January Rambles – Page 2

Vago Park

Late afternoon, slanting sun. We’re slowly getting a little more daylight, but it doesn’t last long, and the breeze is icy cold.

There’s a pretty little trail along the playground at the back of Vago Park. It’s not long, and seems mostly designed for strolling with a dog or small child while supervising the playground.

Benches and tiny picnic gazebos line the path, nearly all facing the playground. Wide fields, BBQ grills and horseshoe pits add to the family fun.

Four children, inured to the cold, shriek and giggle and run on the playground. I pass them, planning to take another lap, but the call of the warmth of my heater lures me in as soon as I pass my truck.

Lone Elk Park

The sun is bright in the frigid air and silvery flurries of ice sparkle through the trees. Several cars join me on a slow circuit of the park. This fellow seems bored by our presence and doesn’t even react when I edge off the road at his side.

It’s mating season, and hiking is not encouraged. It’s an admonition I mostly manage to follow. A small tower overlooks the valley and the ice rimmed lake, and partially sates my desire to be out in the air and climb.

Across the street, the World Bird Sanctuary has it’s own walking trails, as well as bird feeders, exhibits, and a nature center.

I sit for awhile at a cold wooden picnic table surrounded by bird feeders. My attempts to be convincingly invisible in a dark purple coat are less than successful, but, with my camera trained on a feeder, I manage a catch a few birds just before they dart away.

Chain of Rocks Bridge

It’s Eagle Days on the Old Chain of Rocks bridge; an annual event on the old Route 66 crossing. Telescopes are carefully trained on nests and soaring birds. Half frozen guides are still enthusiastically pointing them out, even in the last moments they close for the day.

There’s a parking fee at the bridge, which I didn’t realize, so I drove down to the shuttle lot off the Riverfront Trail. The shuttle just left, but the sunshine is bright and the sky full of puff ball clouds, so I bundle up and head down the trail.

Fat, lazy, geese huddle on the lightly frozen flood plane. The breeze is icy cold on my face, but I’m otherwise warm enough.

After a short run alongside the river, the trail crosses the road and up into the woods. The trees block the wind and it’s a beautiful 40 minute walk to the bridge – probably only because I keep stopping to take pictures. It shouldn’t really take that long, but I’m enjoying it too much to care.

I hang out on the bridge awhile, taking pictures of the structures and the shadows and the gulls overhead.

I see a single soaring eagle and a far away nest through the telescope and the guidance of the near frozen volunteer.

They’re ready to close. The sun is descending and the wind grows sharp and cold over the water. I happily now accept the shuttle ride back and sink into the warmth of my truck and my thermos of coffee.

Sioux Passage Park

Thick clouds and cool breezes tussle with the overnight warming that melted away yesterday’s glaze of ice. Temperatures are dropping already and will throughout the day.

Wide, cleared fields throughout the upper level of the park, designated for disc golf and horseback riding, are edged by thick brush and tall trees alive with birds.

I wandered into an little alcove of land, surrounded on three sides by the brush. It’s quiet. The only unnatural sounds are softly muted traffic and an occasional airplane. The rush of wind through the bushes sounds stronger than it feels.

A cardinal, so bright I think he’s a child’s discarded balloon, burst into sudden flight. He flits from tree to tree, daring me to capture him, usually flying off just before I manage to get him into focus.

The lower level river access road is open, but only just. The floods still splash onto the roadway in places, and high water marks are still damp on the trees.

It’s sharply colder here, beyond the protection of the trees. The river churns past, fierce in it’s power.

Love Park

An early morning call and a snow day gift preempt the incoming ice storm. The clouds hang heavy and low and the air is sharply cold.

A pretty wooded surprise, Love Park is hidden behind the chaos of Manchester Road.

A narrow trail winds up the ridge between two picnic shelters. Even with the background drone of traffic, it’s alive with the chatter and chirp of of endless birds flitting between the branches and the clatter of a woodpecker high in a tree.

The trail grows damp as I climb and begins to freeze. Roots and stones cross the path, although fallen logs have been sawed through and cleared off the path. I step carefully, suddenly aware of how isolated I really am, in spite of the highway nearby.

A second short trail, connecting the restrooms and ball field, is full of it’s own surprises. Winter berry color pops within the tangle of grey twigs, and mushrooms line a fallen limb. A small wooden bridge spans a not quite frozen creek, that swirls and splashes over limbs and stones.

