Woke on my second day at Osage Hills to good, if hot, weather. Russ planned to arrive today, so I headed out to go grocery shopping in Bartlesville. I was nervous when I saw that the supermarket Apple Msps sent me to was closing, but they still had plenty of stock. I picked up a few extras, as most things were 30-40% off. I stopped to chat with one employee about the closure, and she said they’d be gone in two more weeks—everyone on staff was trying to transfer to positions in one of three other stores. The only alternative (and the only option in many small towns) is Dollar General. I mentioned how, in our travels, that was so often the only grocery in a small town, we talked about “food deserts,” and I expressed my hope that she’d land on her feet before I left.

Russ arrived shortly after I got back, with tales of Kenny, the man he’d met in his last campground, who was handing out small snack pies and cakes. After they discussed how nice it would be to have a hammock, Kenny returned to give him one! Russ was quite pleased with his new accessory, and set it up beside the camper (after checking every possible combination of trees and locations) to use that night. I was pleased not to have to rearrange my bed.

We were talking to neighboring campers, a man and his daughter with a large but securely tied German Shepherd, when another camper started yelling about ‘vicious dogs’, pointing at our neighbors, and acting very agitated. Later, a park ranger came and situated his truck near the agitated person. I was amused to find out that he was the one who called the ranger, about the dog, but ended up being the one chastised! (Apparently the rangers had had run-ins with him before.).

The next morning we set out to hike to some waterfalls on nearby Sand Creek. It was a short hike to some really lovely little falls.

I was so tempted to jump in, but contented myself with soaking my feet and legs. Leaving the falls, I laughed to see an array of free life vests to use when swimming, despite the “No Swimming” signs posted below. A park ranger later told us that they could not stop the locals from using swimming holes they’d used for generations, so they decided to at least offer safety equipment.

On our way back, we walked through a lovely picnic area with an impressive stone pavilion:

And a little further on, a mysterious ruin.

Russ and Moe had to find out more—see Russ’s blog, russloomis.com, for the pictures of an old CCC-built bathhouse, made entirely of dry fitted sandstone blocks.

Back at the park office, when he came in for cold sodas, Russ learned there were remnants of an old CCC camp nearby, with barracks, kitchens, workshops, and even an education building. The camp was built for CCC Company 895, who built the state park between 1936 and 1940. I’d never realized before that the CCC was managed by the Army (which makes total sense). It existed during the Depression to provide jobs and job training to unemployed men and to conserve the nation’s resources. From the informative brochure we were given:

For $30 each month ($25 of which was sent home) over 2 million men and boys across the country worked to slow erosion, replant forests, build dams, bridges, buildings, and parks, build 126,000 miles of roads and trails and install 89,000 miles of telephone lines.

In fact, the picnic shelter we saw was the first building built for the park, and it is still in use today, as are the several handsome cabins for rent, built of native stone and wood, and including kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, and living rooms with fireplaces.

We made plans to see the CCC camp the next day and had dinner. Things were much quieter this evening.

I nearly forgot—Moe got a girlfriend at Stockton Lake! I present Ella.

Thanks to camp host Marci for sharing this picture.

. . . It’s your mother (so goes the old psychology joke).

I’ve had practically non-existent cell service at Stockton State Park, so haven’t had a chance to update until now.

Russ regained his mojo after we got him out of the Ozark hills, and not only caught up to me at Stockton, he rode into camp so I didn’t have to pick him up. Unfortunately, between doing laundry and seeking a solid internet connection, we didn’t have time for much else while he was with me. Regular thunderstorms took care of the rest of the free time. He finally did manage to download the next segment of his maps, so on day three, I chauffeured him past Golden City so he could make it to Pittsburg, KS that day and hopefully be on schedule to meet me again at Osage Hills State Park in Oklahoma.

So my hiking was shoehorned into the other two full days I was at Stockton. Moe and I did a 1-3/4 mile trail on our first day, and a 3-1/2 mile trail on Tuesday the 2nd. The weather cooled off just enough to make things less miserable. It was a good day for a hike.

Missouri forests are dense, dark, and damp! Most trails in the park have lake views from time to time.

in fact, it’s pretty hard to go anywhere in the vicinity of Stockton Lake without lake views. An Army COE impoundment, the lake resembles a many-tentacled octopus, with arms snaking out every which way.

