A bloomin' good time

When Daughter #1 and I went on our brief camping adventure this last week, we took a lot of pictures, because that's how we roll. Thank goodness for digital, I don't think I could have carried enough film.

And because my daughter is a girl, she took a lot of pictures of a lot of flowers. I took pictures of flowers because you can get a lot closer to the flowers on the refuge than you can to the buffalo.

Indian Blanket. I think the first 3700 we saw of these I called them Indian Paintbrush. It's not a paintbrush, it's a blanket. Got it?

A mutant Indian Paintbrush. I think. It's missing some pink.

Prickly pear cactus bloom. The cactus blades are good to eat, if you have the patience to clean one. I was not that hungry this trip.

Here's a view without the bugs in it.

And fields of black-eyed susans. Gorgeous streaks of yellow across the prairie.

And then it was time to pack in the cameras because the sky started to look like this:

And like this:

And folks back home were calling and texting and using words like "hail" and "tornado" and "hurry" and sounding kinda panicky.

So we hurried and we made it home safe and sound, just before the storm hit. But we'll be back, we'll be back.

A longhorn story

I love looking at longhorns. I can't explain it. Maybe it's the variations in color and patterns. Kind of like kaleidoscopes on the hoof. Kinda.

This one was unhappy with me, because I kept pulling the truck in front of her, and she wanted to cross the road to the other side. The grass was greener, you know.

This big guy was impressive. I heard there's good eatin' on one of them things.... His name is Lenny.

Lenny the Longhorn had brown spots on his hide
They wouldn’t rub off, no matter how hard he tried.


He’d lean on a tree, to scratch his brown spots,
When he was done, he still had those dots!


Lenny would splash through each creek and stream,
To have a white coat was Lenny’s big dream.


Still, each spot stayed put, marks colored like mud.
One shaped like a heart, one shaped like a spud.


But when Lenny met Laura, she said “My, what a nice skin!”
And Lenny never bothered his brown spots again!




This old bull looks tired. I bet it's a lot of work to ride herd on all the cows with new calves.

"Eat here, eat there. Count the cows. Count the calves. Run the coyotes off. Jeesh, my work is never done."

What about this gang of hooligans?

Hey, I bet I can start a fight if I kick that guy behind me!"

 I wanna go play with the other kids, but momma says I'm too small.

I'm gonna go check out those flowers while momma's not looking.

"Sigh.  Young bulls. I'm gettin' too old for this."

Happy Trails. I hope your adventures are wonderful, and that's no bull!

Refuge Babies

I love spring. I can shed so many layers, I can move again. I can breathe again. I'm no longer huddled over the space heater under my desk. I'm through with cooking soup for a few months.

And there's babies in the spring. Not mine, mind you, which makes them even better. Not that I mind my babies, I'm just glad they're big enough to carry their own bottles now.

Daughter #1 and I spotted a few new little ones in the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge this week.

Like this little guy. Goslings were not all that numerous, and we were careful to not stress mom and dad by getting too close.

And this totally adorable creature. Momma prairie dog was letting it be known -loudly- that she did not appreciate visitors to the nursery.

And this little guy. He looks so clean and...shiny white.  How long before he gets mud on that shirt, you think?

Ahhh, new life. I never get tired of it.

  Happy Trails, and may your adventures put a spring in your step!

Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam

I have returned from afar, run out of the country not by threat of rattlesnakes, but by rumors of rain and hints of hailstones.

Daughter #1 and I got a scant two days of camping in the Wichita Mountains before we were contacted by civilization and told to head home, ahead of the storm.  Boooo. I did not get to utilize the full term of my backcountry permit. Boo I say, boo hiss.

But we did get to enjoy a few quick things, like stalking buffalo.

And eating at Meers. If you've never had a Meers burger, it's worth the drive just for the burger. Or the Meers beer. Or the cobbler with ice cream. Our hiking trip had a lot of eating in it.

And we squoze in some kayaking (yes, squoze is a word. I made it up, it's a real word. All words are made up). See the dark ominous sky, the mountains wreathed in mist?

We weren't going to let a little rain dampen (hehe) our day. We paddled the entire length of Quanah Parker lake twice, wildlife watching. Wait a minute, one of these is not like the others...

