The world seemed a colorless place today.
The sky was a closed door,
Bolted and shut,
As if guarding all that azure
Behind the clouds.
I looked for some bright hue
And saw a scarlet ball
Perched on a tree, quiet and still.
A sign caught my eye,
Bold proclamation in red!
Vivid memorials in the cemetery
Declared a love not forgotten.
And I remembered,
I remembered what Jesus said.
I read it twice this morning:
Be of good cheer.
Be of good cheer, daughter.
And with good cheer,
I walked back home.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Ever since I discovered the ability to listen to podcasts on my phone, I’ve been joined at the hip with them on my walks. Wither I goest, my podcasts goeth along. But along the way, I’ve forgotten how to listen to the world around me – I walk outside, but I’m not paying attention. This morning, I disconnected from my good friend Podcast, and tuned in to radio of the natural world. It was a relatively warm day in Minnesota (a balmy 35 degrees) and I was surrounded by so much birdsong, it seemed like spring. Naturally, all these birds were hidden. Every time one of them would appear on a branch, by the time my camera swung up to position, the bird had disappeared. I heard the hum of cars and trucks on the freeway in the distance and the musical sound of some jingling bells – maybe wind chimes? I spent most of my time looking at tree tops, admiring their stark and bare beauty against the sky. The photos were all sort of blah, so I did some “enhancing” on Aviary. If you look closely, you can see that a careless chickadee allowed me to capture him in one of these photos.

This is my Father’s world,
And to my list’ning ears,
All nature sings and ’round me rings
The music of the spheres.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but maybe not until after breakfast.

We watched the first episode of The Mandalorian last night and I ended up dreaming about it all night long. I just wish I could remember the dream – the only thing that comes back to me is that groups of Mandalorians were wandering about wearing cloaks and looking like monks. Why couldn’t Baby Yoda have made an appearance?

I’m going to endeavor to take more photos this year (famous last words). Here’s the first batch, with old and new Christmas decor. The newest item is the gnome I got from my husband this year. I’ve become quite enamored with gnomes for some reason.

I’ve started the Great Christmas Dismantling, motivated somewhat by the fact that our Christmas tree is shedding needles faster than the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I hate to put away all these bright things that give our house a great deal of cheer. It’s time to remember these words that Christ spoke to His disciples, and thereby to us: “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

We’d been looking forward to hiking at Flandrau State Park in New Ulm because we lived in New Ulm for seven golden years. We loved it there, and Flandrau was a favorite place to go, particularly in the summer for swimming, but we also occasionally went hiking and cross-country skiing at the park. We’ve done quite a few of these hiking club trails now and breezed past the park office at first, but decided to go back and get a trail map, just in case. The cheery park lady told us that the bridge on the hike had been washed out and just recently replaced, so we were good to go. She warned us that there were a couple areas where the signage was poor because the trail had been rerouted due to weather-related issues. Good thing we stopped in.

It was 37 degrees when we arrived to do the 2.8 mile hike – mostly overcast and just a wee bit dreary around the edges. The pool where our kids spent many happy hours was drained. We contemplated how much stuff they must find at the bottom when they drain the pool, including a nice watch that one of our sons lost there just days after he’d received it for his birthday.

Ah, familiar, beloved place
Of hot days, cool waters,
Splashings and laughter,
Of poolside vigilance and the smell of sunscreen.

I walk across the empty sand,
And though the water is gone,
I feel the surge of memories
Rising and slowing my progress,
The resistance of the years
And the glad weight of blessings now grown.

I hear distant voices
As I cross the far side and emerge,
The years dripping off with each step.
“Mom, look!”
I turn and smile…
Verklempt.

Kris went on ahead of me as we started out – I was getting my camera out to take photos, of course. I saw a downed bit of orange plastic netting and thought, “Better be careful – that looks easy to trip over.”

I then proceeded to trip on it and fell flat. I’m blaming it on aging, which is where I cast the blame for most things these days. Kris said it was a very graceful and slow-motion fall, so at least I did it well. No pictures of that – you can probably imagine it.

