him up and tell him what an amazing job he did. 

Not too far behind, I reached the pavilion relieved to have made the difficult trek down before the rain hit. Sending my mom, son, niece and nephews to the car, I waited for my husband and older son to reach the pavilion so we could sprint the 1/4 mile back to the car, the rain at our heels and the elevation taxing our lungs. 

Once we reached the vehicles and jumped in, we surveyed our scraped up hands (okay, maybe that was just me) and laughed about how wild of an adventure we just endured. The rain came pouring down in a classic summer storm so common in the mountains that goes as quickly as it comes. 

What a memorable moment during our vacation. Filled with adventure, drama, uncertainty, triumph, and teamwork. It's amazing what thrills this great country can bring us, if only we're willing to outrun the storm.