Yellowstone, When the World Went Quiet (Part I)

Geysers, Solitude, and the Healing We Didn’t Know We Needed

June 2020 was a strange and tender moment in time.

The world had gone quiet in a way none of us had experienced before—restricted movement, closed borders, unanswered questions, and a constant hum of uncertainty. We didn’t yet have words for the collective grief or exhaustion we were carrying, only the weight of it.

And then we arrived in Yellowstone.

What we expected was beauty.

What we didn’t expect was healing.

When Nature Meets You Where You Are

Yellowstone has always been wild, but that summer it felt especially untamed—almost reverent. With travel limited and tourism slowed to a whisper, we found ourselves wandering through landscapes that felt untouched, expansive, and deeply still. Boardwalks that are usually bustling were nearly empty. Trails felt personal. Moments lingered.

After months of confinement and caution, being out in the open—breathing sulfur-scented air, listening to steam rise from the earth, watching water carve its own path—felt like a long exhale we didn’t realize we’d been holding.

Nature has a quiet way of reminding you that life continues. That beauty persists. That healing doesn’t always announce itself loudly—it simply shows up.

Where We Stayed: Cozy Comfort at the Edge of the Wild

We based ourselves in West Yellowstone, staying at Grizzly Park RV Resort in one of their charming little cabins, just minutes from the West Yellowstone entrance. It ended up being the perfect home base.

After long days of exploring, there was something grounding about returning to a cozy cabin—simple, clean, and comfortable. The onsite restrooms were spotless, and being close to grocery stores and local restaurants made evenings easy and relaxed. It was the kind of place where you could kick off your hiking shoes, warm up, and let the day settle.

That contrast—rustic wilderness by day, cozy comfort by night—made the experience even sweeter.

Day One: Geysers, Steam, and Otherworldly Landscapes

We dedicated our first full day to Yellowstone’s geothermal heart, and it set the tone for everything that followed.

Gibbon Falls

Our day began at Gibbon Falls, an easy roadside stop that delivers instant awe. Water plunged dramatically into the canyon below, mist rising as sunlight caught it just right. It felt like a welcome—powerful, grounding, and unmistakably alive.

Beryl Spring

Next, we stopped at Beryl Spring, where turquoise water shimmered with an almost unreal intensity. Steam curled upward, and the quiet hum of geothermal energy reminded us that Yellowstone isn’t just scenic—it’s alive beneath your feet.

Fountain Paint Pots

At Fountain Paint Pots, the earth bubbled and churned in soft grays and rust tones. Mud popped and plopped like something straight out of a dreamscape. Standing there, watching the ground breathe, felt strangely calming—messy, raw, and perfectly imperfect.

Norris Geyser Basin

If Yellowstone has a wild side, Norris Geyser Basin is it.

We explored both the Porcelain Basin and the Back Basin, wandering through a stark, almost lunar landscape where steam vents hissed and the ground shimmered white beneath our feet. The air smelled sharp and mineral-rich, and the silence—broken only by geothermal sounds—felt sacred.

Steamboat Geyser & Vixen Geyser

Seeing Steamboat Geyser, the world’s tallest active geyser, was humbling even without an eruption. Just knowing what it was capable of made standing nearby feel momentous. Smaller geysers like Vixen Geyser dotted the basin, quietly reminding us that Yellowstone doesn’t need spectacle to impress—it simply exists, powerfully and unapologetically.

A Different Kind of Awe

What struck us most wasn’t just the beauty—it was the absence of noise. No crowds. No rush. Just space.

In a season defined by limitation, Yellowstone gave us freedom.

In a time of heaviness, it gave us lightness.

And in the midst of uncertainty, it offered something steady and ancient.

By the end of the day, tired and grateful, we returned to our little cabin in West Yellowstone with sore feet, full hearts, and the growing realization that this trip was giving us more than memories—it was restoring parts of us we didn’t know were worn down.