I haven’t said all there is to say about Storrie Lake State Park.
The crew and I duck into the Casita before the wind blows our heads off. I’ve had it with the wind.
“Both of you, go take a nap. It’ll be a long time before I’m ready to go out in THAT again.”
The crew take a nap while I finish up the blog entry, inserting the slide show of photos.
Spike wakes up.
It’s around 6 p.m. He informs me he’s going outside.
“Okay. C’mon you two. Let me put you in your suits.” This ought to be fun.
I brace myself, hand firmly on the door so it isn’t ripped off its hinges, and we step out.
What? What is this? It’s calm! The trees are straight up. The constant wind-whistle is gone. The temperature is perfect.
This is weird. Are we in the eye of a hurricane or something?
Spike has more important things to consider . . .
Such as who recently utilized a fencepost nearby.
We walk across the field behind the Casita. I notice a familiar fragrance, something I can’t identify. It’s an herbal scent, quite lovely. I look down and see a light, silvery plant no taller than six inches, scattered all over, amidst the grass. We are crushing them as we walk, releasing a most pleasing fragrance.
I also notice tiny yellow flowers bunched together in small bouquets. And there are white flowers, too, like miniature morning glories growing close to the ground.
Vehicles have formed a road of black sand and rocks that lures us down to the lake.
The crew are loving this adventure! Spike looks ahead with anticipation as he clambers over rocks. Bridget carefully places her paws as she daintily tries to keep up him.
The drought has uncovered the rocks of the lakebed, revealing their fossil imprints. The lake birds squawk and sound to me like ocean birds I heard a long time ago. A flock of Canada geese fly across the lake, their honks proclaiming that autumn is here.
We explore the edge of the lake for quite some time. Fortunately Spike exhibits enough sense not to lie down in the water, as it is a cool evening.
The sun is setting behind the mountain peak, sending beams of light into the clouds and across the ripples of the lake. I sit on a rock at the water’s edge, the crew beside me, and try to absorb all the beauty around us.
We hike up to a bunker positioned perfectly for watching the last of the sunset.
Bridget and Spike appreciate the chance to rest.
A big, black bird marches in front of us. Crow? Grackle? He’s checking the ground for a possible snack left by a camper.
It’s near dark so the crew and I get up to leave, giving the lake one last look.
What a different place this is once the wind stops!
I think of my blog and the bad impression I gave of the campground. Here I am, surrounded by all this natural wonder, from the tiny flowers to the magnificent mountain overseeing this lake, and I could not see any of it yesterday.
These thoughts make me feel like a spoiled brat who suddenly sees herself as others do.
As if that isn’t enough, as we’re walking back to our campsite, a rainbow appears in a perfect arc across the sky – I counted six stripes of color! — from the earth, up and over, and down to the earth again. And there sits my little home underneath it!
That may sound like the corny ending to a low-budget film.
In real life, however, it’s a priceless reminder how fortunate I am to be here . . . in this place . . . now.