I'll share more of the wildlife watching, gear testing and eating we did in a day or two. Right now I have to take a nap, I'm still digesting my Meers burger.

My faves and focusing

As you read this I am either:

• Kayaking with Daughter #1
• Sitting in my soggy tent, cursing the weatherman
• Running from a bison
• Hiking, listening for rattlesnakes
• Wandering, lost, in the Wichita Mountains

Or some combination of the above.

While I'm avoiding civilization, or trying to figure out how to get back to it, I'm sharing some ponderings and pings.

~ping~ A shoutout to my new favorite blog to follow: http://whatscookinginyourworld.blogspot.com/

I know there's a lot of "I did such-and-such in so-many-days" kinds of blogs and books going on right now, but this one makes me salivate and study all at the same time. Cerebral supping paddles my canoe.

Speaking of paddling- would someone please call Prijon and tell them I need a sponsor?  I want to kayak in all 50 states.

Prijon? Are you listening?!?!  Our how about it, OKC Kayak? Dave!  Dave!!  Pay attention!

That's the pings. Now the ponderings. You probably haven't noticed, but sometimes this blog is all over the place. If  you haven't noticed, then you haven't read more than two posts. So I. Am. Trying. To. Focus. Focus more on outdoor posts, and less on what Ash Kitty is doing (which right now is sleeping). Although I am going to share with you that Ash Kitty fetches. I am not making this up. He plays fetch. He really, really, wants to be a dog.

See? All over the place. I don't know if I can change at my age.

But ponder this, as I plod through the wilderness, hoping to return with great stories and some passable pictures.

I thought my time upon this earth too brief to leave my mark,
too short to really matter.
I thought the world too hard to touch,
a shell too tough to shatter.

And then I saw the stream's gray stones,
worn smooth by water's flow.
The water left its mark on stone,
though at the time it did not show.

I may not scratch or dent or break the world,
leave no mark at once you notice.
But my life has joined flow to shape the earth,
and smooth the parts that goad us.

I found gold!

I got it. I found a piece of gold. Don't be fooled, even though it looks like a piece of paper, it's really gold.

This is a backcountry permit. People wait 3 months or more for one of these. It's hard to forge one of these (not that I would know). You can't even bribe a ranger to get one of these (not that I would know about that, either).

It means that I can camp out here, in the middle of all these rocks, and rattlesnakes. Where the deer and the antelope roam. Actually, the antelope look more like longhorn cattle. And bison. And they don't play nice.

It means that I can haul all my food and a whole lot of water on my back, down some trail that you can't see because it goes across rock and has no markers, and never crosses any streams and has not much shade, just so I can sleep on a rock, hoping a rattlesnake doesn't want to join me in my sleeping bag.

All of this joy and privilege granted by that one little piece of paper. No cushy campground with water hydrant and a bathroom for me. No sir. I'm headed to real backcountry, to where you better know how to use a compass and can carry your own weight in water. (Man, where did I put that Compass Reading for Dummies book?).

I'm also excited that Daughter #1 will be joining me for a couple of days on this expedition. I haven't told her about the rattlesnake part yet. Or the no water part. Or worst of all, the no bathroom part. I thought I'd break all that to her gently, after we were too far away from the car for her to walk back in the dark.

So here's hoping for good weather, for an abundance of wildlife (except rattlesnakes), and that I figure out how to use this compass in the next couple of days.

          Happy Trails, and may your adventures always be gold!

We're about to roar...

What, sir, would the people of the earth be without woman? They would be scarce, sir, almighty scarce.



---Mark Twain

I love Mark Twain. So much wisdom in so few words. Without us gals, life would be, well, scarce, as he said. And less fluffy and soft, and your food would taste like charcoal, and you'd never remember to pick up deoderant. I believe this.

Because I believe in the great contribution women make to life in general, and to the outdoor life in particular, I write for a fabulous site called Women's Outdoor News. Right now you can find them at http://www.facebook.com/WomensOutdoorNews as they undergo a website renovation. It'd kind of like virtual redecorating. 

I like redecorating. I get it from my mother, which is why I moved all her living room furniture this week, and came home and changed all the curtains and pillows in my house. I haven't moved any of the furniture here yet, I'm waiting to take Philoboy unawares. It's more fun that way.