The trail went close to the Cottonwood River for a while and then peeled off into the woods. At the muddiest parts of the trail, park staff had thoughtful laid down planks to walk upon. Thank you, park people.

Most of the plants were dead or dying – photos were taken anyway. It’s all part of the cycle of life and taking pictures gives me something to do and something for you to look at if you get bored with all these words.

At one point we came across these surprisingly vibrant looking plants, which actually had labels on them so you didn’t have to consult a plant identification book:

Well, at least whoever put those there had a creative streak and didn’t litter the ground with them.

We stopped for a break (and back to our regularly scheduled Clif bars) and looked out over the prairie.

Kris took a moment to read Psalm 19 aloud. Here are the first few verses for your general edification:

The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.
Day unto day utters speech,
And night unto night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech nor language
Where their voice is not heard.
Their line has gone out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.

It is good, indeed, to look out upon all that God has made and listen to what is being said. Try it.

Continuing along, we worked out that if we get up to 80 miles by next July 4, we’ll still be on track to finish in five years. This got us wondering if those who finish all the hikes belong to some sort of elite group, meeting for banquets and the like. We’ll let you know.

The trail went uphill for a time, but this is when I discovered what a difference it makes when it’s not hot out. No heart pounding and heavy breathing this time, by golly! Maybe we should do more of these wintry hikes.

It took us about an hour and twenty minutes to finish off the trail and our total number of miles is now up to 49.5. That might be a wrap for 2019 unless we get motivated to get out to a park with our kids while they are back for Christmas vacation.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, but NOT before giving kudos to my brother-in-law Rich again for putting us together in the park sign photo and the park bench photo. Thanks, Rich!!!

Next Hike: Fort Ridgely State Park

Anniversary Trip Day Four. It was time to return to our regularly scheduled lives, so we packed up and left our lovely cabin in the morning and began the slow meander home. We stopped for awhile in Two Harbors and got sucked into the vortex of a used book store there. This was purely accidental since the outside of the shop advertised arts and crafts and we were lured in unsuspectingly. Once there are books in the equation, one must spend time looking at them. If you don’t understand that, well, sigh… Anyway, we also wandered over to a local coffee shop where the cheerful woman behind the counter asked us, “How can I caffeinate you today?” I’m not a coffee drinker, but in the spirit of throwing caution to the wind on vacation, I had my first pumpkin spice latte. It didn’t impress me too much – too sweet (and this is coming from someone with a ferocious love of all things sweet).

So, on to the our last hike of this trip. By the time we got to Moose Lake State Park, it was starting to sprinkle, so we left our Serious Cameras in the car and just brought our phones. The place was absolutely deserted – the first time in a long time since we’ve had that experience. My legs and knees were still aching from the previous two hikes, so this 2-mile hike was going to be a welcome respite.

The trail was wide and easy.

The sky was dark with threatening rain, which somehow made our secluded hike somber and contemplative. We didn’t talk a lot and we didn’t take many photos. We walked by a largish pond (or was it Moose Lake?) toward the beginning of the hike and hoped to see some wildlife on, in, or above it, but it, too, was deserted.

The whole world was hushed except for the sound of our feet on the path.

We saw various signs with location markings that were probably part of some sort of GPS tracking game. Loons, swans and bears, oh my!

I was amused by this very stern sign – whatever happened to Minnesota Nice?

I would have expected something more along the lines of “Please don’t use your snowmobiles on the trail,” but this gets the job done with only one word and an exclamation point. It’s like a mom made the sign for her kids. I approve.

We passed a little rain shelter and hoped we wouldn’t have to run back to use it later. Kris volunteered to use his knife to make us a little homemade shelter if torrential rains came while we were too far from the shelter. This was a helpful bit of ingenuity. I approve of that, too.

