On the road again

After waking up waaaay too early one day this week, I decided to make good use of the time.  I was in Kansas, taking care of business. And errands. And paperwork, and tedium. Things like bills, and employment, insurance, registration, and a million other little mosquitoes of time sucking.  I'd rather have my gall bladder removed.

But after it was all over, and it was time to head back to Oklahoma and retrieve Philo and Philo Action Figure for an adventure, I decided to take the road less traveled to get there.

Criteria for road rambling:

1. Road must be paved, the Honda is not the truck. Repeat that 10 times.
2. Road must not be an interstate or state highway.
3. Road MAY be a state highway if that's the only paved road to get there.
4. Driver must stop at all interesting/odd/curious/strange spots and Balls of Twine (BOT's).

So off I went, a Civic explorer with two apples and a gatorade to my name. The colors in eastern Oklahoma are starting to change more than they are in Norman, so a foliage tour was in order.

This foliage happens to be in a cemetery. I like to visit cemeteries. They're quiet, not crowded, have nice paved paths to walk, and have interesting things to read. There is the occasional poignant headstone sitting atop a very small grave, but for the most part I find cemeteries to be a celebration of life and love, and a record of the local history, such as epidemics, clan wars, and culture.


From the cemetery I wandered until I ended up in the Osage Hills State Park.
I am eternally grateful to the Civilian Conservation Corps, they have been a part of so many of the parks and recreation areas we've frequented. Those guys were everywhere! I wish I could go back in time and tell them what a great thing they were doing and 'thank you'.

I began to notice a recurring theme as I wheeled along. I could tell I was in OAK-lahoma. Post oak. Scrub oak. Pin Oak. Everywhere it was oaky-dokey.

Oaks don't change into the brilliant colors of beech, maple, or sycamore, they have seasonal shades of brown. If you live in an area covered with oak trees, there's no spring pastels, no vivid, primary colored summer, no rainbow fall shades. There's brown. Maybe a week in the spring of green, bracketed by brown winter and brown summer. Everywhere I looked, a wide, brown backdrop wearing a red sumac skirt.

There's summer brown: dusty, burnt crisp, brown.  Brusty brown.

There's fall brown: Ruddy, crackly brown.  Brackly brown.

There's winter brown: gray, dead grass brown.  Brayn brown.
I expect the Crayola Company to be calling me any day now.

Screeeeech.  That's the sound of me turning this car around. Time to head farther south and east, find some trees that are not oaks, but for a rambling day, it was more than oak-k.


       Happy Trails, and may all your adventures be more than OK!