We’re entering the final lap of this long race to finish hiking at all of Minnesota’s State Parks (and some of the recreation areas). This week we have a particularly ambitious hiking schedule – seven parks and seven hikes in four days, camping at 3 different parks as we go. These parks are the farthest away from where we live, so it would be nice to get them all done in one fell swoop (or swell foop, whatever your preference is). The only complicating factor is my left hip. Yes, after all these years of talking about my knees, my hip has made a late entry into the game. I’m pretty determined to finish up the parks and Kris has spoken of doing whatever he needs to do to make it happen. I would accept no less than this:

Our first park was the Red River State Recreation Area, right smack dab in the middle of Grand Forks, Minnesota (“Forx” on one sign that we saw – very hip and cool). Out of all the state hikes we’ve done, this one was the most like a city park. And indeed, it only came into being after the floods of 1997 that devastated the area. After a large scale clean up, structures and homes were removed from the land and after some general tidying up, what was left was the 1,200-acre greenway now known as the Red River SRA.

As we walked along the wide, paved path, we saw many bicyclists, joggers and walkers. It was a very hot day, 84 degrees when we started out around 2:10 p.m. to do the 2.2 mile hike. Let’s play a fun game of good news/bad news first.

Good news: It’s finally time for my trekking poles to start earning their keep – they will no doubt be important to keeping stress from my hip as I walk.

Bad news: In spite of the fact that we both checked to make sure the poles got packed, they were, in fact, not in the car. What we had both mistaken as the bag of hiking poles was a camera tripod in a very similar bag. Sheesh!

Good news: I came equipped with some new and powerful mosquito repellent. It’s called Picaridin and some of you will understand the joke when I say we call it Captain Picaridin. For those of you who don’t, I’ll tell you later.

Bad news: We didn’t see a single mosquito the entire hike, so Captain Picaridin was never put to the test. Oh wait, a minute. That’s GOOD NEWS!

Off we went. Naturally, I had my camera, so I captured some bird’s foot trefoil, a summery, buttery yellow beauty. Kris says it’s called that because the seeds look like bird’s feet.

There were encouraging signs along the way. Probably needed these at the end of the hike instead of the beginning, but the message is a welcome one no matter when it comes.

Due to all the trees, we didn’t see much of the Red River, although we walked alongside it for much of the first half of the hike. At one point, it came into view so we can attest to the fact that it was there.

The milkweed is in flower now. This is a fairly nice phase of the milkweed life cycle before the whole thing takes on the aspect of a fright wig. I looked for monarch caterpillars munching their way along the leaves, but didn’t see any.

The cottonwood was piling nicely up in drifts along the path, as well.

My favorite trees were clustering around here and there. Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile should know what that tree is, but for the rest of you, it’s the quaking aspen, AKA poplar tree. As an aside, I think giving it two names is excessive and confusing. Why?

We moved along fairly quickly. When the paved path ran out, we had a short time of walking on the grass, and then we went into a nice cool tunnel under the road. Ahh…the shade felt so good.

For the FIRST TIME EVER, the ending of the hike came earlier than I expected. Hallelujah!

Before we leave here, however, let’s pay homage to the old song, Red River Valley:

From this valley they say you are leaving
We shall miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
For you take with you all of the sunshine
That has brightened our pathway a while.

Come and sit by my side if you love me,
Do not hasten to bid me adieu.
Just remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy that’s loved you so true.

P.S. In the sweet providence of God, the park was practically next door to a Cabela’s where we went afterward and purchased a single hiking pole for me to use.

Knee Score: 2-3. Fairly level with one short hill with 5% incline.

I’ll probably use a hiking pole to delete this in the morning.

Next hike: Old Mill State Park

Just so you know, I haven’t forgotten that I have a blog. Good night!

I’ll probably…yawn…

I’ve been writing book reviews on Goodreads for a number of years now. I started writing them to help me remember the content of the books. Have you ever had the experience of starting a book and realizing partway through that it’s eerily familiar? And then you realize…oh, I’m pretty sure I’ve read this before. That’s happened to me a few times, so that’s when I started doing book reviews. In fact, they’re not always “reviews” in the strictest sense of the word, like someone who is assessing the writer’s style and the book content. Most of the time I just write my impressions of the book and even plot summaries if I feel so moved.

So, all of that is just a wordy way of introduction to the fact that I’m going to start sharing some of these book reviews on my blog. I’d love to know if you’ve read the same book and what you thought. Or if you read my review and decided to read the book. Here’s the first one!

