The River - What does one eat?

There are traditional things eaten at the river, including:

We eat breakfast tacos most mornings. It isn't a trip to the river without bacon.

Bacon!

 We no longer cook all our meals, but go out to eat for pizza and Mexican food in town.

Did I mention that each morning begins with the smells of frying bacon?

BACON!

 I used to make a big pot of spaghetti or make sausage and mac and cheese. But now we try to only cook breakfast, eat sandwiches and eat out one meal each day. Who wants to be stuck in the kitchen cooking and cleaning when there is a river so close by, family to visit with, and games to play (dominoes, cards, puzzles, Frisbee, and washers among others).


 We have special snacks: s'mores...

You have to toast some marshmallows for s'mores.

 ...certain members of the family enjoy Tootsie Roll Pops. And some love Flavor Ice...

We won't name names, but we all know who eliminates the Flavor Ice. We had some left over. Thus it should be clear who missed the trip this year.

 
Did I mention that we enjoy bacon every morning?

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This is one of the few times a year we cook, yes, yes, BACON.

Fresh eggs(and bacon on the side)

 If you are ever on the Frio River and you smell bacon frying, hear the clink of a washer game, wonder why those people are laughing so hard, and want to stop in to visit, you will be welcome.

Plants and critters along the river (and around the area) #1

There would have been more photos, but we were only there a couple of days. There were so many things I missed - like the huge mixed herd of deer (both Axis and whitetail), but there is always next year.

Many photos were taken through the windows/windshield. This buck (Axis? ) was almost arrogant.

Wish you could read the sign in this closeup. It said, "Posted. No Hunting."'
DH talked to this guy mockingly and the buck responded with an upward thrust of the chin...attitude.

Goldenrod was everywhere this year.

Wildflowers

Sign at the low water crossing. These pipes were no hazard this year.

From the road, looking at the river where the tubes release water... It is usually a fast place to start when the river is high

The tubes/pipes, whatever you want to call them-decidedly dry.

Looking up-river...um well...up riverbed.

 

Looking down river from the low water crossing

Spot at the edge of the low water crossing where we often launch...but not today.

Fog covered hill.

Perch

Hill we walk down to get to the river

River trail (been walking this trail 51 years)

This area is usually covered with water.

River

More dryish riverbed

Technology withdrawal - day 2 on the river.

September 20, 2013

Friday on the river dawned wet and grey.

We knew the girls would arrive later in the day so we headed to town for a few things forgotten - can opener and a certain item of clothing (Same item as once forgotten by middle child on another trip) for DH.

[DH had given me grief as I packed. "Are you sure you have everything?" "Did you bring everything you need?" And I admit that one year I left my suitcase on the floor in our kitchen. The trip to town that year was for an entire wardrobe. But this year, it was the old man who goofed up. He will not be allowed to forget it. What are families for, but to remind you of who you are - to remind you of your foolishness and foibles?]

The town was 30 miles away (south and west) and allowed us a moment of cell access. We are spoiled. We curse technology and our addiction to it, but our constant connection gives us a sense of control, a feeling of comfort - however false. Texts went out to the family. And we heard briefly from the siblings and then girls as we related that it was raining on us once again.

After a browse in the  antique/junque store we headed back to our cabin to wait for the girls.

We waited, and waited, and waited.

We realized that the girls could have had a late start or they could have run into bad weather (or both). But we started to worry.

Finally we decided to split up. DH would drive the route the girls should be taking (He would travel north and then east). In doing so he would also find himself back within cell range and he would be able to call - them or others who might know what had happened. I stayed at the cabin. If the girls came I would be there. If not, I would wait for DH or a message from him.

Before long (perhaps 30 minutes) DH drove up. "They are checking in."

He had driven the route for only a few minutes when he observed a purple Toyota coming towards him. He turned around and drove back toward the cabin. But when the vehicle was not at our place, he turned again heading back up the road. Then he saw the purple Toyota once again - heading back towards him from the turn-off to the low water crossing.

Of course the girls had driven to check the level of the river.

They reported their trip had been a nightmare. The clouds had opened on them and they were forced to pull off the highway twice. The pace of travel had slowed to a crawl. A four hour trip turned into a six hours on the road.

You teach yourself not to borrow trouble. Worry is a waste of energy as it changes nothing.You cannot walk through life fretting. But I am a bit of a fretter. And I succumbed today. I am sure the girls saw the relief on my face when they walked through the door.

This parent business is not for sissies.

