I arrived at DeGray Lake Resort State Park (#34) mid-afternoon after kayaking at Daisy State Park that morning. The unseasonable excessive heat warning meant that I kept my activities to a minimum, and I hope to return to the park in cooler times when I’ve finished all my other visits. Knowing the forecast in advance, I booked a ticket for the sunset cruise on the lake and made a reservation to stay in the wonderfully air conditioned lodge. Before my visit, many people told me about the beauty of this large park and I pulled onto the property with high hopes for getting at least some exploring in. The park centers around another huge human-made lake, this one created by damming the Caddo River for all the usual reasons: flood control, hydroelectric power, water source, and recreation.
After checking into the lodge and cooling off in my lovely room, I still had about 90 minutes to wait for the sunset cruise. I decided to check out the 1-mile Island Trail that loops around next to the resort. Staying in the shade and cutting my hiking speed in half and then in half again while drinking a full 24-ounce bottle of water in the 40 minutes I spent in the trees made for an enjoyable walk in the woods. I got to see my second armadillo of the day (though no picture this time), watch an itty bitty lizard scamper up a tree, and identify a white slant line moth resting on a pile of pine needles. And, of course, I got to spend time with some of my favorite beings: the trees.
Finally, it was time to drive over to the marina for the cruise. At the dock, Scott, our park interpreter, met us and got us settled on the large pontoon boat. In all, 16 of us enjoyed a little bit of respite from the heat as we motored out of the “dead slow no wake” zone. When we sped up event more, all of us grinned as the wind whipped the sweat from our faces. Suddenly, Scott cut the motor and called out “bald eagle! pointing to our left. That was our first sighting of several of the majestic birds soaring around the shoreline. At one point, Scott stopped us beside this gorgeous “island.” With the setting sun lighting up the variations of color in the sandstone I fell a lit bit in love with this “tip of a Ouachita mountain” jutting up in the aftermath of the lake creation. Here, you can skip the hike to the top of a mountain and just sail over to enjoy the view.
Now, without further adieu, the sun began its slow dip into the western waters of the lake. We’d been headed into the path of the red ball our whole trip and the show did not disappoint. The heat and humidity, plus all the dust in the air from our recent drought, meant yellow, red, orange on full blast.
I set out for Daisy State Park, park #33, knowing that the everlasting summer heat was not giving up this year. Nevertheless, I persevered and got in a good morning’s kayak on Lake Greeson. This park, like so many of the “lake” parks, draws mostly campers and folx intent on fishing or boating. I paddled in the shade near the shoreline (I do not kayak out in the depths when alone) and watched people in bass boats cast their chances into the clear water. As a beginner kayaker, the fact that the state parks rent kayaks, including the life jacket, has opened up a whole new way for me to interact with the landscape on these trips. Seeing the lake & shore at nearly eye-level and slowing down to a paddle pace means I see what I might miss when hiking a lakeside trail.
On this trip, I pulled my kayak down from the wooden storage structure with a huge thunk. Park staff stored the solo kayaks above the doubles, perhaps because of the weight of the doubles, but for someone traveling alone who is “height challenged” I was glad no one was around to watch my folly. Once on the water, though, I settled in and let the kayak glide into the shadows. For the first half of my outing, glass calm water meant easy going and the ability to peer down at the silt-covered rocky bottom. The occasional wake from the fishing boats rippled beneath me and meant a few extra dips of the paddle to keep me off shore. From the trees above me, I listened to Carolina chickadees and crows. I startled up one great blue heron and it spread those gorgeous wings (I always imagine them so disgruntled by my interruption) to sail across the lake.
As I moved along, I took my time, poking into each cove and stopping to snap pictures of countless trees, exposed roots, and tumbles of sandstone. On one such stop near the end of my route, nose of the kayak wedged between two rocks to hold me there while I took pictures, I heard a snuffling among the dry leaves. A closer look revealed an armadillo! Say what you will of the small armored creatures, if you ever get the chance to see one up close and study the delicate features of its face, I dare you not to be charmed. When the squat creature waddled off into the brambles, I pushed off and headed back to the dock.