Kris spotted a couple deer, but by the time I looked, it was just the tail end of one of them off in the distance. Alone again, we pushed on, thankful that we weren’t seeing any actual moose at Moose Lake State Park (at least not close up). The silence was broken suddenly by the sound of a text coming to my phone. I was amazed – usually there’s no coverage when you get into the woods. Glory to God and hallelujah – it was a message from a friend of mine about whom I had been very concerned and in much prayer over due to serious health issues she’d been having. My heart had been very heavy over news I had received a few days before and I had wondered if she was still with us. I was thrilled and relieved to hear from her. In a moment, our somber walk had become bright – there was light in the dark day, and solace in the wilderness.

Like cold water to a weary soul,
So is good news from a distant land.
Proverbs 25:25

We got the hike done in 45 minutes – a record for us, which just goes to show you how speedily things can go without cameras and hills. Moose Lake State Park wasn’t a really showy park, but it will always have a special place in my heart.

We’re up to 46.7 miles total now!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Flandrau State Park

Anniversary Trip Day Three. “Twas a Sunday, so we started out the day by worshipping with the good folk at Palisade Baptist Church. We got there early and drove up to Palisade Head. One never tires of the view of Lake Superior.

After church we drove up to Crosby-Manitou, far off the beaten path. (Side note: my husband enjoyed calling it Crosby-Manitou, Nash and Young. If you get that, you are getting on in years like we are.)

In the Hiking Club booklet, the 4.2 mile trail was described as “steep and challenging,” with this caveat: “Due to the strenuous nature of these trails, the [1.2 mile] Benson Lake Trail is offered as an alternative.” There was also some mention of spectacular views on the longer hike, but I had fixated on the word “strenuous.” More than a little intimidated by this dire warning, I had originally suggested that we do the easy BLT and maybe come back later (i.e. never) for the more difficult hike, but completing the hike at Split Rock had imbued me with greater courage and confidence. Bring it on! This confidence may have been misplaced…

It was around 12:15 and 55 degrees when we started out. Kris had hiked here with his sister Karen back in the day and had fond memories of the experience.

The trail was narrow and rough, but there was a pleasing earthiness to it, a greater sense of being truly in the wilderness.

We chatted about church, prayer and the importance of memorization as we walked along, stopping occasionally for photos.

I had noticed these odd splotches of black goo along the path and when we stopped to investigate one, we concluded that these were decayed mushrooms. Kris coined the term “mushroom poop” for these unsightly piles, a term you may freely use when the need arises. You’re welcome.

In fact, there were a lot of mushrooms and other fungi along the way and we still had a fresh enthusiasm about the hike and stopped frequently to capture them with our cameras.

We also came across a little shelter, the inside of which had been heavily marked up with people’s initials and other types of writing. I poked my head in for a closer look and saw that someone had written “Jesus is the answer.” Manna in the wilderness!

Eventually we began to hear the sound of a distant waterfall and the path led downward into the bottom of a canyon where we stopped to enjoy the sight and sound of the waterfall and to have a snack. We had forgotten our Clif bars (gasp!), but had some apples and cheese.

By now, the trail had all but disappeared and in its place was a pile of rocks and boulders that we picked our way over, seeing a trail of sorts resuming up ahead. The going trend was definitely upward and I mentally girded my loins for what would surely be the more strenuous part of the journey, the Humpback Trail. There would be no more easy walking from this point on – the paths were treacherous, often hard to see, and each step forward had to be carefully placed to avoid tripping and/or slipping.

My inner Eeyore reappeared, moaning silently about the arduous climb. My fatigued legs and knees and my pounding heart kept up a steady chorus of complaints, but at last, we reached what appeared to be the top of the hump – praise God! We paused to enjoy the view from the top and then started back down.

Kris wondered aloud if this was to be a one-hump camel or a two-hump one, but I took the position that the term “humpback” clearly referred to the Humpback Whale, which of course would have only one hump. It would be all downhill to the parking lot from here, I thought cheerily and just about then, we encountered the second hump. Another uphill slog ensued. What goes up, must come down, right? And so it came to pass – a little downhill relief… and then another hump. By the 4th or 5th hump (yes, I was counting them), I was beginning to despair and decided I needed to review some fortifying verses. I started out with James 1:12. “Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, for once he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him.” Perseverance – yes, that’s the ticket. Just one foot in front of the other – keep going. Kris walked a little ahead of me, providing the example of forward momentum that I needed. Pauses to catch my breath and allow my heart to slow down became more frequent. I went on to Hebrews 12:1 “Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” I had literally just finished that verse when we came to a largish tree across the path, an encumbrance, indeed. “Perseverance and endurance,” I chanted to myself while simultaneously also thinking, “but I cannot go up one more hill.” I did not yet understand what perseverance meant.

