Went to McDowell's Tomb WMA (Jefferson County NE) today but found out that I could not access the cave that rests nestled into the cliff side overlooking Rose Creek. From the moment I left the truck, I was hoping to find somewhere to set up the fold-open chair and just sit back to enjoy being in this quiet hidden place for the afternoon, so our excursion began with the chair and its carrying bag draped over my shoulder. We took the usual path, over the concrete bridge, through the locked "no moterized vehicles" gate, and to the right path, so as to detour around the field of clover that made a few acres "barrier" between the access point and the bluffs beyond. We walked on through the trees that made a total canopy over what was supposed to be the maintenance access road, and along the way, I had to pick my steps carefully so as not to gather too much heavy mud that would become a burden on my cloth sneakers. This part of the walk was the easy part.
Once we turned towards our first option, that is; towards the cave, the weeds grew thick and the path began to disappear as expected. But by the time we got to the sandstone cliffs that pinch the path narrower beside the creek, the path began to get distinctly more treacherous and muddy. It had rained earlier this morning, but cleared up nicely for the afternoon drive that got us here. And though I don't know how much rain had fallen, it became quite obvious that the creek level was much higher, and more rapid than it usually runs. After getting so close to the cave that we could view the entrance from a couple hundred feet away, I found it impossible to go further in my tennis shoes. At this point, and for several feet, the path takes a hard sloping angle that makes it impossible for a good foot hold on the slippery mud of the creek bank. So I turned my attention up the mossy and rocky slope of the steep hill and contemplated our next option for where to find a place of restful repose.
Instead of going back, we decided to go up the "moderately" sloped embankment and through its woody and brushy undergrowth, so as to reach the hill top that marks the south edges of this WMA property. From past excursions, I knew the hill top grasses were much easier to navigate than the predominant weeds and terrain of the lower creek bottom. So we climbed the steep hill side and avoided much of the brambles and poison ivy quite well.
We finally got above most of the thick tree growth and found the short prairie grasses and bright blue skies of the upper reaches surrounding us. Once we got to the boundary fence, it was easy to look out over the countryside for many miles in most directions. I opened out the chair, so I could sit and ponder this vista, but it soon became an issue of where to find both shade and a good view. The afternoon was bright and hot, and the morning rains left this area with a legacy of humidity. There wasn't much of a breeze, but when it blew, it was quite refreshing to sit there and relax beneath bright skies and a few wispy clouds moving silently overhead.
As I sat and relaxed, the physical landscape began to melt away into a similar topography, but certainly, a more emotionally defined one. Once this reference point was achieved, I could start to "feel" all the entities in my vibration who participated in the trip. The sensation was now, much better than from when we first set out on our hike. I began to see them engaged with various wildlife activities, like observing the shapes of boughs and limbs, textures of grasses and tree bark alike. Contours and the whole "atmosphere" of this little resting spot seemed to dominate everyone's attention. Yet, to each, in their own little way.
Eventually, I could see Angelica, Cindy, Denise and Peter "over there" being preoccupied with some lichen covered stones that jutted out from the ground. It seemed that most of their attention was upon a small cactus cluster growing nestled in at the edges of the stone. Nicole and Noellen were on the opposite side of me talking with Cerise and pointing to places "up and down" in the proximity of a nearby cedar tree at the top of the steeply inclined woodland scrub we recently stepped out from. They seemed quite absorbed in it, giving me the impression that they were like three foremen on a construction sight discussing something with "architectural" value. As the hillside dropped away from my vantage point in the lawn chair, and the three girls seemed to be at a lower level than me, I could not definitively say whether they were discussing the flora just in front of them, or the whole majestic view I was able to see beyond them.
I began to hear a melody rising, which seemed to originate in the whole air of this environment. In a little while, I could finally pinpoint that its origin was coming from where Angelica, Terra and Manu were "hovering". As the song began to resonate in my head, it seemed they were trying to compose one about the natural wilderness we were all immersed within. At the time, the words were quite distinguishable and the melody was slow, kind of sweet, but hauntingly sad as well. Before the song was done it transformed from being about this landscape into one about the landscape I would see on another day. Intrigued with the changing sentiment, I pressed them to say what their song was actually about. At that moment, Manu proclaimed that it was a song of welcoming me to my heaven when that day comes.