Lake Greeson, like nearly all the lakes in Arkansas, was created by the Army Corps of Engineers. The need for flood control and hydroelectric power helped shape Arkansas into “the natural state” as it stands today. Given our ever erratic weather, I’m grateful for the flood control, but whenever I’m on one of these human-created lakes, I tend to drift into wondering about what rests beneath me. What remnants of the pre-flooded world would remain could I walk the bottom and dig?
Just outside of Magnolia, Logoly, my 32nd park, charmed me. First things first, though, let’s tackle the pronunciation. Of all the parks, this one had me stumped. Before arriving, I kept saying log-ollie. Nope. It’s low-go-lie. Three families shared ownership of the land now comprising the park: the Longinos, Goodes, and Lyles. In the 1940s they sold the land to the Boy Scouts of America, and the BSA christened it Camp Logoly, slightly tweaking the pronunciation of the syllables derived from the family names. In the late 60s, the BSA left and sold the land to the Nature Conservancy, and in 1973, the State Parks system acquired it for the purpose of establishing an environmental education park. A half century later, I’m here to say they’ve done a wonderful job!
The forest rules this park. While not virgin timber, the woodlands on the parks acreage comprise some of the last old-growth forest in Arkansas. In fact, I learned the difference while at the park. In the past, I might have used the two descriptions interchangeably. Virgin remains obvious, never cut. Old growth means it might have been cut some way back in the day, but the forest has evaded massive cuts and re-growth for the timber industry. The park provides three trails as entry points to experiencing the magnificent trees and all the supporting cast members.
If you have any questions about the forest ecosystem, or you have kids interested, this is the park for you. The visitor center provides great displays and interactive models. At other parks in timber country, I found many displays championing the timber industry in Arkansas. As I read about the conservation of this land, I felt relieved. It turns out that we can thank Magnesia Springs (also located in the park) as early tourism to the site meant the land received protection from before the turn of the 20th century. The park also takes environmentalism seriously as shown by the “green building” status of the visitor center. Then, out on the Crane’s Fly Trail, I found one of my favorite spots, the “dead tree at work” stop. Park staff built a wooden bridge over a dead tree going about the business of decomposing. There is even a big “do not disturb” sign which made me smile.
While I didn’t choose the longer, 2-mile Spring Branch Trail, I enjoyed every moment I spent poking around Crane’s Fly and the offshoot to Magnesia Springs and Salt Springs. Being on the trails in April meant I saw some pretty spring colors in the flowers. Some that I noted: Carolina vetch, pacific pea, and prairie phlox, along with blooming red buckeye (a new favorite). Here’s a picture of the phlox with a photobombing inchworm for the joy of it. On the trail to Salt Springs, I stopped short at the sight of an all black dragonfly which turned out to be, in fact, an ebony jewelwing damselfly. I couldn’t get a good pic of that one, so you’ll have to click the link to see an image.
Next up: ??? I’ll be taking a break from posting as I reorganize my park plans. With 20 parks left to visit, the majority in northeast Arkansas, and a scattering left in the Ouachitas, I am reading and planning. We’ve got a massive heatwave headed our way, so I’ll be keeping to the air conditioning for the time being, working on writing and revising. Until then, thanks for reading!
Park #31, Conway Cemetery earns the distinction of “most obscure” in my list so far. So obscure, in fact, that there is no traditional state park greeting sign.
Oh, that I wish the park name referenced Conway the city. Nope. This park consists of the family cemetery of Arkansas’ first governor, James Sevier Conway. To find it, you drive nearly as far southwest in the state as you can, down highway 29 to Bradley and hook west on 160. When you reach the township of Walnut Hill, you turn south again for a couple of miles until you see the familiar brown state sign for parks, wildlife management areas, and such. Turn left there and enter a tunnel of green as the trees dome over the cracked asphalt of the drive into the cemetery. In .25 miles, you arrive at your destination and the cemetery opens up before you, nestled in a nook of a large open pasture.
In terms of sights and activities, the park is simple. Several placards offer information on the governor and his family. The tombstones show how hand chiseled marble and granite age over nearly two centuries. And the black metal fence enclosing graves and trees makes for a picturesque moment. I did walk among the graves, but the number of ant hills that ran rampant through the grass meant I kept my eyes on my feet most of the time until I found a safe spot to stop. Overall, the place gave off the air of being seldom visited, which left me sad.