The 6th and 7th humps came and went. I stopped at one point and indulged myself for a moment with the thought that I would just stay there. But this was akin to being in labor to deliver a baby – there’s no stopping that train. I looked ahead, and there Kris was, waiting patiently for me and encouraging me along the way.

One foot in front of the other. The 8th hump was the steepest and longest one yet and I had long since stopped caring about taking any photos of anything – I was in pure survival mode. The hike had become Brutal (which starts with B and rhymes with C, which stands for Crosby…). Seeing the top of the hill ahead, I actually put on a burst of speed and went past Kris to get there. As I caught my breath, I looked around and saw the aforementioned spectacular views.

And just like that, God renewed my mind. I underwent a transformation of both body and spirit up there. As I started down the hill, I was just as tired as I had been before, but now I knew what perseverance was: I would keep going with a cheerful heart, no matter how many other little humps were ahead of me; I would quit despairing and do the work without complaining. I left Kris behind this time and strode down with a bounce in my step. And this time, there were no more humps to climb. It wasn’t long before I glimpsed the parking lot up ahead.

In the movie “West Side Story,” Tony meets Maria and later croons: “All the beautiful sounds of the world in a single word: Ma-ri-a!” I kid you not, when I saw that parking lot, I sang with fervor: “All the beautiful sounds of the world in a single word: park-ing-lot!” Checking the phone app, this hike was the equivalent of 51 flights of stairs. When Kris caught up with me a couple minutes later, I told him that I felt both exhilarated and exhausted. Crosby-Manitou State Park, you made me a better person. But I’ll never do that hike again!

We’re up to 44.7 miles now and Kris’s goal of getting up to the 50-mile mark this year is looking very doable. One more hike tomorrow on our way home!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Moose Lake State Park

Anniversary Trip Day Two. Anytime you can be anywhere near Lake Superior on a hike, it’s a plus. I had been nervous about this hike, our longest one yet, so I needed all the pluses on the ledger that I could get. When we got to the park, it was about 63 degrees and sunny – couldn’t have asked for nicer weather.

The first part of the trail goes right down to a stony beach, the kind of place where if you listen carefully, you can hear the flat stones calling out “Pick us up and skip us over the waters!” We discovered that rock skipping is not like riding a bike, but I think things might have improved if we had stopped to practice more.

With a lot of walking ahead, skipping rocks took on a very low priority. This beach also gave us our best view of the lighthouse. Click.

And some people out on the water in kayaks. Click.

And an island. Click.

Stones. Click.

And as we went on from there, much flora. Click. Click.

So much clicking was going on that when a couple women came out of their campsite onto the trail, they remarked, “Oh, you’re photographers!!” Well, not in the National Geographic sense, but in some entry-level strictly amateur way, yes.

After an early uphill jaunt, we came out to the place where the trail was also a bike path, wide and paved. It’s actually easier on the feet to walk on grass, so we avoided the asphalt when possible.

More clicking as we each found things by the sides of the path that appealed to us as being photo-worthy.

By the time we got to the end of the bike path, the Hiking Club trail took a sharp turn and we headed back toward the lake. I had been promising myself that when we got to the turn, I’d sit down and give my legs a rest at the very first bench, which turned out to be an old wooden one overlooking Crazy Bay about a half mile after the turn. I found out that Kris had been making promises to himself about breaking for a Clif Bar when we got halfway, so we were able to fulfill both our promises at the same time. Along the way, we enjoyed some witty repartee about Clif bars and hunger pangs:

Kris: “I felt my first hunger pang about a half hour ago. It was so loud, I thought you’d hear it.”

