When I was a child, growing up in the Ozark Mountains on a ranch, Milky Way gazing was an old friend that returned each summer.
Technically, it’s spring through early winter for us but the summer is when you’d be up Late and looking right overhead…naturally, lying on your back in a pasture!
The woods obscure skylarking so, you climbed a hilltop with either a glade or open pastureland.
In autumn, as it is now, you can see it sort of overhead to setting, running Northerly to Southerly.
The past several nights have been exceptionally well so, I go stand outside before bed and just gawk.
I don’t have a star trails or astro-friendly camera. This is literally what my camera captured just now for you!
Regular readers already saw this from earlier today, as I panted in the early afternoon heat and humidity after an interview.
I walked an half-mile in pumps to take this, you ungrateful shits.
-the new readers, obviously, my regular 3 readers are the best, etc., etc.
Then, I turned around and took this of the railroad next to the river coz if it’s 2 things Midwesternerss love, it’s our FINE assortment of waterways and railways.
I hiked back to my car and ate my packed (in a cooler) salad.
I then googled the nearest Target, as I had some things to pick up, anyway.
Dr. Google took me to the world’s saddest Target. Their ‘pantry’ section was minuscule. They don’t even sell any given brand of sauerkraut. I realise, this may cornfuddle some Flatlanders but in MISSOURI, by crackin,’ you have a staple of Teutonic tasties! Let me clarify: MY Target isn’t one of those new Greatland/ Super ones. I’m used to a now subpar Target. Hell, I like it that way. Keeps out the snobs and the roughians are afraid of socialists, so it’s uppity hillcats where I go!
-where was I?
Sad. Maybe there’s another one a bit farther away? I get the feeling that there is not.
The Super-Valmart on your way in from the east and regular Valmart next to Target-land is the way it plays in Jeff City. This town doesn’t like Commies.
At any rate, I headed the sportwagon back to near-ish STL.
But I had to stop and see what was up with these Osage Trail, Lewis and Clark and Clark’s Hill historic warning buoys!
-he keeps trying to warn us but do we listen???
I stopped a farmer on a tractor – you realise this is 100% true?
Shit, man, he was smoking a pipe and driving a tractor down the road? Himses my kinda peoples.
He told me:
Ignoring his Wisdom, I parked and started up the trail in my comfy sandals (slides). It’s only a mile trip, granted fairly steep one way and worse, just as steep but without ‘brakes’ on the return.
Safety first! I locked the car –unlike me and took my keys, leaving everything else behind. In 38C. Alone. Steep.
When I got to the top, I found this couple who’d been trapped in Amber since the 1980s:
FINE! I stole this from the publicity site for the…site.
Only maybe 1/3 of the way up, after sliding and sliding in 2 inches deep muck and nearly ‘breaking both arms and both legs’ as Mammy’d say, I decided it wasn’t worth getting hurt too badly to pull myself out and without WATER and in an interview dress and WAHHHHHHH.
FINE! The farmer who lives on the road was right.
As a booby-prize, here’s another farmer washing his rig whilst I filled my tank on the way home.
We had a family outing to St. Louis’ Forest Park. The park itself is well worth book-length history lessons and many fabulous stories have come from its years! What I’ll say here is that Missourians vote to pay higher taxes so that our public (and any visitors) can luxuriate in culture…for free. It’s one of the reasons families tour St. Louis. -get here but your day trips can be at no additional charge — of course, there are many things that cost money but the cultural stuff? Free. Even The Muny* offers free seats.
* The Muny is a for-real theatre; however, it’s basically the greatest hits of theatre and very often musicals. Hey, they sell. If you cannot afford tickets, don’t pay anything. Jeez. What does it take to make you happy, free seats? If you want to go crazy and get the most expensive tickets, they’re $581 for the entire season. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
These are Forest Park highlights, which is by no means the full listing. There are too many to put on one calendar, so you’ll have to go to individual specialties. For example, they didn’t even list the Shakespeare Festival (again, free), which we have yearly during summer. It’s called In The Park.
There used to be laws regarding cutting and transplanting this native. I don’t know if they’re still at risk but oursare wild. When we bushhog, we leave them alone. In other words, as Ozarkers always do: we are conservationists, whether that means defending or culling.
They’re a joyous sight on their own but particularly when covered–as they normally are–with butterflies! Yet again, my Doolittle skills are strong:
While there are several Walks and Shrines, in honour to the Blessed Mother and Her Son, we took the Nativity walk and then the Mother’s Sanctuary, with pool. Bobby dipped in for a blessing but opted out of the Cure.
On our way back, we stopped at the outdoors Chapel, where Bobby promptly dropped a steaming load. ‘Good thing Francis liked the little animals, you disastrous Five-Year-Old.’
Yes, I had shitbags to pick it up.
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Bit hard to see but this is a Bluff you can see through trees on the road to the Shrine. It’s at the bottom of the valley. This is a branch off the Meramec River. I forget the name but it’s along Lynch Road.
