Our Pinworm Vision Quest

A low point in a high place

Every once in a while, just as you think things are going smoothly, life throws you a weird curveball. After leaving Badlands National Park, we kept driving west and stopped at a Native American holy mountain called Bear Butte in South Dakota. We were eager to learn more about the indigenous connections to this land, and we also had an early appointment at Ford in Sturgis to get an oil change and service the truck. The service light was on, the windshield wiper was making a strange sound, and the rear tire was low. We had driven a couple of thousand miles since leaving Miami, and it was time for an expert to take a look at our vehicle. We found a primitive campsite for the night in the state park nearby, set on a pristine lake. It was cold and windy when we arrived. We were all exhausted and crashed into a deep sleep.

In the middle of the night, one of our kids (usually our deepest sleeper) woke us up frantically in an agitated state, complaining of an itchy butt. This was now the 3rd night in a row. A few nights earlier, the same thing happened. We examined it and saw nothing obviously wrong, so we put on some Sudocrem cream and hoped that would do the trick. Then again, the following night, our child came to our bed in the middle of the night with an itchy but visually perfect-looking butt. We found an anti-hemorrhoid cream and tried that one this time. Tonight our child came into our bed and was more itchy than ever. The poor kid was thrashing and kicking and inconsolable.

We didn’t know what to do, so we tried both creams and prayed for a miracle. We were up all night. The next morning, while waiting for the truck to be serviced, we called the best concierge doctor in Miami, Dr. Michael Gilinsky, who also happens to be Jaron’s dad and who always gets the first call for all the bizarre viruses and bugs we’ve picked up over the years. We explained what’s been going on, and he said that the most likely culprit here is pinworms. He said we could go in for labs to prove it empirically, which will take some days, or we can treat it using some harmless medications, keep moving, and hope for the best. So that’s what we did. After the prescription option was out of stock in Country Drugs in Sturgis and bizarrely cost nearly $2,000, we tried this $13 over-the-counter formula called Reese’s that we hoped would stop the itch.

Jaron came back to the Tortuga with new oil in the truck and anti-parasite meds in his pocket. When he got back, the three kids were maniacally running shirtless on the trail that circumnavigates the lake. The midday sun was hot, and the wind was brisk and blowing strongly. The kids were all happy not to be stuck driving that day. They were feeling wild and free. Even the one with the itchy butt was feeling it.

Seeing the kids hollering and hooting, their moppy heads of hair dwarfed and disappeared by the cattail grasses blowing against this perfectly blue sky, a brown holy mountain rising up behind them from the plains like an anomaly, covered in bright green grass. They ran into Jaron’s arms, and he hoisted each one into the air, feeling their silky, smooth, cold skin in his fingertips, as they screamed in delight. It was this moment of poetry among the chaos.

We typically don’t split up while traveling. We like to stick together. So when we are reunited, even after just a morning of mundane errands, it feels heightened, like a blessing. Everyone in the family drank the Reese’s syrup per the pharmacist’s advice. We then ate the leftover salmon and rice from last night, refried with Japanese Barbeque Sauce, and went to Bear Butte Mountain for a walk. It was serene, a place that felt instantly spiritual to us as we drove the Tortuga up to its base. A herd of buffalo grazed on the green grass, which was gyrating and whistling in the wind. The sky felt like an infinite blue portal. We went to get advice about the hike to make sure we knew if there were any treacherous sections, which there were, according to the former B-52 pilot who was managing the facility.

We picked out little gifts for the kids and learned about the Sioux and Lakota histories on this land, the buffalo, and the circle of life. We learned the special rules about not touching the colorful fabric cloths tied to the trees or the tobacco scattered on their roots. These are offerings to the spirits, to the ancestors. We learned that you can’t photograph specific spiritual items and that you can’t scream. We learned that this is not just a historical site. It is an active spiritual retreat location, where people still come for vision quests, which involve a sweat lodge followed by days of solitude and fasting on this mountain with the vibes of Mount Sinai.

Finally, we were ready to ascend. After about 10 steps, Vivi had a meltdown, so Jaron went back down to get her in the hiking backpack. Just when they returned, Luca wasn’t listening and was going off-trail and too close to the steep sections for our liking. Dana asked him not to touch the expensive camera, and he grabbed it anyway, accidentally knocking his lip in the process. Now he was sitting there blocking the pathway leading up to this holy mountain, crying. There were very clear rules about appropriate conduct on this mountain, and our kids were violating almost every single one of them. We would not go up this mountain today.

We managed to convince Luca to come down, and he eventually did, kicking and screaming. We realized that this trip cannot go on if the kids don’t listen to us. It’s a basic requirement for us, as parents, especially going out into the wild with our kids, that if not met, we cannot possibly move forward with. This is a hill worth dying on, metaphorically speaking. And so despite our deep desire to ascend, we cancelled the hike up and got back in the truck.

There are many situations that we realize are not worth fighting about, and we try to give our kids more leeway and freedom to learn on their own, the hard way. But when we are hiking a steep trail or in a place with wild animals, there is no margin for error. And so, in order to teach this basic lesson, about listening and respect for public spaces, we got all the kids down, back into the truck, and left Bear Butte. We hope to come back and visit this sacred place, and when ready, spend some more time there and perhaps even ascend it. But that day was not today. Today was a day for teaching our children a lesson that, if absorbed, will provide us the trust we need to protect us for this journey and beyond. Maybe that was what this sacred place had to teach us.

We drove to an actual hill that was apparently worth dying on, to the site of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, where General Custer and his men lost badly in a battle against the united Sioux and Cheyenne warriors. It felt like hollowed, sacred land. Gauging the mood and energy levels in the truck, and after the rough morning and nights we have had the past few nights, we decided to keep our kids buckled up and inside the AC this time. We drove through most of the memorial, which is laid out over a paved driving trail, with stops along the way. We got out of the truck briefly to stop, pay our respects to the men and the horses who died here, and snap a few photos. It was a charged place, and we were sad to have to rush through it.

This is the other lesson for travelling families, especially with kids this age. Sometimes life will throw you temper tantrums in the worst moments, or pinworms in the middle of the night. You will not see everything you hoped to see. Not even close. You will not see most things in the guidebooks or even in your stripped-down, hopeful itinerary. Get over it. Be grateful for what you can see and do when the spirits are high and the bodies are healthy. Truly savor each experience. Talk about it the next day and count it as a blessing. Speaking of blessings (or modern science), the Reese’s (pieces) worked! No more itchy butts. Thank God.

We will never forget Bear Butte. With all due respect to this sacred land, Butte Mountain will forever be a double entendre for our family as the place where we battled those wretched butt parasites. More significantly, it became the site of a parental vision quest of sorts, where we were challenged profoundly, learned patience, taught a lesson, and had a last stand of our own.