My memory may be failing a bit, as to the substance of their words, but this recap of our experience was made long after returning from our little nature hike. With that being said, these words seem to be what echo in my mind, many hours later, as I try to reconstruct it:
"Beneath you, the landscape falls away,
But its only heaven that calls on this day.
Rise up now, for your return to home.
For no longer must your spirit roam.
Your homelands wait in your peaceful place.
No more earthly obligations to chase.
Come home to see us in beauty and grace.
And hold us in your thoughts, just in case.
But we will be there amid the clouds,
When the veil between worlds no longer enshrouds.
We will greet you with all of our love,
Oh, father dear, in heaven above."
Everybody began to "chime in" at one verse or at another. The song was being composed by everyone in the group as if each one was taking a turn in constructing its rhyme. With this song filling the whole mood of the moment, I couldn't help it but to get up and move through as much of the vibration as I could. So, even as the song was being sung, I picked up the lawn chair and we began to move to the "other" location that I would never omit when we come here; the plateau where the cattail pond can be found. To get there, we had to traverse the highest part of the WMA, and walk along a ridge between the steep landscape to our left and the property border fence line at the hill top on our right.
After several stops in the periphery of the pond, I finally found a most pleasant resting place to set up "camp". It was easy to feel who the old geezer was and who were the jubilant youths in this party of explorers. No one else lost their stride - even as I settled back into my lawn chair to watch. Then, as their melody receded from my mind, I could tell it was because my little entourage had become preoccupied with other things. I settled in and let the surrounding environment stimulate my perception as well. The kids bounded down to comb the water's edge. In what seemed to be one fluid motion of "junior explorers" spreading out along the shore line, it became obvious that their new objective was to look for snails, turtles, frogs, or whatever else was there, that I couldn't see.
Eventually, the forms of Cerise and Noellen took shape on the far side of this tiny hillside pond. They were standing on a rather small "delta" at water's edge, speaking to each other with animated hand motions and intent facial expressions, of things I knew not.
I noticed the "larger" Nicole and "smaller" Manu, were sitting on the low dirt surface of the dam that doubles as an "ATV" access route or roadway. They were near the erosion control overflow pipe that juts out of the water near the middle point of the dam and seemed to be quite comfortable with each other's company. I could see the two beside each other with knees pulled up and crossed arms holding them in place. I watched as Nicole leans towards Manu and bumps shoulders with her as if in sharing an "insider's" joke. Even as their intimate conversation continued, I could tell they were also watching Peter, Denise and Angelica combing the water's edge just a little bit away. They appeared to be helping locate the movements of tadpoles or minnows that darted out from hiding places amid the aquatic plants in this clear water, and then point them out ever so often.
Nearest to me, I could see Terra standing on a small island between a clump of cattails, consisting of no more than three or four plants with a combined count of a dozen or more fronds between them. She had them parted with her elbows out and she was leaning forward beckoning with her hands. The tuft of ground that she stood upon was sticking up from the water, but it was no larger than what could accommodate an average child's two feet when they are heel to heel; a really small area. She was only a "jump" away from the shore, and I watched her coaxing little Cindy to step off the bank to go wading just to see what it feels like to squish the shallow pond mud between her toes.
It was peaceful and serene to watch children being so absorbed in nature and with each other's company, and I lamented the fact that such a scene is so rare in common physical places. Images of empty playgrounds, and backyard swing sets whose only movements are usually witnessed with nothing more than a silent breeze, came hauntingly to mind. But here, I felt blessed to think my senses could bridge the harsh physical environment and be immersed in the gentle bliss of companions and camaraderie, of children being able to invent their own adventures and seek out new discoveries no matter where they might end up being.
Yet, even as I contemplated all of that, something in the hill side trees caught my attention. Was it just the breeze, or was it something else? I lifted my gaze to the many crooked boughs of the predominantly mature oaks dispersed around this place, and I noticed that every "gnarly" limb had long bare lengths that extended from sturdy trunks to thick clusters of leaves as they sprawled to their outer reaches. I considered that I didn't know the difference between a white, or a burr oak, but I did imagine that there was a lot of empty "real estate" upon those branches that could offer shelter and support to any number of woodland creatures. With that thought in mind, I was led to discover yet a couple of other denizens of the astral world that surrounded us in this particular locale.