You turn LEFT here. If you head straight, it’s the Brothers’ Infirmary. The famous Brother Matthew lived down this road. My mother often sought his counsel when I was young. I’d hang out in his artist studio, looking at the propped up paintings til they were finished.
#3niece walked into my kitchen, clutching some weeds.
I didn’t tell her what they were (wild potato vines) or that they were basically a form of bind weed (wraps around and chokes out plants you’d want). Instead, I asked her if they smelled good (they don’t smell to humans anyway). She sniffed, shrugged, ‘No’ and ran back out to play. I put then on display–of course!
Back before the State of Missouri took over management, Onondaga (and its other side, falsely separated by human property bounds — therefore razor wire — FKA ‘Missouri Caves’) were privately held, just as my family held large swaths of what’s now called the Mark Twain Forest. I’m already digressing…
When they were still privately held, we had those crappy local adverts you may remember from the 70s and earlier. The one I refer to in the title was meant to maximise the name ‘Onondaga’ not just to remember but as a Native American chant — like a war drum: ‘ON on da ga ON on da ga…’
Caves are a common feature on peoples’ properties and are often accessed by water, also quite often enough during drier seasons (makes sense). Sadly, we suffer spelunking deaths when people venture forth, into perfect darkness during spring or summer when flash flooding occurs.
Onondaga’s true entrance is accessed beyond a spring, under a bluff, by lying flat in a john-boat, using your hands to push the boat along the shallow cave ceiling entrance before it opens up. This is super common for our area and I assume a lot of caves around the world.
Inside, along the ‘tourist routes’ -there are several pathways, some in terrible disrepair and some fine but kept only for geologists and those who study bats or salamanders–Naturalists; this always makes me snort because I think ‘Naturists’ like a 12 year old). I would t think Naturists would stay long with a temp of 57F / 13C year-round — and you’re constantly dripped upon from above with ‘cave kisses’ are found lighting to highlight certain formations.
These are dutifully extinguished as the light causes algae to grow. In part, it’s unsightly but far worse, it provides a food source that a) shouldn’t be there, therefore changing the environment to one that indigenous species would change to start eating and then die off when it went away or worse, b) invite fauna who had no place here. Again, if it happened naturally, it’s evolution that they’d have to suss or perish but since MAN did it to them, it ain’t cool.
Where was I?
The guided tour currently costs 15USD Plus Tax per adult for the normal tour–there are special tours, too.
Here’s a brief part I videoed as there was enough space here that I wasn’t dwarfed by every tween ahead of me, let alone the grownups. Stoopid stature.
Like anything in nature that’s photographed, you just don’t get the SCALE of it. If you have been to other caves, this might be a little more informative of what Onondaga has. If you haven’t, it’s just well, sorry, a terrible representation but I don’t know how one could do a better job because Nature is amazing BUT difficult to ‘show,’ unless you’re there.
The ladies room is full running water and electricity but leaves a tad wanting.
I rewatched this today from a year or so ago. It’s fun and cracks me up with the running joke, ‘Hey, Terry,’ especially since yes, that’s Brother’s name (named after Spike’s friend, Terry, of course).
We are big on caves, beer, the outdoors…and Terrys.
If you’re a fan of autumn’s ‘leaf show’ (when deciduous trees’ leaves start dying off, changing colours), now’s the time.
In the Ozarks, we get a good two weeks. They started looking very good last weekend and it’s only midweek but they’ve pretty much hit their height:
We’ve got crimson, orange, bright yellow, various greens and they’ll soon go brown–then nekkid.
This coming weekend will be your last good bet, so head out to the St. Francois range into the Mark Twain Forest. If you must keep it short/ quick, at least take a run down Interstate 44 to Steelville. If you’re lucky, the sun will come out and hit those leaves!
We’ve had dark days so far, sorry for the gloomy but here’s a through-the-window, damp day shot.
When you live in the sticks, you drive with trucks. Usually, they’re hauling trailers, whether horse trailers or those long, flat dudes with landscaping equipment and by that I mean Caterpillars and Bobcats. We get roofers, too.
this kind of caterpillar
not this, they go even slower
I would LOVE to own one of these babies!
already have enough of these
these go slower than the insect caterpillars!
Let’s backtrack about that title. In my region, ‘hoosier’ is an epithet people might use to describe me:
a member of the lowest class who is ignorant and proud of it
It’s a long-standing, snort-acious funneh that people from Indiana brag about being The Hoosier State. -HAR!
There are varying levels of ‘hoosier.’ Somebody of the higher classes certainly consider me a hoosier (n., ‘what a hoosier’) or could apply its adjective form, also hoosier (adj., ‘she’s so hoosier!’). But amongst the low class, ignorant masses from whence I come, I’m not considered hoosier at all. ‘She’s a Lady.’ I even passed in town at the fancy, liberal, private university — til something would slip. Then, they were all confusion because ‘She wasn’t hoosier, so how could she be a hoosier?’
After working over 17 years with a bunch of hoosiers, I have to admit, I’ve become more hoosier.