Lynn: “Oh, that? I thought it was a bird. A Pang-Bird.”

Kris also observed that our Clif bar habit was going to start provoking a Pavlovian response – the mere sight of one would make us want to start hiking. This was all warm-up for what I considered to be the most brilliant Clif bar remark of the day. As we were munching appreciatively on our blueberry (K) and apricot (L) bars, Kris noted, “Clif bars are the lembas of the modern age.” Quotable stuff, people! Clif needs to sit up and take notice.

When we got up to go, our bodies protested and we had a contemplative discussion about aging. In the midst of this discussion, we came across a battle-scarred old birch tree. It was hard to believe that such a ravaged tree could still be alive, and yet green leaves adorned some of the branches.

What an apt metaphor for the aging process when the young trunk and bark that we started out with becomes worn, scarred, weak and like a shield with holes in it. But we do not lose heart – for though our outer man is decaying, our inner man is being renewed day by day (2 Corinthians 4:16). Our inner man is still green and renewing.

I had proclaimed a moratorium for myself on photo taking after our break – time to keep a steady pace and push through to the end. Kris didn’t take that announcement very seriously – he knows me too well. Two minutes later I spotted a leaf that I just HAD to get a photo of.

We came to a place where we could veer off the path to go to a lookout at Corundum Point. Kris sailed on in while I walked behind him trying to tell myself that it would be worth the extra walking. However, we came to place where we realized that the Point was up on a cliff way above us, involving a switchback and some fierce uphill climbing. Conundrum at Corundum Point! I had a quick consultation with my knees on the matter and the vote was unanimous: NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Back to the trail. We figured we were about a mile from the end by now and I remarked that I was getting my second wind. And then we came to the Steep Stairs of Doom. A young family was going up the steps ahead of us and their toddler was using his hands to help him get up the steps, it was so steep. I did likewise and although it felt a little silly, it helped ease the pressure on my knees (and brought great amusement to the toddler).

We could almost smell the finish line by now. We crossed back over the stony beach and then saw a shortcut to our parking lot – yea! Wrong parking lot – back to the trail. Not much further along, we saw the correct shortcut to the parking lot, which turned out to be another fake-out. Back to the trail. The third shortcut was the charm – finally reunited with Madam Blueberry, our trusty steed.

My phone app says we went up and down the equivalent of 26 flights of stairs. Two and a half hours of hiking, 5.8 miles (more, really, but we only get credit for the official number listed for the hike) and a grand total now of 40. 5 miles. Fist bump!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning..

Next Hike: George H. Crosby-Manitou State Park

Anniversary Trip Day One. We love being up on the north shore of Lake Superior so we decided to combine our hiking club adventures with a 4-day weekend up here to celebrate 34 years of marriage. Four days, four hikes. Let’s get started, shall we?

We’ve both been to Jay Cooke State Park before as children and even brought our own children here about 15-20 years ago or so. However, once we got here, we were like Gandalf in the Mines of Moria: “I have no memory of this place.”

We brought our tripod with us on this trip so we could give our overworked and unpaid photo guru a much deserved break. We salute you, Rich (metaphorically, since clearly we aren’t saluting in this photo).

The hike starts off by going over the Swinging Bridge over the St. Louis River. Reading about that ahead of time, I feared that this swinging bridge would be like those you see in movies, swinging wildly with every breeze, narrow, rickety and with rotting boards that might break under your foot at any moment, plunging you into the gorge far below. Sometimes an imagination like mine is really annoying. In reality, the swinging bridge at Jay Cooke is a very sturdy affair with barely detectable swinging. Works for me. The river at that point is shallow and sprinkled with little waterfalls, roiling waters and lots of rocks – a beautiful sight.

Once we got past the bridge, we also left behind most of the tourists – there were very few people doing the hike and we were alone on these green and pleasant trails – just the way we like it.