And how does that saying go - A child's first step is a step away from you. And a parent must let them go - and be brave about it. It is easier said than done when the rain pours and the children are late.

Back to the river

[Even if it was only for a few short days]



September 19, 2013


After lunch and last minute stop in at the office (and throwing a few more essentials into the car) DH and I headed off. It rained off and on and for most of the trip we worried less about creatures on the road than about the potential for water on the road. Just after 5 p.m. we realized we weren't sure how we would get into the "resort." My call reached the answering machine.

When you visit the river "off season," there's no telling whether there would be office hours (and if so, what those might be). We talked about where we would stay if we happened to be too late to check in. Then we remembered another time when we arrived to find the office locked, but the lights on and door unlocked at  our cabin.

So we continued on. Darkness closed in on us.

DH focuses on the road ahead.

Dark sky - camera captures lights of an 18 wheeler passing by

 We bid farewell to our cell phone reception about 45 minutes before we rolled up to the resort. The gate was open, but the office dark. [And we weren't even sure which cabin we had rented.] Then, in the headlights we spied a sign taped to the office door - our name and directions to just head to the cabin and worry about the paperwork in the morning.

Our note

The lights were on at the cabin where we usually stayed and we found keys and a parking tag on the table.*

We unloaded our stuff in a drizzle and wandered down the road to the river. DH had a small flashlight to keep us from falling in a pothole or tripping over cypress roots. The river was deserted - no other fools with a need to dip their toes in the frigid water that late, in the rain (just me). But we took stock of the dwindling stream, the new steps, the clean banks, the new dams, and the quiet. Cicadas hummed and acorns dropped from above our heads. Only one campsite showed signs of life.

We headed back up the road to our cabin as the mostly-full moon suddenly peeked out from behind the clouds. That was our "walk," down to the river and back again.



* We have camped/stayed at this spot along the river since I was a child. As my brothers and sister and I began to arrive with spouses and children, it always seemed that Mom and Dad would have gotten there first. They picked up our keys, opened our rooms, turned on the air conditioners and saw to it that all was ready when we arrived. Showing up at 9 p.m. to find the lights on and all made ready made it feel a little more like coming home.


 NOTE: The drive was a little crazy at times and, as the rain stopped/night came on, we began to worry that the deer and other creatures might be out. A few miles north of our stop I noted a large buck (exotic, not whitetail) starting across the road. 

"Deer, deer, deer....big (($@#(@U&$)@#) deer!" burst from my mouth. 

At first I could not tell if  DH had  seen the buck - did he think I was "sweet talking" him at first - did I need to "get serious?" Once he had slowed the car and the deer crossed before us (and as he laughed at the curse), DH commented that he had seen the deer all along, but was afraid to engage the brakes too quickly on the rain-slick road. We kept this moment in mind through the weekend. Deer were everywhere.

The Cossack

Never start a walk after 7:00 a.m. in our neighborhood.

Never, never, never, never.

Daylight comes later and later these days. Daylight savings will force us unto even a darker morning walk. And our body rhythms, challenging jobs, and late reading habits (not to mention "age") grant permission for delayed rising on Saturdays. But we must not oversleep.

If one lays abed and gets a late start to our park on Saturday, one risks the daycare rush.

If you choose to read the "rant,"  you may check out the post marked - THE RANT. Otherwise, here is the rest of the walk:

DH and I chose to avoid the morning crowds today and headed down our dirt track, knowing that the deer would be long gone. There was already too much movement and too much noise for any self-respecting wild creature to hang around.

Still, we noted the large fruit of the nightshade - easily three times the size of last year's. (The camera is recharging today so we will attempt to grab some photos tomorrow.) The sporadic rains of the summer must have come at the right time for these plants to produce surprisingly large "tomatoes." But beware. I will remind you that every part of this variety of nightshade is extremely toxic. Nothing eats the flowers or leaves or beautiful yellow fruit.

The meadows were all empty, but the behavior of the dogs (sniffing the air) and the sounds in the woods gave evidence that the deer had been in the area that morning. We just missed them.

The pups and I took a short detour to follow a path into the woods. As the brush dies down in the fall, we can see clearings within and, when accompanied by DH, I am brave.  We turned back to the road just in time to see a large buck crossing some 20 or so yards ahead of us. We took a few steps and a doe started across,  followed by a yearling. We each held our breath as they stopped, saw us, and fled to the brush.

Of course! I never have a camera with me on days when we are this close (To be honest, we are rarely this close and, when we are, there is usually little time to turn the camera on before the creatures disappear.).