Let’s be clear: One is not low class nor ignorant for driving a big truck for work. When one chooses to drive a big truck and it’s not for work? I gotta wonder. You must make a ton of money from cooking meth, eh? Cos driving the commute we have to get to town (an hour each way and that’s in optimal conditions), it burns a lot of fuel!
I opt for a sub-compact cos I don’t believe in torching 2-3 $20 bills each day on fuel. One’s enough.
However, as you can imagine, I can’t see shite…ever due to these trucks. I mean, that’s just a truck, not even the work trucks or the heavy equipment haulers. In case you ever wonder where in the world they park or come from to get to work at your house or business? Out by me. They all live here.
While I mostly talk about my Irish family (immigrated to the Ozarks), mum’s family came to the States earlier. They were Russian Jews and I had little to do with them, in large, except being raised by my maternal grandmother! They moved to The Bootheel.
They got here Just In Time for the Civil War!
You stepped off the boat, into this land of milk and honey…
Then stopped at the dock.
‘Kiss your wife and babies goodbye. Here’s a uniform, now you’re in X Company.’
They needed cannon fodder; men went straight from the boat to the battlefield so their loved ones became Americans.
-see below for one of many folk songs that tell how many of us came to be American
My maternal Great-Great Uncle’s cavalry sword hung above his sister’s mantle (my great-grandmother, or Gram’s mum). These big families (Gram was one of 19 children) extended over quite a bit of timeline. I didn’t get to know Great-Great Uncle but of course I’m old enough to know my Great Uncles!
I didn’t spend a lot of time in the Bootheel, in spite of being raised by Gram. I can’t say that I feel comfortable there. Why did our family branch choose to live there? A swamp that didn’t let them in town after dark?
She never explained that well enough. Great-grandfather’s brother moved to Chicago and he was known to have ‘made it big.’ When you use paper from other’s garbage in your shoes to keep dirt out of the holes in the soles? Somebody with new shoes once a year may seem rich. ‘Ooo! He’s got a straw hat!’
Where was I?
I’m assuming most people have studied Jim Crow laws in History, Social Studies or seen it in Driving Miss Daisy.
‘Statutes and ordinances established between 1874 and 1975 to separate the white and black races in the American South.’
You may not have been around during that time but I was. Jim Crow applied to wee Lily visiting Grandma and cousins! I lived that shite.
“But…you’re so white!”
Depends on your definition.
In the town where my family settled…correction: outside the town where my family settled, it applied to Jews. It’s not the most commonly-heard term but Jews were considered ‘people of color.’ There’s no logic as to why one group of people are ‘better’ than another. Perhaps, like the Stock Market, it was based upon sentiment. The people in power of that area felt like it.
This defined where they could live and when they could come into town. My family had a shack next to the railroad tracks. Across the road and beside were black families. We were ‘the colored section of town.’
It affected how you associated with others:
My great aunt married an Indian (“Native American,” as we were taught in school). They were forced out of town; we were colored and he was colored, apparently different kinds of coloreds weren’t allowed to mix, either.
Aunt Bessie and her husband moved to the Res where she died about a year later. When you’re sick and poor, you don’t have money for medicine or doctors. You pray. Of my great-grandmother’s 19 children, she was one of seven who died in their twenties or younger.
My great-grandmother and grandmother did laundry for the white people. They went to the back door to get it, brought it home (weren’t welcome in the backyard) to wash, dry, fold and then returned it to the back door.
Blacks and My Family weren’t allowed to buy alcohol but it was widely-known that my great-grandfather enjoyed it. He was popular amongst the whites, who’d stop by after dark to visit (since we couldn’t come into town). And bring a bottle.
I still don’t like going to or through that area. While I can ‘pass’ with my pale skin, light eyes and strawberry blonde hair, it’s hard to forgive or forget what I witnessed and the stories I grew up hearing.
Already out of fashion by my teens, apparently Missouri’s Department of Conservation and neighboring state universities are trying to bring it back!
Once well known to early explorers and settlers in Missouri, the pawpaw tree (Asimina triloba) is but a faint childhood memory for many. Some who know the old children’s song by heart wouldn’t know a pawpaw tree if they saw one…
The first written description of the pawpaw tree was recorded during DeSoto’s expedition into the Mississippi Valley in 1541. However, fossil records indicate the pawpaw’s ancestors were members of a tropical plant family and were present in North America millions of years before the arrival of humans.
Here’s a GREAT article (layman’s terms) that tells about all you wanted to know but never knew to ask about pawpaws by Cynthia Andre.
That I can recall, we don’t have any pawpaws on the ranch but they grow nearby. I remember eating them raw as a kid. Dad’ll also bring in The Best Pears of the Universe from an old grove that was planted circa Civil War. Now, it’s buried in the middle of the woods but I can tell you what you already do know: there’s nothing like ripe, directly off the vine/ tree/ shrub freggies!
Gram sang this all.the.time!
Also don’t know this fellow–he appears to be a Northerner–but at least he’s singing a good song AND playing uke.
opinions expressed may be incorrect 