I have been reading through Homer’s Odyssey for the first time (I feel like my brain got bigger just by being able to write that) and we had discussed it on the way up here, so the story was on my mind. It occurred to me that we should consider this hike an odyssey and look for the various creatures that plagued Odysseus along the way: the Cyclops, the Sirens, and of course Scylla and Charybdis. Kris observed that in this scenario, he would be the Cyclops and I would be the Siren. Funny guy! I was feeling hot and sweaty and decidedly un-Sirenish, so I told him that no matter what I was singing, anybody seeing me would turn around and run the other direction.

At any rate, Kris spotted the Cyclops early on in our odyssey, which was fitting, since the ordeal with the Cyclops was the first one that Odysseus and his men encountered on their way home from Troy. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Cyclops of Jay Cooke State Park:

We passed a couple going the other way who warned us that the trail ahead was often muddy and they did not exaggerate – we often had to circumvent the trail on either side to avoid large muddy puddles and slippery mud slides. It reminded me of how Poseidon (who turned out to be the Cyclops’ dad and who was decidedly angry about the whole blinding-the-cyclops thing) began making the journey treacherous for Odysseus and his ill-fated crew as they traversed the seas. We had it easy, compared to them.

Kris brought my old camera this time and wore a nice harness to keep it handy for taking photos, so now both of us were stopping along the way to capture what we saw.

Scylla is a six-headed monster that lurks in a cavern near the sea. If a ship gets too close to her lair, she shoots out her hideous heads and grabs six men from the ship and bolts them down raw. Definitely to be avoided, but if you veer too far away from Scylla’s reach, you enter into Charybdis’s mighty whirlpools of death. Hence, instead of saying that you’re between a rock and a hard place, you may now use the phrase, “between Scylla and Charybdis,” to the same effect. Finding Scylla was going to be tough. We looked for an obstruction hanging over the trail, but the only thing of that type that we saw were these straggly branches with yellow flowers – not very scary.

We spotted some branches with clusters of round hanging “berries,” that could perhaps (with a LOT of imagination) look like the heads of Scylla. Beggars can’t be choosers.

The last third of the the 3.5 mile loop was a rather strenuous uphill climb. When I checked my phone’s health app after the hike was over, it informed me that I had climbed 21 flights of stairs. I began breathing deeply and slowly in the hopes of taking in more oxygen for my poor wee muscles and to make the ascent easier. This was moderately successful. By the way, if I say “Breathe deep…” what comes next in your mind? If you’re of my generation, you’ll be saying “…the gathering gloom” (from Nights in White Satin). But if you’re of my children’s generation, you might say instead “…fly high” (from Dinotopia). Just another one of my useless observations that you will read and forget immediately.

When we got near to the end of the hike, we were back by the river, so we took a small detour to go and sit on some rocks and have our Clif bars.

It was here that I found Charybdis and the Sirens. Behold the roiling waters of Charybdis:

The Sirens are harder to pluck out of this scene, but bear with me. The sound of a waterfall always draws you to it, doesn’t it? While it’s not high pitched, like the sirens, it is thrilling and alluring. And when you are standing near a waterfall, especially near the top, it’s quite mesmerizing – you even find yourself having a strange impulse to throw yourself in. The Sirens are “creatures who spellbind any man alive…the high, thrilling song of the Sirens will transfix him…”. It’s a stretch, but I’ll stand by it: waterfalls.

Back on the other side of the bridge again, Kris wanted to wash the mud off his boots in the river and we found some purple coneflowers that had to be photographed.

And now in honor of our anniversary, I’ll close with these words from the Odyssey about marriage:

“No finer, greater gift in the world than that…when man and woman possess their home, two minds, two hearts that work as one. Despair to their enemies, a joy to all their friends. Their own best claim to glory.” Oh yes.

Next stop: Split Rock Lighthouse State Park with a 5.8 mile trail. Gulp.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…when young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shines once more.

