Essentially the Only One

Just as this day (7 October) felt like the true pivot between summer and autumn (and dropping temperatures and relentless rain since seem to confirm this impression), yesterday evening felt like the first beginning of winter.

Only a hint, and more by the light than by the temperature that was still moderate or by the deciduous leaves, that, although now in main part gold and brown, still cling to their trees and, in some cases, remain resolutely green.

Still, there are bare trees to be seen and leaves gathering on the ground. It had been a clear, bright day until near the very end. Now a thin layer of cloud gathered on the horizon, veiling the sun. As the light failed, the temperature dropped and a slight shiver of cold passed through me.

That, and the gorgeous light you see in the photograph above, filled me with wintry thoughts. Pleasant thoughts. I am beginning to see, as I age, the delights of every season - indeed of every day. At times, I wonder how I managed to let so much of my life slip by without this awareness. Preoccupied by cares and worries or simply too depressed to register the beauties of the present.

There were good reasons why I felt so at those times, and it is in the overcoming of those barriers that I gained the wisdom to see as I do today. It is fruitless to regret your past, even as I have some reason for regret. What interests me today is how I have returned to some of the wonder and curiosity of my childhood, but completely free of the fears of the future that all-too-frequently accompanied those youthful thoughts. I find this to be a state of grace, and if I had pass through some painful periods to reach it, then they were well used.

(Part I here.)
The path down from Double Arch Rock took me past the Terrapin Rock, the name for a large worn rock with a spar to the fore that resembles a turtle's head protruding from its shell.

If you look hard enough, that is!

The continuing gentle downward slope took me to the first sign of water in the area on this dry day, Pickle Creek.

According to the Missouri Dept. of Conservation booklet, this shallow stream contains a amphipod that is known only in this stretch of water and isn't even named yet. A relic of the ice age, able to survive thanks to the acidic conditions and microclimate of Pickle Creek.

I peered into the water but didn't see anything. Not having microscope eyes counted against me, alas.

Now the trail took an upward swing, moving through the white and black oaks and shortleaf pine.

It lead across Bone Creek and wound further up, following the line of this creek.After crossing three wooden bridges in total, the path turned to the right and led into Spirit Canyon.

On the far side, the rocks piled higher and higher to form Owl's Den Bluff. I moved further into the canyon and found a very handy bench to sit and rest upon.

Not the first there that day was I, judging by a pack of Pall Mall menthol cigarettes and lighter lying on the seat.The sun was now quite low in the sky, and much of Spirit Canyon was in shade.

The rock wall was decorated with lichens and mosses but I'll have to come back later in the year to catch the rare ferns that sprout from this cliff.

A steep climb took me up onto the only really clear overlook in the entire area, Dome Rock.Here the contrast between the gray bark and green pines was clearest. In just a few weeks, the whole scene will turn to green.

Not yet though. This is my favorite part of the Pickle Spring reserve, with lovely flat rocks to sit and walk upon, the few evergreens and that overlook.

I was lucky to arrive just as the sun went behind some diffuse cloud. Otherwise it would have been bright in my lens. As it was, there was just enough pale light to give a little shadow. I would have stayed a lot longer, but time was pressing.

The trail led down again, steeply here, allowing me to look back up at the Dome Rock bluffs where I had just been sitting.

Then down to Pickle Spring itself, the origin of the name of the natural area and notable for being a rare permanent-flow spring in a sandstone background. Named for William Pickles, the owner of the land from 1848 until his (rumored) demise by a band of Civil War renegades in the 1860s.Permanent but modest.

Still, any water flow is of great benefit to the local flora and fauna and without it we would not have that unique amphipod.


On now to Rockpile Canyon, looking more the result of quarry explosion than any natural process. A recent fall, dating back to 1959, contributing to its freshly minted appearance.


At this point, I was nearly at the end of the trail. All that remained was to climb out of Rockpile Canyon, up another steep path and then onto a high, flatter, area.

Here I found Piney Glade, large bedrock sandstone with a only a few grasses such as the well-named poverty grass and lichens to decorate the wide gray surfaces.

On now to where the trail circuit rejoined its origin, and then the short walk back to the car park.

By now my backpack felt heavy, and I was ready for a cool bottle of water. Unfortunately, the only one I had had been nicely warmed in the car but it was still very refreshing.

A very pleasantly spent afternoon indeed.

The front porch this morning before wading out to the car and onto work.

At least I made it there; some didn't at all and some were delayed. Had a discomforting meeting with my boss who, because a lot of time has been lost one way or another, is trying to compress a year's work into six months. I am not sure I can do it, despite the inherent interest and potentially valuable outcome. Made my misgivings known - we'll see what transpires.

The trip home again was much easier - a day's worth of sun had melted a lot of snow. I feel fortunate. A lot of folk are without power and are freezing.

I came across this concrete memorial in Laurel Hill Memorial Gardens late this afternoon. It caught my eye because it is standing in a large field, sparsely occupied by graves, and shows signs of considerable decay despite what I suspect is not a great age.

Looking at that photograph, you would think, power lines notwithstanding, that is was situated in some near rural outlying area of St. Louis.

One day it probably was, but moving the camera just a little reveals a large abandoned factory. Like the statue, this is also decaying. Broken windows and graffiti.

The combination of structures on a very cold winter's day had a moodily post-apocalyptic feel to it.

It's no sunnier and no warmer than it was here, so it became clear that it is time to break out the big guns for winter.

This means Christmas Cake. To be precise, my mother's home made Christmas Cake, baked in her oven in England this summer and flown back to Missouri with us. Irrigated with finest Waitrose then Remy Martin brandy, and stored in a sealed container to marinade in the delicious alcohol for three months.

Until now.

The cake is cut, a piece consumed.

The day is transformed.

My son and I spent the afternoon visiting Cuivre River State Park in Missouri. (Being Missouri, Cuivre is pronounced 'quiver').

It was very bare and there was next to no one around, but the lake - Lake Lincoln - was looking very beautiful on this mostly cloudy day. There was a concrete slipway draining the lake; it caught my eye as it contrasted nicely with the brown forest.

By one of the picnic tables, I noticed a red, scattered pattern. Rose petals on the gravel. No clue as to why they came there. Only petals, no stems. A romantic tryst perhaps? A puzzle for sure.

...was through the very wintry and bare Valley View Glades Natural Area near Hillsboro, Missouri. Not as cold as I anticipated, nonetheless this picture sums up the environment very well!More photos here and here.