But I wander verbally again.

What was I talking about?

Oh yeah, renovations. Back to the WON's renovation. I like renovations. And change. And spring cleaning. So I'm excited to see what the new and improved WON will look like when it launches on June 1st. I invite you to drop by at http://www.womensoutdoornews.com/ and look around. Say hi to the girls. Take a peek at the new gear. It's like coffee club without the snacks. See ya there!

Food Swaps

I'm so excited for my friend Christine, who lives far, far away in a land called New York.

Christine is now a blogger in the group From Scratch Club
http://fromscratchclub.wordpress.com/.

I'm envious of the emphasis on sustainable living, organic foods, and the number of people who are involved in local food co-ops. I love the idea of the food swap that they are planning.

(Philoboy says I do a food swap several times a week. I swap hard-earned cash for groceries. Not the same).

The large college town in which we reside has a farmers' market, open twice a week in season. In college towns, (I think) you are more likely to find folks who want to live the sustainable ideal, understand food miles, and desire organic produce. This area is quite proud of itself for having a nice farmers market, as they should be.

However, as evidenced by the FSC site, there's more to be done. From creating micro-agriculture in greenhouses during the winter to establishing community gardens, fresh, local food has miles to go (sorry, couldn't help the pun. Sometimes the urge just overwhelms me).

I am also being overwhelmed by the urge to preserve. Even though I don't have my own garden this year, I plan on raiding Daughter #1's garden spot, as well as buying by the truckload from the farmers' market. And then I will go spend $148 on canning jars so I can save money by preserving my own food.

I have to buy more canning jars because mine have gone through attrition. Attrition for a mason jar means:

• The jar was left in the creek where it was being used to seine for tadpoles.
• The jar was broken in moving.
• The jar now holds make-up and hair doo-dads.
• The jar is on Philo's desk holding spare change.
• The jar was loaned to other people who needed just a few more to finish their own canning.
• The jar was used to take a science experiment to school and it's still in the lab.
• The jar is on the bookshelf where it's serving as a bookend and picture propper-upper.

If  you have any food you want to swap- let me know. I have cats and children to trade...

A meditative morning

You know what they say about work, right? A bad day (insert here: fishing, kayaking, etc) is better than a good day working. I have to agree. I really think every day should start like this...

This was where I had breakfast.

And these were my breakfast companions.

I did not share the leftovers with these guys.

I paddled over there. Just because I could.

I spent some time with my friend Rudy, the red-nosed kayak.

The water was the color of a YooHoo, which made me hungry again.

So I ate a snack while I watched the morning news sail by on oh-so-silent wings...

And when I was done, I said to myself, "Self, this is the way you should start every day."  And Self said, "I agree." And Self said to me, "Life is good, you know."

                   Yes, it is. It truly is.

Signs of summer, #3

Signs of Summer, #3: Overzealous vacation plans.

I had a brilliant thought this week. I think all my thoughts are brilliant, of course, so that's a superfluous detail. So was that entire last sentence.

I decided that it would be a fabulous goal for the summer to visit every state park in Oklahoma. I think I may have mentioned this idea before, but sometimes I think I've thought something I just now thought of. Confused yet?

I pulled up the map of Oklahoma state parks...

I'll save you the time of counting all those little trees representing state parks. Forty-seven of them. Forty. Seven. One a week and I'd be done by next summer.



Did someone get park happy?  Did Oklahoma get a sudden budget allocation for state parks once upon a time, and decide to use it or lose it?  Couldn't we have just lumped all those in the northeast corner together and called it "Green Country" State Park? Or the "Less Dry Part of Oklahoma" State Park? 

I told myself, "Take a breath, self." I breathed. And thought to myself, "Self, you've probably already visited several of those, so you can probably hit the rest this summer. (It's not at all uncommon for me to have these conversations. I'm the only one who doesn't argue with me).

So next I pulled up the list of state parks. I like lists. Lists make me happy. I can make spreadsheets from lists, and checklists from lists, and lists from lists (pant, pant. sorry).