Next Hike: Split Rock Lighthouse State Park

In our quest to conquer the southeastern part of the state, we next made our way over to Great River Bluffs State Park, which started out in life in 1976 as O.L. Kipp State Park. I guess that wasn’t descriptive enough, so the name of the park was changed in 1996. (Note to self: find out who O.L. Kipp was. I kind of like the name – rolls off the tongue with a delightful snap. Say it out loud – you’ll be glad you did!) The 2.5 mile hike at GRB will put us over 30 miles and well on our way to Kris’s goal of getting up to 50+ miles by the end of the year.

This is a beautiful park! Get on over there – the bluffs will just get even more amazing over the next month as fall colors seize the days. I was a little worried that with bluffs we’d be doing horrendous hiking up steeply angled trails to get up to those panoramic views. Most of the uphill was done in our car – yea!!

We started out on our way to King’s Bluff on the appropriately named “King’s Bluff Trail.” It was a lovely, wide trail and we got off to a good start with cheery hearts. Kris’s dad joined us for part of the way, having the good fortune to call us when we were just starting out. I took photos while they chatted briefly.

We’ve gotten utterly complacent about the mosquito menace, by the way. We’ve seen nary a one this year…until this hike. They weren’t too bad, but I wished we’d had the foresight to bring the bug spray in our backpack.

Look! I finally got a really great photo of a bird!! I was pretty excited about this. I’m fairly certain it’s a downy woodpecker.

There were some downed oak branches along the way. I love the way their clusters of dried leaves look like a bat colony just hanging around.

We saw a sign indicating that there were Scientific Areas in the park and there were Rules and Forbidden Activities for these parts.

What would O.L. Kipp have thought of that, I wonder? Or, maybe O.L. was the mastermind behind the whole thing. Anyway, I love the part at the bottom of the rules: Walk Gently. Aww… It tickles me to think of a troop of scientists walking gently down these paths, carefully and gingerly putting each foot in front of the other as they go.

I saw them in a cluster
Walking down the path.
They had no grit, nor bluster;
Their heads were full of math.

But the thing that made me wonder
And filled my heart with glee,
Was the way their feet did blunder
As they walked so gingerly.

They’ll crush no ant nor plant,
These mild mannered stalkers.
Observe their studious slant –
They are the Gentle Walkers!

As usual, I digress. The closer we got to the bluff, the narrower and more tree-root-laden the paths became, with a gradual incline.

I wish I could tell you the Hiking Club password for GRB park – my favorite one so far. King’s Bluff was a very nice overlook in both directions – the Mississippi River on one side and a valley on the other. You could even say it was breathtaking!

We sat on the bench and had our Clif bars. (I’m starting to think that Clif should be paying me for all the great advertising that goes on in my blog, except then I remember that I only have about 10 followers.)

While we were there, another couple came up – brethren from the Hiking Club, we found out. They took a photo of us and we took a photo of them. It was all very civilized and just what you’d expect from fellow hikers.

Kris had been sending out occasional feelers about Queen’s Bluff – comments like “It looks like Queen’s Bluff isn’t too far off the path if we want to go there.” I took them as the subliminal hints that they were and didn’t reject the idea out of hand (which may surprise you if you’ve read any of my other hiking posts). However, as we looked at the map, it looked like the Queen Bluff’s area was one of those accessible only by the Gently Walking Scientists with Permits. Oh well.

On the way back to the beginning, we passed this friendly family of mushrooms who very kindly posed for me. Dad, Mom and all the littles – a large family, indeed. I was quite taken with them.

After we got back, by this time all sweaty, we took the obligatory selfie and then decided to drive to another area where we could take relatively short hikes to two different overlooks.

I had shed my jacket at the beginning of the hike and now decided to shed my outer shirt as well, feeling positively risqué! Kris doused me with bug spray and we went off to investigate. The first overlook had a selfie station – the first time we’d seen one of these on our hikes. O.L. Kipp would be so proud. The actual overlook view was interrupted by all sorts of trees (of all the nerve!).

The other overlook had a better view, but no selfie station, so we took two separate pictures and hoped for the best from our photo guru to join them together. I gave him the extra challenge of removing 15 pounds from my waistline, but I guess there are limits to what Photoshop can do.

Anyway, good job on your park, O.L. Kipp – I still honor your name even if the rest of the State Park World decided to abandon it.

