I hadn’t seen another teardrop camper, let alone another T@b, since Assateague, so imagine my surprise when, walking the dogs on my final evening here, I spied a T@b 400 that had just come into camp! 

It was already dark, so it took me a minute to see the man sitting by the fire, but I introduced myself, and we soon were comparing campers (they saw mine, too) and camping stories while he petted Scooby. He and his wife had traveled from Michigan to Florida, and were now headed back home. They stumbled on Lake Glendale just by chance, but were considering staying an extra day because it was so nice. I encouraged them to try out the trail around the lake, and offered to pass my trails map on to them before I left. 

[I did see them just before I left the next morning, and saw the inside of their camper. Although theirs is only one year newer than my 2018, the interior styling is completely different, with all rounded fixtures rather than the rectilinear style of mine, and though theirs is bigger overall, there seemed less flexibility in the arrangement of seating and sleeping areas. Just sayin’.]

After that, the day went downhill. A raging thunderstorm moved in as I was negotiating the dump station. By the time I was done, my pants were sodden and had to be changed (to be clear, that was from the rain, NOT the dump station). The rain was gone as suddenly as it came.

I headed toward the Mississippi River, and that’s when I realized something: ALL THE WATER BETWEEN THE APPALACHIANS AND THE ROCKIES FLOWS INTO THIS RIVER. I get the idea of a river drainage system, but seeing the physical reality of it, as I crossed endless rivers, creeks, streams, rivulets, and drainage ditches, all swollen from last night’s rains, really brought it to life. There is a HECK of a lot of water moving toward this central point.

Unfortunately, it also meant that finding a campground, here in the Ozark National Scenic Riverways, was complicated by that same excess of water. Several of the campgrounds I’d hoped to find were under water. By 5:00, tired, hungry, and in a bad mood, I grabbed a spot in a featureless gravel area right above the road, fed the dogs, and headed off to the local bar and pub to grab dinner and a calming drink or two.

And I STILL haven’t called my baby brother, Jeff, on his 62nd birthday! Happy birthday, Jeff! I promise to call when I get back to the camper!

On a search for cell service, I drove a few miles from camp and came across a forestry research station run by the University of Ilinois with a solid two bars of cell service. There, the forest manager, Chris Evans, graciously answered my spur of the moment questions about how climate change was affecting their forestry practices. He acknowledged that it was a source of much discussion, and that it was affecting some practices, such as the seeding of tree species into more northerly habitats. They manage several research forestry plots, where they study the effects of different practices such as controlled burning, thinning, and seeding

Pointing to a topo map of southern Illinois, he showed me the shallow bowl-shaped curve that marked the southern edge of the Ilinois glaciation, some 100,000 years ago. Above it, the land was flat, scoured by the immense ice sheet. Below the line, the land was rumpled in creases running east to west. He told me how this area was geologically ancient, having neither been covered by ice nor by the water of the inland sea. It’s possibly the most biologically diverse area of the midwest.

I left Chris with a new appreciation for this area, and returned to my search for my next camping site, when I discovered another perk: I could get internet by logging on as a guest of the University of Illinois. Since I had, in effect, just attended a lecture on the area’s geology and ecology, I decided it would be OK to do so.

I nearly forgot: before I left, he gave me a small book on summer wildflower hikes in southern Illinois, apologizing that he was out of the spring wildflower book. It wasn’t until I got back to camp that I realized he had written the book!

After last night’s thunderstorm, the day dawned partly cloudy and breezy, so after breakfast we set out to hike one of the longer trail loops that criss-cross south of the lake. These clay soils are greasy after a rain, and I stepped carefully as we crossed numerous creeks and wet rock ledges, not wanting to repeat the bruising fall I’d had back in Virginia. 

I kept an eye out for wildflowers, and was finally rewarded by finding a Jack-in-the-pulpit. I would have missed this entirely, had I not glanced down at just the right time.

I also found this: (identify?)

We returned to camp, muddy but satisfied, in time for a late lunch. 