A few minutes to write at the edge of the stream, and it’s time to drift back home, to watch the lowering clouds sputter their sleet from the safety of my deck.

McNair Trail

It was not this peaceful the last time I was in this park. My son ran cross country in high school, and there was a regional meet at McNair every year. Students, coaches, and families swarmed all over the grounds in an echo of cheering and laughter and blaring horns. I loved the park, but never really had any idea of what else was here.

I’d certainly never seen this part before. The trail is a quarter mile loop, tucked behind the much longer walking and biking trail that circles the whole park.

It’s a tiny hidden jewel of walkways, benches, and fountains; crowned by a gazebo.

Along the walkways, carefully organized plants are identified by signs in both print and braille. The signs explain the placement of each plant, and how to manage and care for them in home gardens as well.

It’s still and peaceful in the crisp cold afternoon light.

A storm is creeping in from the west. The reflecting pools are already edging with ice.

It’s time to go, but I’ll be back, to find a book from the little library, and a bench in a quiet hollow, to soak in the peaceful perfection of this place.

St Vincent Greenway

The brief faux spring is over. Thick darkly puffy clouds lumber across the sky. I wander around the college campus, looking for the trail head and for a visitors lot to park that won’t get me towed or tickets within minutes of leaving my truck.

I find the trail, and it seems at first to be a simple off road path for the students. It’s pleasantly busy with traffic and students. Within the campus, it overlooks fountains and landscaping and beautiful buildings. A designated crosswalk, gets me safely across a roaring intersection and heads toward the off-campus student apartments.

I really think that’s going to be all there is to it, until the trail curves behind the apartments. Suddenly, I’m on a quiet residential streets with charming old brick houses on one side and wooded fields on the other.

A few minutes walk, shared with dogs on their afternoon stroll and children walking home from school, brings me to St Vincent Park.

Ball fields stretch across the opening section of the park, followed by picnic areas and playgrounds and then a long winding trail through the woods.

The trail tempts me over and over to go a little farther, to take another curve.

I’ve gone as far as I dare tonight, in the quickly falling winter twilight. I can’t wait to come back with a bike, and follow it to its end.

McKelvey Woods Nature Trail

Warm air and sloppy snow mounds, a chorus of birds and brilliant sunshine; it smells like rain and feels like spring as I head to McKelvey Woods.

It’s a short trail, parallel to Fee Fee Greenway, but separated by the creek and it’s steep muddy banks. It’s not at all quiet, beneath the constant roar of the highway, but somehow feels secluded all the same.

A couple of benches line the trail, and a picnic table nestles into the curve of the creek. Somehow hidden in the tall bare trees, birds and insects call beneath the background roar.

In a single sighting, a tiny bird darts from the brush across the creek, like a cowboy in an old time western, dashing for a better vantage point.

St Ann Park

Wintry dusk and snow melt puddles. The ground is mushy soft even where the snow has managed to soak beneath the surface.

It’s a wonderful playground park, with play structures spaced along it’s length and basketball courts at the end

The towering trees and wide fields, rest quietly in the January still tonight, waiting for spring to bring the return of the squealing laughter of the neighborhood children.

Hellebusch Park

A fast, wet, sloppy snow came through late yesterday afternoon. An inch or so was predicted, but skidding along the highway with my young nephew beside me, I had no idea it was all going to happen over about thirty minutes.

By morning, the roads were cleared, the winds were still, and the parks transformed.

I was a little nervous, standing in the crunchy chunks of scrapped ice in the parking lot. I’d been to this park a few times for summer picnics, but not enough to be very familiar with it. I was pretty sure there was a path around the fishing ponds, but it wasn’t at all obvious where it was.

A radio program, as I climbed out of the truck, had been discussing the health benefits of ice baths. I had no interest in giving it a try right now!

I crept carefully down the hill, the ground was already growing soft and mushy beneath the snow. Firm and paved, the pathway was simple enough to find once I was there.

Two pairs of prints went before me, one human, one meandering canine, circling the pond and drifting to the edge of the woods.

A splash of water pours into the spillway. Birds call, a siren wails, and a snow shovel scrapes on a nearby driveway. The world awakens to meet the day.