Eric Lomax, who just died in 2012, survived enormously cruel torture at the hands of the Japanese as a POW during World War II. His story is eloquently told in this book, written over 50 years after the war. His love and passion for trains is interwoven throughout the book and in his own words, “The passion for trains and railways is, I have been told, incurable. I have also learned that there is no cure for torture. These two afflictions have been intimately linked in the course of my life, and yet through some chance combination of luck and grace I have survived them both. But it took me nearly fifty years to surmount the consequences of torture.” It is not surprising that he found it difficult to talk of his experiences, nor is it surprising that he struggled with anger and seething hatred, particularly for one Japanese man, the interpreter during the interrogations. What is surprising is what happened when he came across, by curious coincidence (I prefer to think of it as Providence) an article written by this very man, reflecting on his own struggles to overcome the effects of the war. Neither the tormented nor the tormentor are immune from the effects of cruelty. The subtitle of the book is “A True Story of War, Remembrance, and Forgiveness.” I will not soon forget the horrors of cruelty told here; however, I will remember even longer the transcendent grace of forgiveness demonstrated in this man’s life and story. (Review written by Lynniebee in 2013, book published in 1996)

I came across a great quote today by John Cheever:

“I can’t write without a reader.
It’s precisely like a kiss – you can’t do it alone.”

That’s how I feel. Writing needs a reader and I need you. Thanks for following me and for the conversations we have through your comments.

I’ll probably derail this in t—

When out on a stroll
You must beware
Of the deadly toll
Of the wild parsnip

Don’t be fooled
By its yellow beauty
Or you’ll be schooled
By the wild parsnip

The slightest touch
Of its sap on your skin
Will burn so much!
Oh, that wild parsnip!

Don’t smell the bloom,
Don’t stop for a photo
Away you must zoom
From the wild parsnip.

This has been a public service announcement. I risked my life for that photo. You’re welcome.

This post will be lost in space in the morning.

I went out to throw some compost on our compost heap and jumped back with a scream when I saw the little raccoon sitting there eating our scraps. I guess he wasn’t too happy about the meeting either, for he hissed at me.

We’d seen some of these little guys a couple weeks ago, a set of five kits that had been nesting in our neighbor’s tree. The mother abruptly abandoned the whole lot of them and they wandered around looking both cute and vicious. Raccoons can do that.

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Some years ago a duck had been nesting behind one of our neighbors’ shrubs and they had gotten a little pool all ready for when the ducklings hatched. You can probably guess how raccoons enter into this horror story. They got some tasty duck eggs out of the deal, but all the rest of us were very disappointed.

The raccoon is still in our compost heap, staring balefully at me.

In the words of Gollum, I say this to the masked marauder: “Leave. Now. And never come back!” I think if the raccoon could talk, it would say the same thing to me. I’m not going to argue with a raccoon.

I’ll probably abandon this post in the morning.

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A Haiku Condemnation of Potato Beetles
Potato beetle.
You scumbag, you excrescence.
(Does that seem too harsh?)

Thus ends Haiku Week at Lynniebeemuseoday.

I will probably
Delete this in the morning,
While writing haiku.

Beach Haiku
If the stones could sing,
The beaches would fill our ears
With their hymns of praise.

I’ll make this post a skipping stone in the morning.

Mood Haiku
Morning dripping rain
Dripping into all my moods.
Thank God for sunshine!

I’ll be Off! to delete this in the morning.

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A Bug Haiku
What’s the use of bugs?
The good Lord made them, so they
Must please Him somehow.

This post will be bugging out of here in the morning.

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Color Full Haiku
God speaks words of color
Onto Spring’s empty canvas:
“Let there be flowers.”

This post will automatically delete itself in the morning.

I look at this photo of our granddaughter and the phrase, “halcyon days of youth” comes to mind. I don’t think people use the word “halcyon” anymore, do they? I plan to make up for that to the extent that by the time you finish this post, you’ll not only know what it means, but you’ll be sick of reading it. You’re welcome.

Halcyon: denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.

It’s easy to romanticize the days gone by and think of them as halcyon. I don’t suppose the day I took this photo, little Miss Lucy was having such an idyllically, happy and peaceful day. In fact, she’d had a croupy cough for about a week when I took that photo and any halcyon moments were interrupted by a hacking, dry cough that made her face red. Then she’d just go on with what she was doing without much fuss. She probably won’t remember that day on the hillside running up to the top and rolling down in the sweet grass. She won’t, but I will. And no matter what else that day meant, it was day free of cares and worries, as all days are when you’re that young. And if that’s not halcyon, what is? Ah, youth.

I’m going to say it just one more and then delete this in the morning: halcyon.