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.

Leaving Assateague for Mount Gretna and a family birthdays party (my brother Jeff and our cousin Gracie), I had the brilliant idea to buy a bushel of crabs. Wildly expensive, but remembering our crab feasts growing up and our family’s love of Chesapeake Bay crabs, I swallowed hard, paid the price, and headed for PA, ready to be greeted with culinary delight and appreciation.

Not exactly , as it turned out. Only half the crabs were consumed at the party (mostly by one group of six people, including me). But it was a great party, and it is always a pleasure to see Gretna and my siblings and cousins again.

Moe and I took a leisurely walk through town, past the Campmeeting, with its cheek-by-jowl Victorian cottages, and down to the Chautauqua area, with the Playhouse, Hall of Philosophy, and The Jigger Shop (ice cream parlor since 1889). From Memorial Day to Labor Day, the Chautauqua is alive with lectures, musical performances, workshops, theater, and art shows—every day there is something to enjoy.

My brothers both have cottages in Mount Gretna Heights—across the street from each other, which makes visiting back and forth very convenient.

John and I spent much of Sunday (the day after the party) cooking and picking the rest of the crabs. Then I spent eight hours on Monday driving home. By Monday night I couldn’t turn my head to the left and my left shoulder and neck were in stabbing pain. Four days of home remedies did nothing to help, so I finally broke down and went to urgent care, where I got muscle relaxants and prednisone. Those and painkillers got me functional enough to attend the exhibit of student works at the Hill Institute, where I teach sewing for clothing.

And just like that, it was time to hit the road again! This time, we are off for the whole summer. Russ is riding a whole new bicycle touring route, created to celebrate 50 years of Adventure Cycling. It’s called the Golden Gravel Trail, and it runs from the Mississippi River in MO to the southern Oregon coast. Seventy percent of the route is on gravel/dirt roads. I see some primitive camping in my future.

Rainy and cool, but ponies galore! As hiking was somewhat limited by weather, I decided to drive around a bit and see what I could see. Moe and I headed out to the ranger station, where who should we see but Chief and his band, with Phoenix close behind. There was a brief traffic jam while the “boys” had another scuffle. After the action died down, I turned around to head down island.

You can only go so far before the road ends and you can not go further without a special Over Sand Vehicle pass (you don’t need to have a Jeep or off-road vehicle, but you do have to carry items including a shovel and tow rope in case of getting stuck). There are a few pony bands that stay down in that area, so maybe I’ll try that in the future.

End of the road.

I’d never actually gone to the Life of the Forest trail before, so I stopped there and headed out, over Moe’s objections (dogs are allowed everywhere in the Assateague National Seashore except trails). Along the way, I spotted these young deer doing some mutual grooming.

And I was rewarded with the sight of another band of ponies, this time stallion Adriana’s Happy Camper with mares Pretty Lass, a pinto, Little Dipper, and Silver Spurs Island Mist, both unmarked chestnuts. Unfortunately, while I got a good look at them through my binoculars, they were too far away to photograph. I was told later by one of the “pony watchers” that Silver Spurs, b. 1999, and Little Dipper, b. 2003, are two of the oldest ponies on the island.

You may be wondering about the ponies’ names: for many years now, the Assateague Island Alliance, a nonprofit group supporting the Assateague Island National Seashore, raises money through auctions and raffles to “Name that Pony” or “Name that Foal.” Names range from the simple (Dewey, Billy Bob, Rosie) to the ornate (Fitzpatrick’s Declirian Star, Gokey GoGo Bones, Mr. Frisky Hooves, Tommy Thunderbolt Nektosha), depending on the age or imagination of the lucky winner. I’m waiting for a Horsey McHorseface to pop up.

Anyhow, after that, I headed back toward camp, but stopped at the Life of the Marsh Trail, as someone had mentioned seeing another band there. With poor Moe wailing away in the car, I headed out along the raised boardwalk and there they were!

From left to right: unnamed colt born late April, his dam Little Acorn, unidentified filly/mare, and stallion T.J. Hollywood. My third pony band of the day!

Colt exploring the marsh:

I got a good long look at them, then reclaimed Moe and headed back to camp. Couldn’t get to my campsite because Chief and Phoenix were just outside the entrance causing a ruckus, with the resulting traffic blockage. I’ve had enough of their shenanigans for the day!

it’s a regular Peyton Place! Stallions Assateague Phoenix and Chief are at it again over Autumn Glory and her fillies. Chief is in control for now, but it’s anyone’s guess as to how this will shake out in a week or two. Meanwhile, the band is regularly seen around Bayside Loop A, where I’m staying, giving me a front row seat to the drama! Chief is keeping a sharp eye out for Phoenix, and chases him off whenever he gets too close.

The current band. From left to right: unnamed filly, b. 2025, dam Autumn Glory, with her new filly hiding behind her, Unbound Brynn, her filly from 2024, and stallion Chief.

The baby having a siesta:

Phoenix pondering his next move:

I nearly got caught in the fracas when Chief crept silently up behind me, scaring the bejeezus out of me!

They hung around for quite awhile, but finally moved on, and Wednesday ended with a beautiful sunset.