The Old Tiff Mills

Interviewed a lady named Mary Jean Daugherty who grew up during World War II in Richwoods, in Washington County, next county over from here. She said, "We lived around the tiff mills, that’s what kept Richwoods going."

Q:  Around the what?

A: Tiff, white tiff, that’s what kept Richwoods going.

Q: What is tiff?

A: It’s white rock. I don’t know what they do with it, but we had big trucks come in and haul it out, and they did go dig in the forest. There was a good five mills in Richwoods; that’s what kept the town going.

I Googled "tiff mills" with no results. So I hunted up this bit of Missouri mining history. "Tiff" is a local name for the mineral barite, and Washington County just south of Richwoods had the richest barite deposits in Missouri, and companies tore up the woods to get at it.

Although barely harder than a fingernail, barite will not dissolve in water and is so dense that it sinks through mud and is impervious to radiation. It is the chalky substance in the “barium milkshake” used to diagnose digestive problems, and an ingredient in concrete and important to oil drilling. Ultimately the Missouri tiff mining companies dug up 13 million tons, and after the war found bigger deposits overseas.

The photo at the top is labeled "Tiff Mill, Mineral Point", a tiny town just northeast of Potosi in Washington County. You also see barite from my Missouri mineral collection. When bonded with sand, barite can form "roses" or "desert roses," a geological novelty item. My barite is more of a rosebud, but thought you'd like to see it.

View From Hughes Mountain

Some of the oldest exposed rock in the world, 1.5 billion years old (that's old!), can be seen on Hughes Mountain, an ancient volcano in a Natural Area south of Potosi, MO, in Washington County, just off of Highway M. Most people don't know that this area of eastern Missouri, the St. Francois Mountains that you see, so rich with lead and iron, is not your mother's Missouri. It's igneous or volcanic rock: lava. This area was once a bunch of boiling volcanic islands that blew their tops. On the trail, keep going, keep going, up the stream bed; it takes about half an hour from start to to the big open glade at the top. You'll see rocks and columns six-sided or four-sided, like cubes, crystals, bricks, Lego pieces.

This area is locally called the Devil's Honeycomb (geologists say, "polygonal joining") and geologically it's like the Devil's Tower in Wyoming. The Hughes family came from Tennessee in 1810 and bought 120 acres of the mountain, but couldn't make a living out of the soil here so John Hughes and wife Suzanna ran a grist mill. The Department of Conservation has added 306 more acres to the area. Not too far away is a better-known Eastern Missouri volcanic-rock attraction: the Elephant Rocks. But Hughes Mountain and perfect weather suited me just fine on a day that I got my work done early and said, "Let's go somewhere I've never been." Click on the photo for the full panoramic view.

Iced Waterfall

Temps are below freezing for really the first time during this snowless winter, so we are having a January Freeze instead of a January Thaw. The cliffs and waterfalls and creek on the property have started prettily freezing. This is half of the double waterfall situated about 50 yards up from LaBarque Creek. This plunge over the mossy rock and fallen trees is about eight feet top to bottom and those are some big icicles. This waterfall and several others here are much easier to see in winter when the foliage is down. I like to think that I have seen it when it will never be exactly this same way again. In fact that is the way I should look at everything. The mosses are always leafy and green no matter what the weather.

In Hiding...and Smiling

North of "my" property line is Missouri Conservation land, designated as such only about a year ago. So I'd never explored it until this winter, and here I found beneath a sandstone cliff along a shallow run of the LaBarque a nice sandy place to sit and rest. That pure white isn't snow but silica sand. It doesn't stick to your clothes; its grains are more spherical than crystalline. It's similar to the sand at the Great Salt Lake. It makes beautiful white sand bars and beaches and little beds as you see here. And it's all from the sandstone cliffs just like the one you see. I hid and rested under this overhang, perfectly happy; it'd make a nice place for a picnic or romantic encounter. Even in December, the determined sort of people could manage. The trees? The old creek banks are eroding (severe drought/flood cycles don't help) and we are losing lots of old trees, oaks and sycamores. It's nature.

The Colors of Things To Come

Last night the local TV weatherman gave his "next three months" forecast: It'll be dry as dust, will frost in October and, he actually said this twice, might snow before the end of that month. November the pits also. But I knew anyway that when August comes the party of summer is pretty much over. "August is a September month," poet Sylvia Plath wrote in her diary. She preferred July. I prefer June. May is better. Anyway, can't do anything about it except admire the previews of fall colors I currently see here and there among the jungly greenery. The cliff is typical geology for this area.