The dogs almost dragged me to the spot where the deer had been. They gathered all the smells they could. DH and I laughed at our good fortune.

Then on our way home, we discussed age and exercise, energy and grey hair. DH commented about how his still dark hair came from the Cossacks.

The COSSACKS?!

It seems that the brothers who accompanied his maternal great grandmother were big men with dark hair. The family jokingly referred to them as "the Cossacks." [The family fled their home in Odessa, Ukraine around the turn of the century.]

I was stunned. This was a NEW story coming out after some 33 years of stories. How could this be? But, in thinking about it, I realized that I too have more stories to tell. We have years of remembered stories to share and shared stories to remember.

And, I now have another term of endearment for DH.

The Cossack and I continued on our way home telling tales and filling our morning with laughter.

THE RANT

Now, I realize that my goal in writing about the walks is to soothe myself (and perhaps my readers) while sharing the inconsequential details and small joys of the (almost) daily journey. Forgive me if I irritate or insult anyone today. I am just calling it as I see it.

 After years in scouting, civil air patrol, sports et al., we discovered that the "point" of these activities went well beyond our naive purposes. WE participated to provide (what we judged to be) responsible leadership/supervision, bonding with our children, and opportunities for the kids to try out different things. Others had similar motivations (God bless them. We love them still and hold them all close to our hearts). However, many (all too many) parents/guardians/DNA providers used these activities as free day care.

And today, the "day care runners" created traffic hazards on their way to drop their munchkins off at the sports fields in our park. Cars sped down our street well beyond the posted limit (or any safe speed in a residential neighborhood). Folks turned in front of oncoming traffic. Vehicles swerved around corners and made wide turns, kicking up gravel and forcing the wary to dive off of sidewalks and into adjacent grass to avoid injury. WHAT THE HECK?

One can only think that many of these "gentle souls" and demolition derby drivers are desperate in their need to drop-off the rug-rats  so they can have a few moments of freedom from the challenges they have created and are now foisting off on kind-hearted volunteers.

[I remember one mother asking me incredulously, "You mean they don't PAY you to be a scout leader?"]

So, we will try to get up earlier in the future. And we will continue to bless the coaches, scout leaders and others who take on the responsibility of mentoring and raising other people's children.

Most people like chocolate

I probably won't walk to the park in the morning.I have been walking back and forth across my kitchen this evening, making a chocolate cake. That may be enough walking.

Baking is therapy for me. And I enjoy treating my co-workers, especially on birthdays. I let the birthday person choose (from my limited repertoire) a birthday cake for a small celebration in the office.

Three young people (M, D, and E) have started working with us in the past month or so. Because this is our busy season, I have not had time to bake. In fact, I don't remember the last time I baked - I even had to dig the cookbook I use the most out from under a pile of other cookbooks (I have been canning) and, for some strange reason, a stack of bags of legumes. [Yes, it is a strangely organized kitchen.]

So these new "co-workers" had no idea what we were talking about last week when we discussed birthdays and cakes and the "options" on the list. And, I should add, only two of the young ones (D and E) were present that day. So, I made a mental note to get all the new birthdays on my calendar this week (of course I have not completed that task yet).

As I was about to shut down the computer and head home this evening, one of the new workers came in to let me know that M's birthday is tomorrow! Of course, that means a birthday cake, but M had gone home and couldn't choose. In fact, M will likely be completely surprised.

So we chose for him. It is chocolate cake. In fact, it is the wonderful and easy 30 minute Texas Sheet Cake. [Don't most people like chocolate?]

2 cups of flour and 2 cups of sugar were whisked, a just-boiled mixture of cocoa (4 Tablespoons), butter (two sticks), and a cup of water was stirred in. Then two (room temperature - thanks eldest child and Martha Stewart) eggs were beaten in along with one teaspoon of vanilla and one teaspoon of baking soda. Finally, one must not forget the buttermilk or soured milk (1/2 cup) added at the end.

The cake is baked at 350 degrees in a sheet pan (9x16x3) for about 30 minutes. It is iced when still warm with a warm icing (4 tablespoons of cocoa, 1 stick of butter, and a dash of milk heated until bubbly and then a teaspoon of vanilla and a few cups of confectioner's/powdered sugar are mixed in until the icing looks right). I will be icing this cake in the morning. It's late. I don't think anyone will mind.