While I’ve read about Arkansas achieving statehood and its early governance, I didn’t have any real knowledge of Governor Conway beyond his name before my visit. Nothing I learned surprised me, but again, I was struck by how the state park system handles issues of slavery. In this case, the Conway family lived on a plantation (now long gone, no buildings remain). Conway came to Arkansas from Tennessee as a land surveyor and “began acquiring what would become a large cotton plantation” in Lafayette County in 1823. Eventually President Andrew Jackson commissioned him to survey Arkansas’ southern boundary. When Arkansas became a state in 1836 he was elected governor and served one, 4-year term. He then returned to southwest Arkansas and established the plantation called Walnut Hill. The township still carries the name.
In all of the information, I read the words “cotton” and “plantation” and of course I understood that meant slavery. However, the only mention made of the people who were actually enslaved by the governor occurs in the paragraph about his death. “His will … divided his estate (including the estate’s enslaved population) among his wife and six living children.” There is no mention of a cemetery for those slaves who died on the plantation. I couldn’t help but wonder where their remains might be resting (in unrest?).
In 1994, the last extended Conway family members to be buried here were interred and the cemetery no longer operates. Visiting the park took little time, but the information of the Conway family mirrored by the silence of the families of slaves left a definite impression.
Visiting park #30, Arkansas Post Museum, turned out to be quite an interesting couple of hours. Prior to my visit, I learned that this park marks the time when the French first established trading posts near the Mississippi River in the late 17th century (marking the beginning of European colonization of Arkansas). It was my understanding that the state park would be at the location of the first trading post, and that turned out to be only somewhat accurate. Fascinating history unfolded before my eyes.
But, first, this park is a small complex of 5 buildings, only open Wednesday – Sunday. When I visited, I did not meet any park interpreters, although there was one woman doing what looked like office work in a small administrative building (not park of the exhibit). She pointed me to the first building (where I self-inked my park passport stamp), a replica of a house from the 18th/19th centuries, filled with artifacts and displays. From there, I read placards and followed a brick path through the property.
The museum displays provided quite a bit of information about living on the frontier with limited resources. I wound through the house and looked at furniture, clothing, and household goods; however, some of the items in the first building were also from the early 20th century, so I got a little confused. Outside the house, a separate kitchen stands. The displays teach about the necessity of a separate kitchen for 1) fire safety and 2) temperature control of the main house during the blazing hot summers. Looking at the wood-fired stove and the cast-iron cooking tools reaffirmed what I already knew about myself: I was born in the right time. There is no way I would have survived on the frontier. (My eyesight alone would have meant the end of me at an early age!)
Just past the kitchen building I got my next surprise at the park. I saw a tall structure with stairs leading up to a platform. The silhouette looked vaguely familiar, but it took reading the signage to realize the park features a replica gallows. I confess that I found this a bit incongruous with the rest of the displays.
I continued past the daunting example of “frontier justice” and spent more time looking through the Refeld-Hinman Log Cabin, a “two-pen dogtrot cabin built from square-hewn oak logs 4 to 9 inches thick.” (pens = rooms, both off the central breezeway). The park showcases one of the few remaining original dogtrot cabins in southeast Arkansas, although it had to be moved from its original location.
Following the path onward, I found a giant metal building that contained all kinds of displays from early European settlement periods to the 20th century. While I couldn’t find a clear reason some of the displays were housed in this particular park, they were all interesting. The whole time I meandered through the park buildings I kept puzzling over one thing: why wasn’t the park closer to the Mississippi River, or the Arkansas River for that matter? From my previous reading, I understood that the first trading post was established near the confluence of the Mississippi and the Arkansas Rivers.
Finally, I found my answer in a park sign. Here’s the reality. In 1686, Frenchman Henri de Tonti established the first European trading and military post at the confluence of the two rivers. Over the next 133 years, the post moved around due to flooding. By 1819 it had relocated a bit farther up the Arkansas River. When the state parks system got its start in the 1920s, the legislature established Arkansas Post (on its 1819 location on the banks of the Arkansas River) as the 3rd official state park. This made perfect sense to me, but the 1819 location is several miles east of the current state park. It turns out that in 1960 the US Congress authorized the National Park Service to take over the 1819 site, dissolving the site’s identity as a state park. The Arkansas Post National Memorial now commemorates the “original” post. The citizens of Arkansas County bought land 2 miles down the road from the national memorial and established a museum there. In 1997, the “new” site became Arkansas’ 50th state park. So tangled and fascinating!
