Krause Springs

Krause Springs is not for the weak.  It is not for the very young, or the very old.  It’s not handicapped accessible, or even that easy for those with balance issues.

There are slick spots.  There are sharp spots.  There are shallow parts and there are deep parts.  In order to get to some of the good spots, one might have to walk carefully over algae covered rocks, delicately walk across a balance beam-style concrete ledge, walk across fine little pebbles that cut into your feet, and dance around cypress tree roots.  You might have to lay down on your belly and climb up along rock faces, scramble a bit for good footing, which is what is going on in the picture above (no toddlers were injured in the making of this picture, although it seemed likely at some points).

In order to get in the water, you might have to carefully feel your water across the roots, and perhaps suddenly slide into spongy vegetation on the river bottom.  Or perhaps you might be standing on a rock ledge, then take a step further and sink into an abyss of unknown depth.  Perhaps, if you are very brave, you might get into the water by swinging off a rope from the top of the ridge, after having to climb your way up there along rocks and stand in a long line of others trying to prove their mettle.  If you are interested in a further challenge, you might enter the cold river by throwing your body off the ridge, slightly higher up.  The fact that we didn’t see anyone get injured this way is a testament to how deep the water is in certain parts.

For those in the 5-35 age range (with no physical handicaps), this place is great fun.  The kids in our group had a great time.  The two of us who were parenting a toddler were experiencing some stress trying to keep him safe.

Initially, I took him down to the river access area on my own, while my friend and her husband where with the older kids and my husband was still getting dressed.  I went for the obvious choice on where to enter the water – the first area you come to as you come down the steps on the far left, which looked fairly shallow.  I even asked some folks how deep it was and they said it was shallow there.  I got in first, and then stepped back a foot to allow the toddler room to follow me.  Only, it turns out I had been standing on a ledge that only extended about that first foot, and suddenly I was flailing a bit as I sunk into questionably deep waters.  My toddler, showing some good sense here, stepped back and said “No like river!” and then refused to come in, even when I got back in control and on the ledge.

After this, we tried the swimming pool area.  The pool is fed by the natural springs, and is very cold!  It has a gradually increasing depth, being about 2″ deep on one side and possibly 6-8″ deep on the other side.  On the deep side, kids lined up along the rocks forming the back ledge and jumped into the water, sometimes one at a time and sometimes in a group.  There are two ladders into the pool, and other than that, the whole surface is straight concrete and rock base.   We tried to cajole the toddler into the pool, but he dipped his feet in, felt the temperature, and said, “I no like pool!”.

We eventually got him in both places, but only for short times. A nice picnic was had by all parties. Some resting might have occurred by various parties while I was chasing the toddler around the grounds. He made friends with a three year old girl in the gazebo, although he might need a little work on his game (she had a scratch on her face, and his only lines he could come with were “Hi” and “You have owie on face. Are you okay?”). We admired the interesting features on the stone benches and planters (squirrels harvesting acorns and lion’s faces carved into them). We experienced all the grounds, including the incredible butterfly garden at the entry way when we arrived.

It was a very pretty place, although quite crowded on a summer Saturday.It was a good place to experience, a place we would go again, but probably not until several years from now, when little Sebastian is not so little and the place seems a little less fraught with danger.

SMTX: Ringtail Ridge Natural Area

There is something exciting about following a path, not knowing where it leads you to.  Sometimes, you find something interesting along the way, something that sparks your curiosity and imagination, something that connects you to the past but then also makes you wonder about the future.  This is how we felt about the unexpected encounter with this tipi.

However, if you had been Todd (my best friend’s husband), you might have been prepared for this sight, because you would have looked at the trail map ahead of time and seen the tipi marked on there.  I wasn’t doing such things, but instead had, of course, loaded up a geocache on my phone for us to find.  And no one was surprised about that part.  There is something comforting about hanging out with people who really know you, know all the things that motivate you.

It was Todd’s idea that we check this place out after dinner, because he knew that exploring a natural area is something that our family (or at least the two parents) would be completely interested in.  Our littlest one had some fun finding sticks, of course – this is what he is completely interested in.

It was a neat place to check out, although I was starting to suspect by the end that it might have been a better idea not to go right after dinner, or on a day when we had two meals so close together.  We had a late lunch in Luling at the best BBQ in town (City Market), then had chased that with a pizza dinner at a place in San Marcos with really neat pizza (Pie Society).  We kind of lost some impetus at the end because I wasn’t feeling great, and we had allowed the toddler to be loose and explore, and he kept stopping to look at every rock and crevice.  We were much faster when Jason carried him on his shoulders (we had not packed our Osprey for this journey).

It is nice, though, that San Marcos has these kinds of natural places to go explore.  The city does a good job, from what we have seen, of allowing pockets of wilderness to exist within the city.  We were surrounded by apartments, but on the trail, you could easily pretend they didn’t exist and just focus on the shrubs, cedar, and stones around you.  This kind of focus allows your mind to wander into a more primitive place, a place I like to go because there, I can leave all the other things behind.  In this place, there is nothing but being aware and present, and taking the trail one step at a time.

 

 

Spring Creek Reflections

Last night I took a walk with a friend in Pundt Park.  We experienced some of the trails, and then ended up over by the canoe launch.  We decided to walk down to check it out.  When we came down the sandy embankment and found ourselves face to face with Spring Creek, I was filled with this childlike desire to go play in the water.  I told my friend, and she was feeling the same way.