At first, I saw a flighty little bird zoom in and alight near a fairly predominant brown lump that was nestled up against the tree trunk, on a branch only about ten feet or so off the ground. The bird wasn't much larger than a sparrow, but it was much brighter, with colors of orange, yellow and green. It seemed to pay particular attention to the lump, beside which it had landed, but only briefly before it flew off again. In a moment, the bird came flitting back, targeting the same exact spot. And this is what got my attention.
The large brown lump was just sitting there like a big furry ball. But as the bird moved in as close as it could get, the brown lump changed position. It lifted a head with a somewhat long snout, a dark nose, and a white "mask" around dark, attentive eyes. At its other end, a relatively gigantic, and furry tail swished, then bristled, then stiffened into a momentary upright position that showed it was as long as the body of the animal wielding it - if not longer. In the next instant, the tail relaxed and began to wag as if it were happy or excited about something - perhaps it was for the company of a little feathered friend.
I'd have to say that the nearest physical world creature that resembled this brown furry thing, in my mind, would have to be a lemur. It was bigger than a squirrel; narrower than a raccoon, as sleek as a ferret, but with a "smiling" face, such as could be imagined with a few species of domesticated dogs.
The furry thing looked as if it were just awakening from a good slumber and was trying to stretch, even as the little bird moved in right beside a front leg. From where I sat, it looked like the bird was nuzzling the furry animal beneath its left arm appendage and breast. It also looked like the furry creature was enjoying all the attention that it was getting. In fact, it didn't seem to even mind that I was perhaps, no more than fifty feet, or so, away, and staring at it intently.
In the next instant, I realized that Nicole was standing beside me, and her abrupt presence might have surprised me more if I hadn't fixated on the funny sounding comment that she had made.
She said, "They're tree dogs ... And it's with a pet bird."
To which, I responded out loud with a chuckle; "A dog with a pet bird ? Now, that's got to be pretty uncommon."
I felt Nicole place her crossed hands lightly on my shoulder and lean in cautiously to be closer to my ears so as to whisper. She didn't want to disturb the two animals in the tree, and she replied with a quiet falter in her voice, "What...? No silly; its not a 'pet' bird ... It's a bird that 'pets'. Pet is what they call the bird for what it does. The more fur you got, the more friendlier they get."
I chuckled again, realizing now, what she meant. And I suppose I could have inquired further as to who the "they" were, that she was referring. Instead, I opted to remain quiet as we watched the tree dog uncurl itself, and wind down the tree trunk and out of sight. Its "pet bird" had already flown off for one last time.
After four hours at this WMA, enjoying the tranquility and adventure, it was time for us to leave as well. We packed it up and hiked back to the truck for departure.
Once we turned towards our first option, that is; towards the cave, the weeds grew thick and the path began to disappear as expected. But by the time we got to the sandstone cliffs that pinch the path narrower beside the creek, the path began to get distinctly more treacherous and muddy. It had rained earlier this morning, but cleared up nicely for the afternoon drive that got us here. And though I don't know how much rain had fallen, it became quite obvious that the creek level was much higher, and more rapid than it usually runs. After getting so close to the cave that we could view the entrance from a couple hundred feet away, I found it impossible to go further in my tennis shoes. At this point, and for several feet, the path takes a hard sloping angle that makes it impossible for a good foot hold on the slippery mud of the creek bank. So I turned my attention up the mossy and rocky slope of the steep hill and contemplated our next option for where to find a place of restful repose.
Instead of going back, we decided to go up the "moderately" sloped embankment and through its woody and brushy undergrowth, so as to reach the hill top that marks the south edges of this WMA property. From past excursions, I knew the hill top grasses were much easier to navigate than the predominant weeds and terrain of the lower creek bottom. So we climbed the steep hill side and avoided much of the brambles and poison ivy quite well.
We finally got above most of the thick tree growth and found the short prairie grasses and bright blue skies of the upper reaches surrounding us. Once we got to the boundary fence, it was easy to look out over the countryside for many miles in most directions. I opened out the chair, so I could sit and ponder this vista, but it soon became an issue of where to find both shade and a good view. The afternoon was bright and hot, and the morning rains left this area with a legacy of humidity. There wasn't much of a breeze, but when it blew, it was quite refreshing to sit there and relax beneath bright skies and a few wispy clouds moving silently overhead.