It all sounds so simple. Why the kitchen hike?  Hmm, I seem to need to constantly wash my hands and I do not "prepare" everything before I cook. [No, I do not have a compulsion, but I need to wash off the flour/butter/eggs and what-have-you.] And so it was back and forth across the kitchen...washing hands, dropping dirty utensils in the sink, tossing away trash and such.

I am now waiting for the cake to smell right.  If this is driving you crazy, join the club. I know I frustrate at least one of my children. I should measure carefully and plan ahead and set a timer. But I have learned what I can adjust (But NEVER forget the soda or you will end up with door mats.)  recipes and that the cake is done when I can smell it as I sit relaxing in the living room. Ignore the whiff of "done" at your peril!

<Short break>

Yup. It was done. No, I do not "test" for done with a knife or toothpick. I just give the cake a little "press" with my index finger and check to see if the sides are "pulling away" from the pan.

Look, it works for me.

More about the cake:

I. One can substitute liqueur for the water if one is not taking the cake to a place where you bear some responsibility for maintaining "alcohol free" status.

II. Mom always called this cake "bride's delight" as it is always turns out a little different. I suppose humidity and altitude and perhaps even the freshness of the ingredients (maybe even how careful you are about measuring!) can impact the outcome. The cake can rise well and be very "cakey" or can be low and dense like brownies. However it comes out of the oven (except when you leave out the soda - see above) it is good.

III. Back in the day, when I was teaching, I would make two cakes at a time. One stayed home for the kids and the other fed my students. And I would make them in the morning - ah, the beauty of a 30 minute cake.

IV. I never made this cake until I was grown and married. It is my SISTER'S cake. She would make it or Mom would make it, but I made other things - apple pie, divinity, and oatmeal cookies were mine. My sister made this chocolate cake and buttermilk pie, among other things. One does not trespass when you live in the same house. Now, all bets are off.

V. Four words - Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla!

A long long walk - with lots of laughter

A little over 33 years ago I agreed to travel through this life with DH.

I have been asked many questions about coming to this decision. Among the easy and sometime flippant answers is that he is a good story teller, he has a great sense of humor, and I knew I would never be bored.

Some days I get a little reminder:

Somehow I managed to talk him into taking the recycling with me (promising lunch after our environmentally responsible delivery) today.

We climbed into my vehicle with  plastic, newspaper, aluminum cans, and cardboard overflowing the backseat and the trunk for the 15 minute drive to the next town and the recycling center. After belting in, I started the car. The radio blasted "You idiots!" DH and I both stopped, looked at each other, and burst into laughter. "Satellite radio has never insulted me!" he said.

Our town is a radio reception "black hole." Some days we have no issues, but most of the time station overlaps station or static disrupts music/story. DH has no patience for such inconvenience and has loved his satellite ratio for the last couple of years. I love NPR, even if I don't always get the best reception or I miss the end of a story. [So, not only were we insulted by the radio today, but we were assaulted by NPR!]

Still, driver gets to choose the radio station and we listened to a number of stories on our Sunday adventure, even waiting to get out at the end of this journey to finish the story* about words for color in ancient writings (apparently only the Egyptians had a word for "blue.").

And the walk continues...



*http://www.radiolab.org/2012/may/21/sky-isnt-blue/

All this and Robot Dogs too!

I  should change the way I wake DH. "OK, Let's go!" as I flip on the light may not be the most gracious morning greeting. I  am talking to myself as well, but I have no choice - I have to live with me.

The cool of the morning hints at the fall weather to come and we walked - the first walk in days.

We headed out and discussed the plans for the day - laundry, recycling, and a little cleaning up. We are both still worn from our work week and don't care if we accomplish much or little.

At the top of the steep hill we find a grey tabby. [He is in the grass at a house that once boasted of a good dozen mousers. They lounged on the cars and hid in the grass. And, on particularly damp days, we could smell them (don't ask). It has been a few years now that we have watched the cat population decrease to the point that we rarely see a cat when we walk by. It was nice to see this big grey with markings like our Hobbes.]

We marched into the park like we owned it. At first it seemed we were alone, but soon we watched a shadow moving from right to left, from the pecan trees near the creek, to the streetlight at the roadside, and finally, to the woods. The photos will disclose its identity. [I have not downloaded them yet because this computer does not let me edit. I will zoom in on another computer and I will find - a fox.]

OK, OK. I have looked very carefully in all of my photos - whatever it was is fully in the shadows. We say FOX.

We had not planned to "hunt,"  but once we saw the fox, we knew the time was right to see more animals.