And yes, I did go visit the national memorial, but since that’s not park of the poem project, I’ll end my tale here.
Many things went into making my visit to Cane Creek, park 29, special, but the one that leapt out at me from the visitor center on my arrival was the fact that the park straddles two of Arkansas’ six geological divisions: the Gulf Coastal Plain and the Mississippi Alluvial Plain. The ancient shores of the Gulf of Mexico once stretched into what is now southern Arkansas, creating the sandy loam which is home to pine trees for miles and miles. In the eastern portion of the state, the repeated course changes of the Mississippi River, and several major tributaries, cut through the sand over geologic time and deposited the fertile soil of the delta. The park land sits on the far eastern edge of the coastal plain, while Cane Creek Lake occupies the alluvial plain. This thrilled the landform geek inside me to no end.
On this visit, I tried out a new accommodation. I chose the Rent-an-RV for my two-night stay. While I did rattle around inside by myself (the permanent RV sleeps six), I also had access to an awesome wooden deck with a table and chairs. Given how beautiful the weather remained for my entire visit, I ate out there for every meal.
While the park mainly focuses on the lake, with fishing being a primary draw, the first night there, I walked out to the Delta View Trail (2.5 miles), which shares the first mile of the 15.5 mile multi-use Cane Creek trail. As with most of the parks I visited this past spring, a recent rain left the trail a bit muddy, but that didn’t deter me from stretching my legs. Along the way, I took in the swaths of red buckeye in bloom. The night ended with an interpreter-led frog call outing. We only heard one of the dozen-plus species that night, but when the green frog (lithobates clamitans) echo back the call the interpreter broadcasted, all of us jumped and shouted.
On day two, I got brave. I rented a kayak and took to the lake. I do have some limited experience kayaking, but I had never gone solo before. Cane Creek Lake proved to be a great place for this beginner. There was a slight wind, but nothing too strenuous, and I just made sure I paddled into the wind for the first hour I was out so that I’d get a little push headed home. I also hugged the shoreline and made sure I had my life jacket on. Really, with the number of people out fishing from their boats, even if I tipped, I’d have gotten help in no time. It took about 30 minutes of holding myself far too tensely before I relaxed and let the kayak and the water do their jobs. Once I did that, I had a blast. The view, so close to the water’s surface, can’t be beat!
While kayaking along the shore, I enjoyed skirting tons and tons of lily pads. Sadly, none were in bloom and many of them were pretty beat up by what looked like either paddles or trolling motors, but if thriving lily pads are any sign of good water, then Cane Creek Lake has nothing to fear. The one other kayaker I encountered, a man from Ohio, even commented on their numbers, swearing he’d never seen so many. When I wasn’t examining vegetation in the water, I was checking out birds and other winged things. The dragonflies showed up to escort me from time to time, and there was a group of coots bobbing on the water ahead of me. No matter how much I paddled, I couldn’t get close enough to get good photos with my cell phone, darn it. They kept swimming away from me. Imagine that!
I ended my paddle by cutting out to a stand of dead trees populated by cormorants. Again, I couldn’t get photographs that would do the sight justice so I just floated there and took it all in. Heading back to the boat launch, I did take no fewer than 35 pics of the shoreline, taking advantage of the change in perspective. Also, I know I’ll be kayaking more in the future!
Moro Bay State Park (#28) completed my trifecta of parks all located in or near El Dorado. Given the disappointment of the Natural Resources park, I was glad this was the way my trip ended and not the other way around. On the park sign you see the juncture where Moro Bay and Raymond Lake meet the Ouachita River (the standout geologic feature of this park). Also in the picture, the orange ferry, no longer in use but once the only way to cross before the highway 63 bridge was built in 1992 (yes, 1992!). Like many of the lake parks, this one calls to the fishing folx and features some super cool cabins built to withstand the periodic flooding. Only caveat for anyone with kids: there’s no beach. They do rent kayaks if you want to get up close and personal with the shorelines. Alas, March had turned back into February when I was there so I stuck with the group tour on the big pontoon boat.