With all the recent rain, there were plenty of fungi to see:

Russ accuses me of not seeing the forest for the trees—I say with these beauties underfoot, it’s hard to look up! Other sights around camp:

Back to the “If it’s not one thing…” theme:

As Monday was largely taken up with ferrying Russ 45 minutes down the road, I figured I might as well get my oil changed. There, the mechanics showed me that my tires were pretty worn and, more concerning, had uneven wear. I knew I was getting close to needing new tires, so —- better now than a breakdown on a Utah backroad. Seems like every big trip comes with one big unexpected expense. I’m just so glad that all I’ve needed with my Kia is regular maintenance—not like that d@&$ed Dodge Durango (I swear, never again will I buy an American car!).

Barring any mishaps, we should have a more relaxing time here at Osage Hills State Park in Pawhuska, OK. There is reasonable cell service, and I have both water and electric hookups. And the weather has dried out a bit. I have shade and a nice breeze. Now if the new neighbors’ dog would stop barking…

Arrived at Stockton Lake State Park Weds., only to realize this was NOT the campground we stayed at four years ago. The first clue was the huge marina below the campground, which hadn’t been there before. Also the fact that the lake was below the campground—in 2022, the campground went right INTO the lake (there’d been a lot of flooding). Checking the internet revealed that we’d stayed at Ruark Bluff instead, one of several Army Corps of Engineers campgrounds around the lake.

Before driving to Stockton Lake, I’d shuttled Russ from Johnson’s Shut-ins to Fair Grove, which cut off some of the worst of the hills that did him in the day before. I suspect there will be more than one resort to “plan B” as he comes to terms with the fact that it’s just not as easy to ride a fully loaded bike as it was even four years ago. And I’m not sure this “Golden Gravel Tour,” with its rough roads, was a great choice. He found himself walking the bike frequently, as he struggled to ride steep hills over loose gravel. Today he made it to Walnut Grove despite the rain, and he hopes to ride straight to Stockton Lake tomorrow, rather than Greenfield—the distances, he says, look similar. And there will be paved roads leading to Stockton.

In a brief interval between showers, Moe and I hiked the Umber Ridge Trail in the north section of the state park. The loop was the perfect length, as we got back just before the afternoon rain. There were several nice views of the lake, and access to a beach (deserted) at one point, where I found a three-toed box turtle (the state turtle of Missouri) on the sand:

(Not my picture—I, of course, forgot my phone.) Cute little guy (girl?)

Fortunately, I set up my screen tent before the hike, which made a comfy and dry place to relax after our hike.

Mr. Stud Muffin enjoying a well-earned rest.

Our neighbors left before us, so I got a shot of their camper ready to roll. The whole tent fits into that flat box on top, leaving all of the room underneath for stowing gear.

It was while taking this pic that I saw the words on the frame:

Coolest. Camper. Ever.

Indeed!

Something on the history of Johnson’s Shut-Ins State Park:

In 2005, a section of the dam wall along the old Taum Sauk reservoir collapsed and sent 1.3 billion gallons of water down Profitt Mountain, into the Black River, and right through Johnson’s Shut-Ins State Park. The campgrounds, then near the Shut-Ins, were destroyed, as the flood scoured everything in its path. Giant boulders, deposited by the flood, still lie scattered around the lower parking lots and picnic areas.

You can still see the “scour” from a new park trail created after the flood. It carved down to the bedrock, exposing the geology of some of the oldest mountains in America.

The scour trail, taken soon after the flood.

The campgrounds took four years to rebuild, and are now situated well above the river.

I’m telling you, Moe should have been born west of the Mississippi. He doesn’t get much appreciation in the east, but west of the river, boy howdy, does he get attention!

Hiking around the park yesterday, so many people stopped to pet and admire him. They love his spots, his curly tail, his jaunty strut.

But the best one was outside the Dollar General where I rescued an exhausted Russ yesterday evening. A woman passing by looked down and exclaimed “Look at you, you little stud muffin!” Which made both Russ and me laugh out loud.

So you may now address him, not as Mr. Moe, but as “Stud Muffin.”

That’s MR. Stud Muffin to you!

So my neighbors have this very unusual camper/tent thing—it’s on a trailer, and has a metal/plastic frame, but otherwise looks like a tent. I didn’t get a before picture, but everything fits behind the green and grey curved front and within the trailer base. The whole thing lifts up and out to form a roomy tent with sleeping berths on both sides. When closed, it’s no taller than that front piece. So cool! Made by Sylvansport. They very nicely allowed me to look inside and to take these pictures. Also, their very large dog, Millie, made friends with Moe and the two of them were very cute together.