We headed down the dirt road and were surprised at the height of the scrub. The grasses and weeds were well over our heads at the mouth of the trail. The grass reached shoulder height in the first meadow. And the far meadow too was rough and ragged. We all stopped to gaze across the grass. Nothing moved. The dogs were still. It was a disappointment. Where were the deer?

But then I spied what appeared to be a head - with two big ears - rising just above the sea of grass. It was frozen as if observing us from across the field. I pointed and exclaimed, "Look!"

At first we saw nothing - a field full of dry grass.

DH looked across the meadow and shook his head ("Crazy woman!" the shake expressed). But I kept pointing and insisted, "There!" And then they began to run. It was hard to get a good count, but I counted at least four deer.

<Squint>  See the deer in the middle of the photo?

At least one other was running in the woods as we retraced our steps back down the road and out of the park. We rarely hear them so clearly. We usually hear a rustle that indicates a large animal moving through the brush. But this noise had the clear cadence of a running deer crunching through the dry grass.

We were only a few blocks from the house when a silver truck approached from a side street with two yellow labs barking and hanging out of the windows. We exclaimed and waived and smiled as the truck turned and headed towards the park. "ROBOT DOGS!"

Here they were at last, the older couple and an extremely well behaved pair of Labrador retrievers who train almost tirelessly in our park. [We likely have never seen THESE Labbys before as these folks are TRAINERS and they have a new pair  - or more - of pups every year.]

But this is the first time we have seen them (Sissy and Dwayne or Dewayne)  in almost a year. Where have they been? How have they been?

We won't find out today as we were through with our walk and they were wasting no time. We will catch up another day.

NOTE: And DH found a $5 bill on the edge of the road! Ice cream for everyone!

I guess I will have to continue to "seed" the walk to keep DH interested.*

Something about the rows of stones in the retaining wall, the rows of columns in the railing, and the rows of supports for the bridge made me so happy.

* Back in the day when DH was actively involved in scouting, the local troop adopted two miles of highway near our town. They were responsible to pick up trash and generally keep those two miles clean. One of the other adult leaders would "seed" the roadway with dollar bills and ONE five. On one occasion, before they knew how this worked, another adult found the five. DH joked that the doctor (the lucky "finder") surprisingly beat the lawyer (another adult participating) to the cash. Thereafter, the adults let the kids find the money.

Dove Season aka Where were the beer cans?

The older we get, the older "middle age" becomes.

We have been seeing a "middle aged" man riding a bicycle down our street lately. We saw him again today as we headed towards the park and exchanged "good morning" greetings. There were runners out as well, but we were just trying to finish the walk before the sun had a chance to get after us.

We had slept late again (I love holiday weekends, but really, it is too hot to walk when we sleep so late.).

The sounds of fall in central Texas were all around us. "Pop, pop, pop......pop....pop..........poppop..."

It is dove season. 

It was already past sunup as we headed towards the park. We live in a small town surrounded by undeveloped land. The hunters were afield. And the doves were out and about as well, as the sound of discharging shotguns (all around us) continued through the entire walk.

The gunfire made me think briefly about what it must be like to have fighting all around  one's town, one's home. But I did not want to go that next short step this morning - to Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq or Egypt. They are all too immediate, too present, too emotional and exhausting. I was that kind of coward today.

As DH and I discussed how near the hunters might be (half a mile? a mile? two?)  I directed my thoughts back to the stories of my great-great-grandfather, a man sent to medical school because a birth defect (club foot) prevented him from doing physical labor on the farm. During the Civil War he lived in Tennessee, near some of the fighting. In addition to his bum foot, he was too old to serve, but when he heard the sounds of battle near his home, he loaded his saddlebags with medical supplies and rode towards the cannon fire. 

What was he thinking? What was his wife thinking as he rode away? Did his children know where he was going?

Had he been called on to help by the local militia? Had someone come by the house to enlist his services? Or did he, as family history holds, simply hear the gunfire and know he was needed?

What horrors did he experience as he tried to save those who could be saved? Did he pray over those who could not?

Enough. 

The guns were still sounding as we arrived home. It was sunny and hot already. We had picked up beer cans and plastic bottles left along the street from Saturday night revelry.

There would be no need to leave my cool house again today.

NOTE:   Family tradition holds that while treating the wounded on the battlefield, Great-great-grandpa picked up a cannonball, keeping it with him all his life. That proof traveled with him to Texas and has since passed through a different part of the family and has been documented during my lifetime. [Where it is today is anyone's guess.]