As I sat and relaxed, the physical landscape began to melt away into a similar topography, but certainly, a more emotionally defined one. Once this reference point was achieved, I could start to "feel" all the entities in my vibration who participated in the trip. The sensation was now, much better than from when we first set out on our hike. I began to see them engaged with various wildlife activities, like observing the shapes of boughs and limbs, textures of grasses and tree bark alike. Contours and the whole "atmosphere" of this little resting spot seemed to dominate everyone's attention. Yet, to each, in their own little way.
Eventually, I could see Angelica, Cindy, Denise and Peter "over there" being preoccupied with some lichen covered stones that jutted out from the ground. It seemed that most of their attention was upon a small cactus cluster growing nestled in at the edges of the stone. Nicole and Noellen were on the opposite side of me talking with Cerise and pointing to places "up and down" in the proximity of a nearby cedar tree at the top of the steeply inclined woodland scrub we recently stepped out from. They seemed quite absorbed in it, giving me the impression that they were like three foremen on a construction sight discussing something with "architectural" value. As the hillside dropped away from my vantage point in the lawn chair, and the three girls seemed to be at a lower level than me, I could not definitively say whether they were discussing the flora just in front of them, or the whole majestic view I was able to see beyond them.
I began to hear a melody rising, which seemed to originate in the whole air of this environment. In a little while, I could finally pinpoint that its origin was coming from where Angelica, Terra and Manu were "hovering". As the song began to resonate in my head, it seemed they were trying to compose one about the natural wilderness we were all immersed within. At the time, the words were quite distinguishable and the melody was slow, kind of sweet, but hauntingly sad as well. Before the song was done it transformed from being about this landscape into one about the landscape I would see on another day. Intrigued with the changing sentiment, I pressed them to say what their song was actually about. At that moment, Manu proclaimed that it was a song of welcoming me to my heaven when that day comes.
My memory may be failing a bit, as to the substance of their words, but this recap of our experience was made long after returning from our little nature hike. With that being said, these words seem to be what echo in my mind, many hours later, as I try to reconstruct it:
"Beneath you, the landscape falls away,
But its only heaven that calls on this day.
Rise up now, for your return to home.
For no longer must your spirit roam.
Your homelands wait in your peaceful place.
No more earthly obligations to chase.
Come home to see us in beauty and grace.
And hold us in your thoughts, just in case.
But we will be there amid the clouds,
When the veil between worlds no longer enshrouds.
We will greet you with all of our love,
Oh, father dear, in heaven above."
Everybody began to "chime in" at one verse or at another. The song was being composed by everyone in the group as if each one was taking a turn in constructing its rhyme. With this song filling the whole mood of the moment, I couldn't help it but to get up and move through as much of the vibration as I could. So, even as the song was being sung, I picked up the lawn chair and we began to move to the "other" location that I would never omit when we come here; the plateau where the cattail pond can be found. To get there, we had to traverse the highest part of the WMA, and walk along a ridge between the steep landscape to our left and the property border fence line at the hill top on our right.
After several stops in the periphery of the pond, I finally found a most pleasant resting place to set up "camp". It was easy to feel who the old geezer was and who were the jubilant youths in this party of explorers. No one else lost their stride - even as I settled back into my lawn chair to watch. Then, as their melody receded from my mind, I could tell it was because my little entourage had become preoccupied with other things. I settled in and let the surrounding environment stimulate my perception as well. The kids bounded down to comb the water's edge. In what seemed to be one fluid motion of "junior explorers" spreading out along the shore line, it became obvious that their new objective was to look for snails, turtles, frogs, or whatever else was there, that I couldn't see.
Eventually, the forms of Cerise and Noellen took shape on the far side of this tiny hillside pond. They were standing on a rather small "delta" at water's edge, speaking to each other with animated hand motions and intent facial expressions, of things I knew not.
I noticed the "larger" Nicole and "smaller" Manu, were sitting on the low dirt surface of the dam that doubles as an "ATV" access route or roadway. They were near the erosion control overflow pipe that juts out of the water near the middle point of the dam and seemed to be quite comfortable with each other's company. I could see the two beside each other with knees pulled up and crossed arms holding them in place. I watched as Nicole leans towards Manu and bumps shoulders with her as if in sharing an "insider's" joke. Even as their intimate conversation continued, I could tell they were also watching Peter, Denise and Angelica combing the water's edge just a little bit away. They appeared to be helping locate the movements of tadpoles or minnows that darted out from hiding places amid the aquatic plants in this clear water, and then point them out ever so often.