Later, I sat under the awning, taking it all in: orioles calling back and forth in the canopy, with their piercing whistles; two rose-breasted grosbeaks, who appeared suddenly and disappeared just as quickly; warblers—prothonotary, yellow-rumped, palm—darting busily about in the branches; nuthatches circling a tree trunk, head down; a great crested flycatcher eyeing me from a low bush; veerys searching for tidbits on the forest floor.

A sudden movement nearby made me turn my head: a tufted titmouse had landed on the step and was looking curiously into the camper, where both dogs were sleeping. It fluttered under the camper, but soon returned to perch on the back of the chair next to me. It sidled across the chair toward me, then jumped down onto the arm, cocked its head, and considered me from a distance of perhaps 18 inches. I was paralyzed with delight. We sat eye to eye for a moment or two, then it took off to pursue more profitable activities. I sat with a silly grin on my face for quite some time.

Another state, another lake:

This one has abundant hiking/mountain biking trails! The campsites are clean and reasonably private, and many look out onto the lake and its many coves. There is a 3-4 mile, mostly flat, trail all around the lake, which we took immediate advantage of.

Scooby’s not one to suffer getting wet gladly, so it was amusing to watch him get positively scampery after being forced to wade a 6” deep stream. Personally, I think he felt refreshed in spite of his indignation.

As before, there are many wildflowers to enjoy:

And the birdwatching continues to be stellar! Seeing a Summer Tanager today was a highlight.

Russ has come and gone, to gain an extra riding day before the rain sets in tonight (Mon) and tomorrow.

I couldn’t go by Paducah and NOT go to The National Quilt Museum!

It did seem ironic, however, to show up purely by chance in the middle of Quilt Week. I’d wanted to go to Paducah Quilt Week, the grandmother of all quilt shows, for decades but never had the time or money. And here I was! Could I see the show? Nope! Thanks to Moe and Scooby, who would have a) died in a hot car or b) torn the entire camper apart if I dared spend an entire day at a a quilt show.

I did tour the museum, which was an amazing visual feast, full of quilts by master artists that I’d only ever seen pictures of. I stayed as long as I could, allowed myself to be content with that, and vowed to return sans animals.

Then it was off across the Ohio River into Illiinois, and Lake Glendale, in the Shawnee National Forest.

The lake was enveloped in fog early this morning, whick gave me a chance to get some beautiful photos as the mist lifted:

I was up early to meet Russ at Abraham Lincoln’s Birthplace. Bit of a disappointment, actually. No trace of his actual first home remains. His family was evicted from this, and their next home, by land ownership disputes, and they moved to Illinois by the time Abe was 7. But for the centennial of his birth, in 1909, a monument was created to honor his birthplace, and inside this classical temple they placed a near-period cabin of the sort that Lincoln’s father MIGHT have built (historical purists be damned!). Inside the temple, the light is so dim that you can’t see the interior of the cabin, which is unfurnished anyway. It’s not his birthplace so much as a holy shrine to the IDEA of his birthplace, which is pretty much the way they did things in 1910.

The best part of the whole place was actually the ”sinking spring” that gave the farm its name. But you will have to see Russ’s blog for a picture of that.

One thing I am learning on the road is to stay open for what each day has to offer. There are no hiking trails in the area around Rough River Lake, which I thought would leave me little to do. In fact, I’ve been so busy watching wildlife (especially birds) since I got here that I haven’t had time to think about hiking. Whether watching the biggest painted turtle I’ve ever seen sunbathe on a log, while several attentive (and much smaller) males jostled for position beside her, or gasping as two rough-winged swallows, tiny talons locked in mortal combat, thrashed about in the water before finally separating and flying off, I’ve been treated to a never-ending Nature series. I only wish I had the means to capture on film the swallows, warblers, woodpeckers, finches, kingbirds, ducks and more that have flitted, flapped, darted and swooped past my lakeside campsite.

What can be captured are the many wildflowers, like this Prairie Trillium:

As I was writing this, I watched a bald eagle land across the cove, then try to eat his fish in peace while a murder of crows did their best to pester the bejeezus out of him.

Like I said, stay open for what each day has to offer!