Here's the list:

• Adair



• Alabaster


• Arrowhead


• Beaver Dunes


• Beavers Bend


• Bernice


• Black Mesa


• Black Mesa Nature Preserve


• Boggy Depot


• Boiling Springs


• Brushy Lake


• Cherokee Landing


• Clayton Lake


• Fort Cobb


• Foss


• Grand Lake


• Great Plains


• Great Salt Plains


• Greenleaf


• Heavener Runestone


• Hochatown


• Honey Creek


• Keystone


• Lake Eucha


• Lake Eufaula


• Lake Murray


• Lake Texoma


• Lake Thunderbird


• Lake Wister


• Little Sahara


• McGee Creek


• Natural Falls


• Okmulgee


• Osage Hills


• Raymond Gary


• Red Rock Canyon


• Robbers Cave


• Roman Nose


• Sequoyah


• Snowdale


• Spavinaw


• Talimena


• Tenkiller


• Twin Bridges


• Wah-Sha-She


• Walnut Creek

The highlighted ones are the ones I've been to this year. "Now wait a minute!" I said to myself. What about Lawton and Sulphur and Lake Arbuckle and... Oh. Those are recreation areas. And lakes. And wildlife refuges. Which is to say they are not state parks.

Once upon a time, back when dirt was new, I went to a bunch of the places on that list. My dad went through a "visit-all-the-state-lodges" phase when I was young, and since state lodges are located within state parks, technically I've been there.

Which now raises another ugly, confusing question.  What is going to count as 'visiting' the state parks? Camping there? Kayaking there? Hiking there? Any of the above? Does just driving through count? If so, I can knock out about 15 in a day on the east side.

That's more than one question and it makes my head hurt. I think I need some chocolate.


Give me your opinion. What's going to count as visiting a state park?  Do you have a favorite Oklahoma state park?  Let me know!!!

    Happy Trails, and may your adventures be too numerous to count!

Signs of summer, #2

This is the second installment of this week's posts of the signs of summer I see around my insular existence.

Local signs of summer #2.   Water sprites.

They hover around the outside of the local pool like mosquitoes around my tender skin, like mayflies over the river, like fruit flies around Philo's lunch box

- oh sorry, I digress-

waiting for the 'closed' sign to be removed from the pool gate so they can dive in.

As summer goes on they tend to multiply as news spreads of the watery coolness and mom's great snacks.


You have to be wary of the water sprites, though. They steal your Dr. Pepper. They plan watery attacks on unsuspecting sunbathers minding their own business.

As summer progresses they create detritus: balls of every sort and size, unused tubes of sunscreen lying around, empty cans of Dr. Pepper they stole, wet towels, more wet towels, and on top of that, wet towels.

If you let the water sprites into your home it begins to take on a mildewy smell, so I try to keep them in the confines of the pool area. If I put out a list of chores to do, it keeps them away better than any mothballs or cedar chips ever could.

Mum's the word

Mommies get all wrapped up in their kids, and their kids' lives. I'm not talking about living vicariously through your children (although I do this with scuba. Watching my daughter scuba dive is as close as I'm ever going to get to staying underwater on purpose).

Nope, I'm talking about the millions of things mommies do, just because we're mommies.

I'm talking about keeping mum when you want to drown them with advice and admonitions.

I'm talking about holding your breath when the oldest stays underwater way longer than you think possible. Or good for her. And holding your breath again as she navigates all the murky unknowns of life, and gets in over her head, and you want to rescue her, but you don't. Because you know that's the right thing to do. But you still hold your breath.

I'm talking about keeping your child's sad, lonely kitten company when said child is at school all day, even though you are seriously a dog person, not a cat person.

I'm talking about making zillions of cupcakes and muffins for bake sales, until you never, ever, want to look at another cupcake as long as you live. Not even chocolate ones.

I'm talking about watching for the 89 millionth time when someone says, "Watch me, Momma!"

And wondering where they get all that energy, and thinking they must have stolen it right out of you, because yours is all gone and they're still going strong. And being glad to give them your time, your energy, even your life if necessary.

And realizing that no matter what you do, they are, dang it, going to grow up and leave you. And you hold onto that chance they might come back for a while. But you say you hope it's for a visit, and not to stay, because that's the right thing to do. But you hope it's a lo-o-oooong visit.

And one day you sit down because you're too tired to stand up anymore, and you sigh because you've been holding your breath for a very long time.  And you smile, because somewhere between bedtime battles and band practice, between baby sitters and boyfriends, you must have done something right, because they

are

absolutely

amazing

people.