I planned my trip around two park-sponsored events. First, a Friday afternoon gathering in the visitor center called “Meet the Alligator.” I mean, come on? Who doesn’t want the chance to get up close and personal with an American alligator. While it rained outside, I joined a handful of families with small kids to learn more about gators. And, we all got a chance to pet Maurice (funnily, named after the lemur in the Madagascar movie). For those concerned with animal treatment, Maurice has a great big aquarium. The park never traps or uses wild alligators, as that is definitely against the law. They purchase a baby from an alligator farm in Louisiana and keep it until it is about 3, as alligators grow about 1 foot per year and at 3 feet they become unmanageable as an educational specimen.
Paul, our park ranger, talked for about 30 minutes and I learned so much. Example: Moro Bay is about as far north as alligators get in AR and their range matches that of mayhaw bushes. So, if local people are making mayhaw jelly, there’s bound to be a gator around. Biggest fact: alligators win the contest for strongest jaws in the animal kingdom, far outstripping even lions, tigers, and bears, oh my! The only problem is that their jaws only go up and down, not side to side. They can’t chew! That’s why they roll their prey; they’re trying to wrench off a manageable piece to swallow whole, oh my! Final takeaway, it is illegal to feed or harass an American alligator. Just don’t.
The second event I signed up for brought me back on Saturday morning, with the sun in full swing. Too bad the temperatures didn’t respond in kind. They stayed in the low 50s as a small group of us boarded the park’s pontoon boat for a water tour with Paul. A bit bulkier than normal, my park wear (long workout pants, a heavy sweatshirt over a T, a medium snuggly jacket, and gloves) got weighed down a bit more with my life jacket and binoculars, but the layers definitely helped me stay comfy as the cold wind came up off the water. We cruised around the bay, down into the lake a bit, and checked out the river by sight (the water was running high and fast). As we meandered on the water, I took a zillion pics of the bald cypress trees living the high life in the high water. I don’t think my fascination with them will ever end. Again, Paul taught us a lot, this time about the history of river traffic in the area, the state’s response to flooding (a topic covered at many of the parks near rivers & lakes), and where to find the best fishing spots.
I ended my time at the park with a picnic and then walked a bit on one of the lakeside trails, although recent heavy rain meant I couldn’t complete either of the official trail hikes. Even with not ideal weather, I enjoyed the visit and left with a lot of imagery floating around in my head for the future poem.
I fell off the blog updates because of making park visits and writing, writing, writing. Glad to get back to sharing my trips with y’all. My 27th park, the South Arkansas Arboretum State Park stands out for being 12 acres tucked inside the city of El Dorado. As a former community college instructor, I love that South Arkansas Community College manages this site. Asphalt trails intersperse the preserved native woodland and the beds of both native and non-native flower species curated by area master gardeners. The walking experience proved an interesting juxtaposition as I wended under the canopy of tall pines and oaks all the while accompanied by the swishing of car tires rolling through the nearby neighborhood. (Aside: I like the rough and tumble feel of the park sign but missed the continuity of the traditional entrance signage at the other parks.)
I visited the arboretum early in the morning trying to beat some spring showers. I got about 10 minutes into my walk when the drizzle began and I had to run back to the car for my umbrella. In my notebook, I recorded the sounds accompanying me on my walk: pine warblers (ubiquitous on my travels in south Arkansas), an adamant male cardinal, my ever favorite Carolina wren, and the scattered rhythm of raindrops on my umbrella. Strolling along (I hesitate to even call it a walk b/c I kept stopping to take pictures), I also admired the spring green green green of the moss running along much of the paving. Being there right at the advent of spring meant getting to see many of the hardwood trees just leafing out. I fell a bit in love with this yellow poplar (the softest of the hardwoods, fyi). I mean, just look at the character in those leaf-shapes, the sublime new-life green, and the way it all sort of explodes off the end of that branch. Yum yum for the eye.
However, far and away the title of winner, grand champion, and wowza wowza for this trip goes to the overwhelming number of various azaleas in full and perfect bloom. Not all of these were native, but I stopped and admired them all. The rain only heightened their beauty. Trust that I filled up my iPhone with images, but my self-imposed rules for these posts mean I had to choose just one to share. I selected this white variety because of the drama of the water droplets and the delicacy of the stamens. To give all of nature its due, I also have a slew of photos from the parking lot where pollen fell in multi-colored layers atop the runoff water and formed delightful abstract whorls and swirls. I love it all.
