Off The Beaten Path

Anyone who knows me knows that to get in the car with me means we have set off on some sort of journey, yet to be determined (right, kids?).  I have been blessed (or cursed) with a curiosity about all things yet unknown to me, which, when combined with the boredom of a long car drive, turns into a slightly manic pursuit of off-the-beaten-path stops.  I've been doing this since I was in charge of getting myself anywhere on my own, but since the advent of cellphones and Facebook, you lucky people get to enjoy it with me.  Cellphone photo link gratuitously attached at the bottom of this blog.

This week was no different.  I headed off to southwest Kansas for a work thing Wednesday afternoon, feeling a little anxious.  I'd been rushed getting things ready and, as usual, crammed too many things into the day.  But as soon as I hit I-70, headed west, the wondering began.  I have often wished for my own personal car journey narrator that would explain everything I have questions about as I'm traveling along (and, no, Mom, that would not be you).  Google's pretty good, but 75 miles an hour is usually too fast for Google (and my fingers).  As I drove routes completely new to me, I kept seeing things I was curious about, but I didn't have time to stop.  So I promised myself that on the way back the next day, I would cram everything I could into every minute I had (and, yes, I'm aware there appears to be a pattern here).

I still didn't get photos of some of the things that surprised me, like the completely dry Arkansas River bed in Dodge City.  What a contrast to the big, wide, lazy Arkansas River that hugs the bluff and meanders alongside my home town in south central Kansas.  And speaking of Dodge City, there were m.a.n.y. things I wanted to explore but had zero time to do so--next time, Dodge, you can count on it.  Including your feedlots, of which I also got no pics.  I guess when you've seen 10,000 cows, you've seen them all.

The wind turbines just blow me away (sorry).  Seriously--the juxtaposition of the timeless wide-open sky and prairie against these huge, stark-white ultra-modern techie machines stops me in my tracks every time.  And there are some serious wind turbine farms in southwest Kansas.  I met no fewer than 20 "oversize" semi-truck loads on the highways coming and going, hauling more turbine pieces to that part of the world.

Milo (grain sorghum, to you scientific types) harvest was in full swing in that part of Kansas, and the leaves on the trees were just turning, which made for glowing color everywhere you looked.  The old abandoned grain elevators spoke of a simpler time, and I had visions of my farming grandfathers in my head. But, please, someone--how do you pronounce Offerle?

I'd heard about Pawnee Rock most of my adult life, so when you drive right by the sign that says "Pawnee Rock, 1 mile north", you have to drive 1 mile north.  My first thought, unfortunately, was "that's a rock?"  But, you know, when you're there, you do it all, right?  Because you don't know when you might be back...right?  So I drove up the "rock", parked and wandered around a bit, finally climbing the circular iron staircase to the viewing platform.  And, boy, was I glad.  I can not quite explain what that sweeping expanse of land and sky does to my heart.  It's such a contradiction of fullness and emptiness that my brain seems to suspend all conscious thought for a minute.

I sadly (twice!) zipped right by Cheyenne Bottoms and the new Wetland Education Center building just northeast of Great Bend.  I simply did not have time to do it justice, which means (darn) a trip to plan and look forward to sometime in the future.  And the Smoky Hills around Ellsworth deserve some appreciation, though I need to figure out how to actually get exploration access to a piece of property.

Thanks for letting me share my visions with you. Until next time!  Southwest Kansas Sights

The Power of Prairie Walks

I had a completely free day.  It felt strange, and I took a whole hour or so to settle on what I wanted to do.  Which was go back to the same prairie I've already hiked.  Really?  You've seen one prairie, you've seen them all, right?  But this time, I would be alone.  Being single, with grown children living far away, would make one think I have lots of alone time (and, yes, I have infinitely more alone time than a lot of people), but somehow I always find myself craving REALLY alone time.  You know--those rare periods when you can let go of the clock and people and stuff and think of nothing but whatever your mind leads you to, for as long as you can stand it.  It turns out a 4.4 mile prairie hike over 3 hours was about it for me.

There were quite a few cars in the parking area when I arrived at the prairie.  Great, I thought.  No alone time here. The first half-mile or so is mostly uphill, so I didn't really have the energy to fuss about the crowd.  I took my time, tried to focus on only what was in front of my face, and paced my breathing.  And had too many weird conversations in my head with people who weren't there.  Stop, Kitra.  Let go, just get to the top.  An older couple was there, taking in the view.  I let them get ahead of me quite a ways before I started on again. The next half mile was full of young families coming the wrong way down the trail (I don't know that there really is a wrong way, but isn't counter-clockwise just against the rules)?  Anyway, everyone had to jostle and step just off the trail to let folks pass.  

I continued on, and my mind slowly started to let go.  I stopped, several times, and just looked. Breathed.  Took more pictures.  Listened.  Then moved on down the trail.  The sun was warm on my shoulders, and I was glad I'd grabbed my straw hat for cover.  My new stainless steel, bpa-free water bottle clanked in my backpack.  Note for next time--no ice.  Plan ahead, fill with water, and refrigerate. Voila.  

The trail diverges, and Robert Frost must have been with me, because I took the one less traveled, which turned out to be the best decision I'd made in days.  The trail was completely deserted, except for me. As I walked, slightly worried that I might get a sunburn or poison ivy, the whiny conversations in my head started to move somewhere else.  There were still conversations, but they were with myself.  The self that is always there, but sometimes gets buried beneath fears and self-judgement.  I found myself actually seeing and appreciating what was in front of me.  And smiling.  It felt good.  

I realized I was hungry, and started looking for a shady spot on the trail to sit and eat the cheese and tomatoes I'd brought.  I plopped down on the gravel trail, and worked through my stash, hurrying a little at the end because I thought I heard voices from behind me on the trail. I realized I didn't want my solitude to end.  I moved onward, then, through the woods, enjoying the shade and noticing small things, like the tiny lizards that skittered across the trail and back into the grass.  And that's when I realized I was OK again.  The conversations in my head had stopped, or at least faded quietly away into the background, and I was ready to be done.  My pace quickened, as I knew I was close to the end of the trail, which also meant I ran into a whole lot of people again.  But I was smiling at them this time, and saying hello, because I was completely happy to be where I was, right then, at that moment.    

August Prairie Walk