Dogs are unfortunately not allowed on the Shut-ins Trail (turns out, shut-ins is a term for a narrow constriction, or gorge, in a stream, not for housebound people), so Moe and I headed out on the Black River Trail System. That was disappointing, as it was just a paved path around the southern day use section of the park. Circling parking lots and busy picnic areas isn’t my idea of a trail, but Moe had plenty to sniff, so he was happy.

We did see the old Johnston family graveyard (the park is named for them, although the spelling changed over time). Always love old graveyards and gravestones. Some are so poignant:

The verse on this one must have been a favorite; many stones bore some version of it. “Sleep on, dear father (brother, mother, son) and take thy rest. God called thee home. He thought best.”

Anyway, our walk tired Moe out enough for me to leave him in the car (with the AC running) while I headed out to see the Shut-Ins.

My first thought on seeing the shut-ins was “Wow, there’s a lot of people down there.” My second thought was “ There is no way they’d allow people to climb around on those rocks in Massachusetts.” There are no barriers, no restrictions. Little kids, older people, and everyone in between were clambering over the rocks and dipping into the pools (I’m told the water was COLD). I was not comfortable getting down to the river, so you’ll just have to enlarge the pictures to really see the pools and sluices.

Moe and I made it back to the campsite by early afternoon, where I got a message from Russ that he was struggling with the hills, and didn’t expect to make his planned camp spot tonight. Haven’t heard back, but I booked an extra day here (no problem—the whole place cleared out by 2 pm as all the weekend warriors headed back home). Am awaiting further communications.

Leaving the river, heading west. Gently rolling hills and verdant greens. Modest homes, most with a yucca plant or two by the road. They are in bloom, with tall spikes of creamy white flowers.

After about an hour, the terrain gets hillier, with longer ups and downs. Then I realize I’ve been imperceptibly rising, and am now on top of a ridge with extensive views on either side.

Quick stop for lunch at Huddle’s (local version of IHop). I descend the ridge. Yuccas not popular on this side. Just before Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park, I recognize the signs for Bike Route 76. We went through here in ‘22, although I didn’t stay at this campground then.

The park is lovely—very neat, with generous campsites. Even the basic (no hookups) loop I’m in has level concrete pads and clean fire rings.

More about my neighbor’s very interesting camper/tent in my next post. Off to bed!

I could go on and on about Mount Gretna (it brings out my inner three-year-old), but there was a bike tour waiting. The drive from PA to Cape Girardeau, MO was long, grueling, and mostly rainy. Russ, who prefers not to drive anymore, is constantly on edge, which puts me on edge—how would you like to be yelled at every time the vehicle drifts slightly off center? Passing another car elicited white-knuckle terror.

The fact that my neck and shoulder are still hurting doesn’t help at all. Thanks again to Lynn and Sandy, who generously lent me a TENS unit, which has been a great help.

Despite all of Russ’s misgivings about my driving, we made it to Cape Girardeau alive and in time for his scheduled start. Actually, we arrived a day early, which gave us a chance to stay at and explore Trail of Tears State Park, where we saw a heart-wrenching short film on the forced Cherokee relocations, and visited a small but well done museum. The staff was very well informed, and gave us a lot of information, plus a detailed map of the routes taken by some 20,000 Cherokee from their lands in Tennessee to internment camps, and then to Oklahoma. Most had to travel by foot, through one of the worst winters on record. Nearly 1/4 of them died on the way.

Russ started his tour at the Mississippi River in Cape Girardeau on Sunday, May 24. The levees had many murals showing the area history. Lewis and Clark passed through here and it was a major ferry stop on the Trail of Tears.

Before taking off, the ritual of dipping a rear tire in the Mississippi:

He’s off! And I’m off to Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park.

Because I keep telling everyone what a magical place Mount Gretna is, I thought I’d gratuitously throw in a bunch of pictures I took on my latest visits (bracketing my week at home). On top of the fact that it sits on a mountain under shady pine, maple, oak and birch trees, and has a lake on the edge of town (much like Ashfield), the cottages and byways are full of whimsy and wonder. Just a sampling of what you will see there:

Bixler’s cottage, the grande dame of Chautauqua homes:

Even the cottage names are whimsical:

I had to omit the best one—Quiturbelliaken—because the signboard hadn’t been put back up for the summer.

And this is where the annual Mount Gretna Art Festival takes place in August. On par with Paradise City, it features over 250 juried artists and artisans—and there’s an equally big non-juried craft show just a block away.