I’m thankful to all who help keep the arboretum in shape, providing sanctuary for plants and humans alike!
90º with partly cloudy skies and yet another excessive heat warning
When I set out on my 52 Arkansas State Parks : 52 Poems project, I confess that interacting with the natural landscape consumed most of my imagination. I knew, of course, that museums and battlegrounds made up several parks, but they weren’t forefront in my mind. Driving into Prairie Grove Battlefield State Park, I saw first the Hindman Hall Museum (which also serves as the Visitor Center) and then, the sprawl of the battlefield on the ridge with historic buildings scattered about. After several days of hiking in the Ozark Mountains, the asphalt walking trail provided a great way to end my three days of visits in northwest Arkansas, especially given the heat. While the park serves first and foremost as an historical landmark with educating visitors about the battle that played out on December 7, 1862, given the most attention, I fell a bit in love with all of the old and well-tended trees on the ridge.
As I walked the trail and read placard after placard about the battle between Confederate General T.C. Hindman (Arkansas) and Union Generals James G Blunt (Kansas) and F.J. Herron (Iowa), I became overwhelmed thinking about the conflict that divided us then and how continued and rising conflicts seem to be tearing the country asunder once more. Periodically, I turned to the trees and I kept returning to the question of how old the trees on the trail might be. Could any of them have been around during the battle? Later in the day, attending an interactive lecture on the park’s historic buildings, I learned that there is a volunteer arborist who visits regularly and who believes several of the trees may be “witness trees,” trees that today might date as old as 200 years.
Whenever I write about the flora and fauna around me, I resist the urge to personify or to ask the natural world to help me hide from the reality with which I might struggle (i.e. climate disaster, divisive human conflict, misogyny & all the -isms, &etc.) I want to be a steward of my environment at the local and global levels, and one of my lifelong questions in this mission is this: What do I ask of my environment and what does my environment ask of me? And now you see how quickly these poem drafts morph into huge ideas even as I grapple with the overpowering amount of information I gather at each site.
All of that being said, about three-fourths of the way through the battlefield trail, I encountered this set of twined trees. A black walnut and a hackberry, to me, these were the most fascinating natural encounter I had during my visit, and let me tell you, I wanted so very much to see these as some sign of hope about two very different “sides” of any conflict eventually growing to understand each other.
Between my time on the trail, reading and listening to the exhibits in the museum, and attending the interactive park interpreter session, I came away from the park mulling over the language of war. Here are a few of the headers from exhibits: “Six Mortal Hours,” “The Slaughter Pen,” “Commence the Music” (where “music” refers to the Union artillery, “Our batteries opened on them, and then commenced the music.”), and “Blazing Away Like Fury.” Many of these phrases come from letters written by commanders, soldiers, or local residents who observed the battle from nearby locations. Of course, being born and raised in Iowa, I had to stop and text my family a picture of one sign that read, “With drive and determination the Iowans erupted onto the battlefield once again.”
I thought a lot about my relationship with the Civil War and the North and the South as I walked the ground that contained artifacts, shrapnel & bone, from 160+ years ago. Growing up, my education assured me that I walked on the “right side of history.” In fact, the only documented connection I have to the Civil War is that James Longhorn came from England to the US in around 1860 and joined the Nineteenth Illinois Regiment, eventually being promoted to 1st Lieutenant. Not sure how many greats I am from this ancestor or whether I’m a direct descendant or a niece, I do know he’s there in my genetic memory. When I moved to Arkansas in 1999, I began to gain friends who grew up with strong southern identities, and I would gently kid these friends, “well, we know who won the war don’t we.” Now, 24 years later, as I identify as an Arkansan, I find myself wrestling with what this means in terms of confronting our history here and being “on the wrong side.” The current political climate in Arkansas (and in Iowa for that matter) mean that I face living in a place (places if I still count Iowa as one of my homes) that seems determined to move backward and into more divisive times.
This image of the flat river plain that served as the approach for the Iowans in the Union troops on December 7, 1962 haunts me. It was the Illinois River they forded in their approach of the ridge directly behind me as I photographed the scene. I stood there, on a relatively quiet morning, shaded by lovely, old trees and felt compassion for the people on all sides of the battle, the Confederate & Union soldiers and their support staff, as well as the local people, especially those who were driven from their homes that day, homes that the Union armies would burn to the ground the next day. Aside that atrocity, the Union leadership also commanded that all captured Confederate horses be shot and killed, despite their own troops begging them to “save the horses!” All of this is to say that to claim one is on the “right” or “wrong” side of history is a complex and troubling paradigm, and I expect this will simmer up in the poem as well.