I FINALLY got a chance to photograph the lovely landscape I’ve been seeing, even though I nearly got smushed by a tractor trailer doing it! I recommend you enlarge the pictures, to get a better sense of how pretty this area is. Out of the Appalachians, the land returned to rolling valley, with extensive cattle farms. I drove through Lancaster and Danville, both picturesque towns (Danville is the site of Centre College). Sorry for the car window in the pictures; sometimes I just can’t stop for a photo.

And then to Axtel Campground, on Rough River Lake, near McDaniels, KY. This is MUCH more to my liking than the Oh! Kentucky RV Park (mind you, Oh! KY is a perfectly nice RV park: I just don’t like RV parks. I don’t understand why anyone would buy a camper just to stay inside and watch TV all day). I arrived just as a light rain was beginning to fall.

Rough River Lake was created in 1961 by damming the Rough River, and the lake and its campgrounds are managed by the Army Corps of Engineers (which means it is 1/2 price under my national parks senior pass, yay!). Since the lake was created for flood control, rather than recreation, the lake level varies quite a lot. Right now, about 30 of the campsites are under water (not mine, thank goodness). I asked the ranger if this was unusual, and he shrugged and told me this was about normal for springtime. Come summer, it would drop back down as they released water downstream.

There are tons of birds here, which is good, since there isn’t much hiking in the area. The campgrounds are plenty extensive enough for a good walkabout with the dogs, though, and the sun is now shining, so that’s what I’ll do.

For anyone who’s interested, here is a little bit about my home for the next six months: a 2018 T@b 320, made by NüCamp. This mid-size T@b (there are smaller and larger versions) is 15’ long and weighs 1,700 lbs dry weight (unloaded, no fluids in the holding tanks). Since my Subaru Outback 4-cylinder has a 3,000 lb towing capacity, this model fits easily within that.

I covered the original upholstery, thinking it would be protected if I ever want to sell (and because, well, me). Inside, there is everything you need: first, ample seating which converts to a single or queen bed.

I knew if I was going to be traveling for any length of time, I would need a bathroom on board, and my T@b, despite its tiny size, has an interior shower and toilet. It also has a kitchen with a sink, two burner range, and refrigerator.

There is plenty of storage for my clothes and necessities, although the Subaru has been largely commandeered by Russ as a rolling bike shop, with all his tools and spare parts, as you can see in the picture above. The T@b even has an air conditioner, though I’m hoping not to have to use that. The TV that came with the camper (I bought it second hand) got removed immediately.

Tows like a dream, and fits easily into even the smallest campsite. even if I do feel like a midget among giants compared to the huge RVs that seem to be the norm most places. It’s a perfectly cozy home for me and my two dogs, with room to spare for when Russ stops by. Right, guys?

The Pinnacles Hiking Trails at the Berea College Forestry Outreach Center came highly recommended, so on this warm Saturday morning we went to check them out. Wildflowers were everywhere: phlox, irises, geraniums, and many more I could not identify.

The trails are moderately easy until you near the pinnacles. We hiked up the main trail to the fork (.5 miles), and chose the .8 mile West Pinnacle trail (mostly because fewer people were headed that way).

Spectacular rock formations are practically run-of-the-mill around here.

I got ambitious (much to Scooby’s dismay) and took the trail from West Pinnacle to Indian Fort overlook, adding another .6 miles before heading back down. That may not sound like much, but I did some serious rock scrambling!

Met a couple from New Hampshire while I was cooling off on a breezy rock overlook, and we swapped travel stories before heading off in different directions. I made it safely back, and the dogs got lots of attention, as usual.

Phew, it’s hot! Time to put up the awning and get into the shade.

I visited the town of Berea, to soak up some arts and crafts. The town and college are very pretty, albeit much smaller than I’d imagined. While exploring different artisan shops, I chanced upon Mary Elizabeth Colmer, aka Bacon_Mom, at Weaver’s Bottom Craft Studio.

She and I had a long and leisurely discussion about life and art and creativity. She told me her life story, from her early hippie days to her arrival in Berea, where she met her husband of 45 years. Before I left, she played for me the tune of the first dance she and he ever danced together. Here it is, played by her on an 1867 hammered dulcimer (turn up your volume):

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