           Happy Mothers Day!

Gear review?

I went on a cleaning frenzy this week. Closets piled with too much stuff were organized and minimized. Cars filled with bits and pieces, most of which were not mine, were sucked out down to the floorboard with the vacuum, eliminating detritus and any receipt I might possibly need. I accidentally put one of the kids in the trash too.

Toys, games, clothes, nothing was safe from my cleaning craze. That included my outdoor gear as well, which has been used and then shoved into closets, under beds, behind the seat of vehicles, in cupboards, and left in the boats. It was mayhem.

When I pulled my musty, dusty camo hunting gear out of the bag, several unpleasant revelations happened:

• I realized it's been almost three years since I went hunting. Unfortunate, but not the end of the world. I've done other things in those three years.
• I realized I am now three years older. Unfortunate. The mornings are colder than they used to be.  
• I realized I'm an undisclosed number of pounds thicker and my camo does not fit the same. Unfortunate. I refuse to acknowledge this.

I decided to try on all my camo and maybe wear it to the grocery store. Sort of seek-and-destroy broccoli hunter. After walking the 25 yards into the grocer from the parking lot said camo made breathing difficult. At least, that's what I'm blaming my huffing and puffing on. This was going to be detrimental to my hunting, because any animal would have heard me gasping for air from miles away.

Therefore, when I shoved my still dusty, fusty gear back into the bag, I had several thoughts:

• The dryer shrunk my camo
• I might have to give up the Krispy Kremes
• I don't want to give up Krispy Kremes  
• I am going to buy non dryer-shrunken camo

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm hunting for doughnuts...

Doggone it!

Diog is starting to take up PAF's bad habits, as in: he doesn't mind, doesn't help around camp, and he eats all the good food. Diog isn't quite as obnoxious as PAF, he's more, well, ornery. At least he doesn't call me "Woman."

I came home yesterday to find him on my computer. Normally the pet that would be in this pompous, precarious position of risking his life by touching my computer is Ash Kitty.  Ash sneaks onto it when I'm gone, and his guilt (or fear) causes him to shoot under the bed when I open the door.  As if the cat hair all over the keyboard wouldn't give it away.

I was so disappointed to find that Diog has stooped to cat level, with a dose of PAF-mouth thrown in.

Since Diog is still a PAF pup, there may be hope for him. I plan to start rigorous training for the pooch,  including what places are off limits to him. Which is pretty much any place I am.  Now if I can just break him of the PAF trash talk...

The simple life

I bought this shirt last week at Backwoods. It has a picture of my dream house on it. It has my life philosophy written on it.

Simple describes me perfectly. Wait a minute, that didn't come out right...
I like the simple life. There, that's better. I thought we had a pretty simple, pared-down lifestyle on the plains of Kansas, but when we moved to Oklahoma, I began to notice a glut of stuff. Just stuff. Stuff that was duplicates. Stuff that I never used. Stuff I thought I wanted but I didn't need.

Time to simplify again. I began bagging up the stuff. In the end I had THREE pickup loads of big black bags. I'm talking front to back, filled-in-the-backseat, the bed packed side-to-side, to the top of the cab kind of pick up loads. It was insane. A hoarder could have had a field day with my mountain of bags.

"Maybe I should I have a garage sale", I thought. "Maybe you should throw yourself off the dock at the pond", I told myself.

Instead I hauled it all to a flea market in Garnett, Kansas. Why drive all the way to Garnett, Kansas, when there's a perfectly good thrift store, flea market, and even a dump on the way?

Because this flea market is operated by my friend Debera Mace. ALL the proceeds go to support Mission of Hope Orphanage and school in Liberia. Debera and her husband Roger, a wonderful man with whom I worked for several years, began the mission work a few short years ago, and it has grown like dandelions on the lawn.

And every time I look at the photos of the wonderful work they're doing over there, and the lifestyle of the kids they serve, I see what a simple life really looks like. It's not emission-spewing huge SUV's, or more clothes in the closet, or newer/better/bigger/different. It's food. Clothing. Shelter. And if you're really fortunate, it's an education.

I'm going to go clean out my closets again.


  Happy Trails, and may finding adventure be a simple thing!