This poem may end up being the most somber of the collection. Time will tell.
93º (feels like 102º), forecast for hottest day of the year so far, afternoon temps around 100º, bright sun all day
Devil’s Den State Park may be one of the three best known parks in the state (along with Pinnacle Mountain and Petit Jean). It is renowned for its caves and its trails.
Once upon a time as a wee graduate student attending the nearby University of Arkansas Fayetteville, I hiked Devil’s Den Trail and made a brief appearance as a caver, a very brief appearance. Before my recent visit as a more confident hiker, I already knew that most of the caves were now closed in an attempt to stem the spread of white-nose syndrome in the local bat populations. Sadly, I learned that, in fact, all of the caves are now closed to the public. This lead to information that I know will make it into my poem about this visit: two endangered bat species live in the park, Ozark big-eared and Indiana bats, and Ozark big-eared bats only live in northwest Arkansas, northeast Oklahoma, and a bit of southwest Missouri. A remote cave in Devil’s Den hosts their largest surviving colony. I wish I could post a picture of one of these super cute little flyers, but alas. Also, FYI: “The maximum fine for harming endangered bats is $100,000.”
Like several of the parks I already visited, the 1930s Civilian Conservation Corps played a huge role in helping to establish this rugged park. One of my favorite artifacts on display in the Visitor Center was this laminated edition of the 1936 camp newspaper, Voice of Satan. The Corps started work on Devil’s Den in 1933 and three years later, there were enough men earning a paycheck to send home to family to constitute a small town barracked amid the upland forest of the Ozarks. Ninety years after they labored, it remains easy to see the physical remains of their efforts. You can see the strike marks of their axes and chisels in the rocks that form the dam on Lee Creek, creating Lake Devil (the original major attraction of the park for visitors). Given my fascination with this history, I made sure I had time for the CCC Interpretive Trail, one of the least used trails at the park. Along the trail are remnants of rock foundations, a hand-built rock culvert and the ghostly, shadowed walls of a root cellar (I didn’t go in there). Walking the trail gave me a sense of the size of the camp, and in the heat, sweating and yet protected by sunscreen, bug spray, and good hiking gear, I thought of those men who dressed out in uniforms in the heat or the cold and got down to the work of making a beautiful but rugged space more accessible to the general public.
As an amateur (very amateur) hiker, my proudest accomplishment so far in all my travels may be completing Devil’s Den Trail. The trail guide calls it a “moderate” trail and lists the elevation change as 100 feet. What it doesn’t say is that the elevation change doesn’t just happen once. I hiked up; I hiked down; I hiked around and around and up and down. It was fabulous, but super challenging. More than ever, I was grateful I’d had the foresight to buy my Black Diamond Trail Back trekking poles (in my signature dark crimson, of course). While hiking the trail, I gained a new understanding of something I’d read in the Visitor Center. The caves here are unique in the US. Yup, in all the US! “According to geologists, 10,000 to 70,000 years ago Lee Creek removed enough material to cause a corner of the mountainside to break off, slide and crack, creating several interconnected crevices.” They have great names like the 50-foot deep Big-eared Crevice (where those big-eared bats I mentioned above hibernate in the largest numbers), Imp’s Leap (named by men from the CCC), and Dead Horse Crevice (sadly, self-explanatory). All along my hike, I saw small, unnamed crevices and found myself gazing down into the slices of rock, wanting to know what it would feel like to be down at the bottom staring up.
I ended my day at Devil’s Den on a bit of a disappointment. The heat got the better of me when I tried to hike Lee Creek Trail. There’s little tree cover, but there are supposed to be some great fossil viewing opportunities on the creek bed. I will definitely be returning to scope those out, and I also want to hike the short Woody Plant Trail in the spring. While I’ll go back for these experiences, the poem right now is shaping up to be bat-centric, alongside the extreme beauty of the rocky, sandstone outcroppings and shady upland forest. Central questions swirl around the influence of human hands on the natural world.