Nearest to me, I could see Terra standing on a small island between a clump of cattails, consisting of no more than three or four plants with a combined count of a dozen or more fronds between them. She had them parted with her elbows out and she was leaning forward beckoning with her hands. The tuft of ground that she stood upon was sticking up from the water, but it was no larger than what could accommodate an average child's two feet when they are heel to heel; a really small area. She was only a "jump" away from the shore, and I watched her coaxing little Cindy to step off the bank to go wading just to see what it feels like to squish the shallow pond mud between her toes.
It was peaceful and serene to watch children being so absorbed in nature and with each other's company, and I lamented the fact that such a scene is so rare in common physical places. Images of empty playgrounds, and backyard swing sets whose only movements are usually witnessed with nothing more than a silent breeze, came hauntingly to mind. But here, I felt blessed to think my senses could bridge the harsh physical environment and be immersed in the gentle bliss of companions and camaraderie, of children being able to invent their own adventures and seek out new discoveries no matter where they might end up being.
Yet, even as I contemplated all of that, something in the hill side trees caught my attention. Was it just the breeze, or was it something else? I lifted my gaze to the many crooked boughs of the predominantly mature oaks dispersed around this place, and I noticed that every "gnarly" limb had long bare lengths that extended from sturdy trunks to thick clusters of leaves as they sprawled to their outer reaches. I considered that I didn't know the difference between a white, or a burr oak, but I did imagine that there was a lot of empty "real estate" upon those branches that could offer shelter and support to any number of woodland creatures. With that thought in mind, I was led to discover yet a couple of other denizens of the astral world that surrounded us in this particular locale.
At first, I saw a flighty little bird zoom in and alight near a fairly predominant brown lump that was nestled up against the tree trunk, on a branch only about ten feet or so off the ground. The bird wasn't much larger than a sparrow, but it was much brighter, with colors of orange, yellow and green. It seemed to pay particular attention to the lump, beside which it had landed, but only briefly before it flew off again. In a moment, the bird came flitting back, targeting the same exact spot. And this is what got my attention.
The large brown lump was just sitting there like a big furry ball. But as the bird moved in as close as it could get, the brown lump changed position. It lifted a head with a somewhat long snout, a dark nose, and a white "mask" around dark, attentive eyes. At its other end, a relatively gigantic, and furry tail swished, then bristled, then stiffened into a momentary upright position that showed it was as long as the body of the animal wielding it - if not longer. In the next instant, the tail relaxed and began to wag as if it were happy or excited about something - perhaps it was for the company of a little feathered friend.
I'd have to say that the nearest physical world creature that resembled this brown furry thing, in my mind, would have to be a lemur. It was bigger than a squirrel; narrower than a raccoon, as sleek as a ferret, but with a "smiling" face, such as could be imagined with a few species of domesticated dogs.
The furry thing looked as if it were just awakening from a good slumber and was trying to stretch, even as the little bird moved in right beside a front leg. From where I sat, it looked like the bird was nuzzling the furry animal beneath its left arm appendage and breast. It also looked like the furry creature was enjoying all the attention that it was getting. In fact, it didn't seem to even mind that I was perhaps, no more than fifty feet, or so, away, and staring at it intently.
In the next instant, I realized that Nicole was standing beside me, and her abrupt presence might have surprised me more if I hadn't fixated on the funny sounding comment that she had made.
She said, "They're tree dogs ... And it's with a pet bird."
To which, I responded out loud with a chuckle; "A dog with a pet bird ? Now, that's got to be pretty uncommon."
I felt Nicole place her crossed hands lightly on my shoulder and lean in cautiously to be closer to my ears so as to whisper. She didn't want to disturb the two animals in the tree, and she replied with a quiet falter in her voice, "What...? No silly; its not a 'pet' bird ... It's a bird that 'pets'. Pet is what they call the bird for what it does. The more fur you got, the more friendlier they get."
I chuckled again, realizing now, what she meant. And I suppose I could have inquired further as to who the "they" were, that she was referring. Instead, I opted to remain quiet as we watched the tree dog uncurl itself, and wind down the tree trunk and out of sight. Its "pet bird" had already flown off for one last time.
After four hours at this WMA, enjoying the tranquility and adventure, it was time for us to leave as well. We packed it up and hiked back to the truck for departure.