“A good name is to be more desired than great wealth, Favor is better than silver and gold.“ Proverbs 22:1

P.S. I couldn’t resist inserting a hint about the password. Do you know what it is?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning….

Next Hike: Jay Cooke State Park

It was a beautiful drive along back roads over to Afton State Park from where we live. The air had a slight edge to it, one of those signs that fall is approaching. When we went to the park office to get our annual park permit, we were also able to get our first reward: the 25-mile patch! There are 197 total miles of hiking to complete the hiking club checklist, so we’re only about 13% of the way there, but it still felt like a little victory. The Afton hike adds 2.5 miles to our total.

The first part of the hike is a short interpretive prairie loop with informational signs along the way to help you identify grasses, flowers and (if you are among the blessed) any animals you might see. I took photos, but didn’t actually work very hard at the identifying part.

When we got started on the rest of the hike, we were joined for part of the time by a fellow carrying a bucket and a fishing pole, clearly an enthusiastic ready for action. Kris asked him, “What are you fishing for today?” “I don’t know,” he admitted, “whatever I can get.” I asked if he fished there regularly and it turned out he’d never been there before. It was sounding more and more like he was a novice at this whole thing. He said he thought it sounded better than sitting around doing nothing. Not being at all interested in fishing, I could probably have argued that point, but didn’t. Kudos to him, I say!

We crossed a nice bridge and after our last hike, I don’t take these for granted anymore. Take note, Carley State Park, this is a bridge:

There seemed to be some sort of unofficial run going on – we saw several groups of runners. There’s nothing like watching someone else running to make you glad that you’re walking.

We went down a long stairway at one point (which always causes me to reflect on the fact that we’ll have to go back up).

Eventually, we were hiking right next to the ski resort part of Afton, a place that brought back memories of going downhill skiing there with friends when I was in high school. They were really good at it and I was more of a newbie, so my favorite part was when we got to the bottom of the ski run and went to the chalet for hot chocolate.

The trails were identified by letters and after we passed a sign for the P trail, Kris observed that it would have been a good place for a bathroom. He’s a very entertaining fellow to hike with.

We came to an overlook where someone had laid roses down on the wood railing. This stirred my imagination and curiosity.

Roses in the wilderness
Upon a wooden rail
But no one told their story
It was an untold tale

A wedding? An anniversary?
(Roses speak of love)
But no one was there to answer,
No voice came from above.

‘Twas better left unexplained –
To give us food for thought.
We left them as we found them,
Unsullied and unsought.

I originally put as the last line: “Where they’ll sit and slowly rot,” but it seemed to end the whole thing on a downer.

There was a moment when we got confused about signage and retraced our steps to make sure we hadn’t missed a turn. When we realized we had been on the right trail, we turned around again and passed by a woman who asked jovially, “Are you as lost as I am?” We shared a moment of laughter and moved on, but got to thinking about the question. Geographically, it was pretty straightforward, but on a spiritual level, it’s quite a bit deeper. Lost? Not anymore. As John Newton put it: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found – was blind but now I see.

After an uphill trudge at the end, we sat down on a bench and decided to take an “end-of-the-hike” selfie.

At that moment one the of the runners was going behind us and tried to photo bomb the selfie. “Did I make it in?” she called out after going by. “No, but if you come around again, we’ll give it another try,” I shouted. She was running in circles to complete a certain number of miles, so when she made it back around a couple minutes later, we got it done.

Isn’t that cheery?

Thanks for joining us on another hike. We have an ambitious hiking schedule coming up, by the way – many miles and many more words and pictures from me.

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us. Hebrews 12:1

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…

Next Hike: Great River Bluffs State Park

They call it the golden hour,
That hour in which the flowers glow
With the hues of the dying day,
When light transforms all it touches,
And the very sight of the world
Feeds our hungry souls
And tells us that He who made all of this
Gives and gives and gives
With kingly extravagance.

Golden hour, indeed.

All things were made through him,
And without him was not any thing made that was made.
John 1:3

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…