Don Robinson on the Rocks

Hiked this morning at Don Robinson State Park, with all its raw-looking, yellow-orange must-be-iron-in-there sandstone rock cuts. I'd taken some wildflower photos and then propped myself up to rest against a rock cut that exposed alternating layers of sandstone and limestone, like cake, and saw some of the yellow rocks freckled with black.

Closer inspection showed the freckles to be what looked like tiny plant fossils. (Photographed with a magnifying lens; actual size, 3cm.) Amazed and excited, I looked harder. Most of these enchanting fernlike things were pressed into a single layer of the rock. Five miles away at my place we don't have this type of sandstone and we don't have these.

The dark lines like black pepper are the "fossil" layers.

But, surprise--they are not plants! They are dendrites, deposits of manganese oxide, that have fooled a whole bunch of people, including me now, into thinking they are plant fossils. Internet says, "They form as water rich in manganese and iron flows along tiny cracks between layers of limestone and other rock types." I don't know about the manganese, but the rock there has iron and limestone, so if this is Wednesday it must be dendrites.

New at Glassberg: Meramec River Viewing

New at the end of Trail C at Glassberg Conservation area in Jefferson County, instead of balancing on the rocks at the top of the very sheer cliffs to get your glimpse of the Meramec River and its spectacular sandbar, there's a viewing platform jutting just enough so leafed-out trees don't obscure the view. The trail, about a mile long and mostly paved, is worth a walk, and the new deck just another bonus for living in or near the Ozark foothills. I've found another reference giving the story of the name "Meramec"; this time the source is the local paper.  The paragraph reads, "Many people mistakenly say it means 'river of death.' In the early 1700s when the French first got here, they interpreted the Indian pronunciation as 'Miaramiquoa.' A difficult word to spell, many early maps show its spelling as Maramig. As people from the northeast arrived here, they were familiar with the Algonquin word 'Merrimark.' Over the years, the spelling evolved to Meramec. The Indian intepretation of the name is 'River of ugly fish.' Anyone who has caught one of those big catfish on the Meramec would agree with this."

The End of Solitude

For many reasons I've spent most of my time alone, and I don't mean "unmarried"; I mean in solitude. As an over-50 solo hiker I began limiting myself, because what if I got lost on 4000 acres, or slipped and fell? And always I wished to share my delight in migrating birds or puffball mushrooms or other things I saw on hikes. One year ago I discovered and joined Meetup.com. You can find in your locale people coming together to enjoy an shared interest or event they might not attend or enjoy alone. These include wine tasters, paleo-foods enthusiasts, ballroom dancers, history buffs, kayakers, stargazers, playgoers, creative writers, you name it. Joining and meeting are free. My favorite group "Let's Hike" hosts every weekend at least four hiking events to choose from, anywhere between 4 and 35 people on each hike.

"Let's Hike" led me to Missouri conservation areas and parks and trails I didn't know existed; on hikes too rocky, lengthy, or distant or spooky, like Howell Island, to hike alone--and awesome sights such as the Pink Rocks near Fredericktown. Some people are out for exercise, others to see nature; we all chat. November offers perfect hiking: no snow, bugs, heatstroke or below-zero temps, and yes to gorgeous autumn scenery. It's only because of Let's Hike that a photo exists of me the hiker with hiking poles--great for ascents, descents, and rocky paths. Fellow hikers recommended them. Solitude is fine, but I sure do learn a lot from other people.

Property-Line Rapture

Today in the November sunshine, blinding because it's set at such a low angle and the trees are leafless, I set out to find the northern end of this 100-acre property, and my hike brought me here, where LaBarque Creek is still "mine" -- and in a few feet it crosses over and becomes the property of the Missouri Department of Conservation; that is, it becomes everybody's. But it's always been everybody's. The creek is low -- it's been very dry all summer and fall -- but that means more fossils for me to rifle through, and more deer and raccoon tracks at water's edge. And it is right here that I would like to be standing when I'm taken up bodily into Heaven (during the next Rapture).

Three Cheers for the Blue

Hiking, tramping along, winded, hoping to find the trail's end soon, hating to stop and rest because only old folks need to stop and rest -- been hiking 40-some years now --and anyway I'm getting dehydrated and need to drink water ASAP (am lazy sometimes about lugging along all the water I might need) and so I asked myself,"What would John Muir do?" Dehydration disorients me, so I looked down at my feet to make sure they were moving. Right then I glimpsed something crisp and refreshingly blue in the earth right in front of me, and saw that a baby had been born. Looked hard to try to identify the bird, but many birds lay blue eggs. Because the egg is spotted, I count robins out, and because of the location in deep woods I count bluebirds out; both robins and bluebirds are field-loving birds. Possibly some kind of sparrow. I wished it a happy birthday.

Hitching a Ride

The Shaw Nature Reserve is 3000 acres in the next county over, and today I renewed my membership there and went for a camera hike. Walked an hour and a quarter just to get to my planned starting point, the picnic shelter, then down the bluff to the gravel bar on a bend in the Meramec River (above). Enjoyed my visit. Hiked back up the bluff to the shelter. By then I had been walking for three hours and was worn to a thread. After drinking water and resting I faced the hour-and-a-quarter walk back to my car, in the noon sun. For once I didn't relish the thought.

Somebody else was up there in the shelter, a staffer, packing up his janitorial stuff and getting into his Shaw Nature Reserve pickup truck when I got inspired (or desperate) and called to him, "Can I have a ride?"

He said, "Why, sure!" And he cleaned off the passenger seat and, hallelujah, I got a ten-minute ride back to my car.

My escort was Mr. Thurman. He said he'd never cared for flowers or gardening until he visited the fabulous Missouri Botanical Gardens in St. Louis. Next day he dug up his back yard and planted roses. He'd worked 27 years in a factory, quit, found this janitorial job in the paper and worked it full-time. Turns out he also rescues people: moms with double strollers who've miscalculated how exhausting it would be to push the kids around 3000 acres, and he looks for and gathers up hikers from the trails when a thunderstorm threatens. And grants rides to tired middle-aged lady hikers wearing dumb-looking sunhats. And I learned I hadn't had to walk that first hour at all. Mr. Thurman said visitors could drive up to the picnic shelter Mondays through Thursdays, and start from there.

He took me straight to my car and waited until I had my keys in hand. Priceless!

On the Trail

To walk through a sturdy Missouri oak and hickory forest is a privilege. It is a mighty thing. This view, a path all paved with light, is along a steepish two-mile trail I walk often, near Rockwoods Range, never failing spring summer winter fall to halt in my tracks and marvel and wish I had been born in Missouri.

Wednesday Walking Club

Three inches of rain last night, so at 10 a.m. only two other members of the Wednesday Walking Club were present; nonetheless, we hiked three miles, looking at swollen streams the color of chocolate milk, surrounded by thick greenery and strange prairie plants, under the gray sky which is the blue sky having thoughts. Saw a heron, a pair of bluebirds guarding their box, swifts, red-winged blackbirds, a warbler, a pileated woodpecker high in a dead treetop; they and the frogs together made wild music. We soaked in it and then returned to the world, which then looked and felt very different.