We took off our shoes.  I rolled up the legs of my jeans and walked slowly in.  Looking around the creek, standing there with my feet in the water, brought back so many memories of my youth.  There was a time where the best friend of my youth and I spent hours exploring and swimming in Cypress Creek.  We made up little stories about who we might have been in a previous existence, or what life would be like if this wildness is all we knew.

This night as we walked, the best friend of my adulthood asked me if I ever looked at the landscape and imagined what it would like to be experiencing it as a native american.  I do that often, particularly on long hikes or long drives where my mind begins to wander.

These thoughts led me to reflect on why wildness resonates with us.  Sometimes it is because the history of our species, some innate ongoing connection to the land through ancestral memory.  Sometimes our connection is born through a personal memory that means a lot to us, like the one of my friend and I playing in the creek.  Because of that, I am more interested in seeing these greenways between Cypress and Spring Creeks play out, because others might also build their own meaningful connections with this area.

Many times, for me, the wild areas remind me of Scout Camp, which was a place I felt happy.  My sense of discovery and excitement over learning about nature was probably born in that place.  When I am walking in a forest, I remember Scout Camp and this memory is connected to the bliss I feel in the present.

How will the children of this current generation learn to value the wilderness?  I imagine my children’s reality is similar to most of their time, where video games have replaced going outside, and kids know more about Minecraft building than fort building.  There is a book, Last Child in the Woods, that explores that theme more thoroughly.  I do think outdoor education and experiences are important for children to build that connection, and I try to give that to my kids, but my older children sometimes make me feel like I am torturing them with it.  Also, I am one person, one person who cares very deeply for the wilderness and actually spends quite a bit of time there.  What about most families?  Are they providing their children with meaningful outdoor experiences?  Will children of this Generation Z or iGeneration have enough of those experiences to feel willing to protect it?

When I start going down these mental roads, I feel comforted by a couple of things.  One, you do see families out at these places enjoying them, and with the investment of communities into places like these, there will be more access to those experiences.  Two, despite my children whining about having to go hiking and camping, they have picked up on a skill set along the way.  My teenager is almost at the point where I feel like he might be able to survive a weekend camping trip with a peer.  Finally, outdoor camps and recreation areas are still getting booked up in the summer, so interest in these areas is not dying off.

This night, we witnessed a family at the creek bank getting maternity pictures taken of the mom.  We saw a man playing with his dogs, who were swimming in the creek water.  We observed a girl sitting alone on the bank, pensively reflecting on her own thoughts before disappearing around the bend.  We saw many people playing with their dogs in the dog park and walking along the road or greenway.  This park is full of people like us, creating memories on a warm summer night.

 

Solitude in Cross Creek Ranch

A rare thing happened last week.  My two year old came home from daycare and went to sleep.  Suddenly, we had spare time.  I offered my husband first rights of refusal, but he wanted to stay home.  Not me.

I left and headed out to my favorite place, the wetlands at Cross Creek Ranch.  I out some headphones on to listen to some new music I had downloaded (Missy Higgins, after my friend Mel recommended her to me).  On the way there, I felt the absence of a friend.  I thought in my head about what it would be like to be pointing out all the reasons why I loved this place to someone.

It has been so long since I have had some time to just chill out with a girlfriend, to paint our nails and listen to each other’s music, tell each other about our books, show each other our neighborhoods.  Perhaps this is just a function of age, of distance, of stages in our lives.  The friends I do have, we live across town from each other, and our conversations are always punctuated by side conversations with kids.  We only have time to talk to each other after work, before bed, or in between kids activities and dinner times.  It is not that often, and I feel like I just can’t get enough.

When I got to the wetlands, I was walking through the grass on the backside of the ponds looking for a rare red-vented bulbul (bird).  I was listening to my music at first, but then I realized that I was missing half of the outdoor program by having my ears plugged.  When I took out the headphones, I heard the raucous calls of the grackals and the coos of the doves.  I smelled something wild, something mammalian, and I made up some creatures that it could have been until I realized it was actually just the smell of cattle beyond the fence line.  I found a bleached out turtle shell, feeling the thrill of discovery and a childish desire to pick it up and keep it as a treasure.  I wandered further down a wild path than I intended to, trying to figure out what bird was making a loud alarm call (a green heron chick).  I spotted one of these chicks on a soft place beyond some reeds, all plump and feathery, walking swiftly on stubbly legs towards the safety of the water as I walked past.

I stood for a bit on on of the boardwalks, watching the water move towards me in gentle waves.  I wanted to put my hands on the railing, but when I looked down at it, I realized it was covered in white heron poop.  In fact, the whole boardwalk looked white-washed in it.  I kind of laughed at the absurdity, that these birds have claimed this place from us so thoroughly.  Again, I felt the pain of being alone, a wish that I had a friend who lived near me that I could share this laugh with.

If I had a friend with me, though, we would have been talking to each other, and I would have missed all of those smells, sounds, sightings, thrills and discoveries – all of those things that were so stress-relieving about this walk.  It is the full immersion with nature, a full disconnection with the exterior world of work and household chores and worrying about other people that makes this type of thing so rewarding for me.

It still would be nice to have a friend who lives close to me, though, to be able to call when I had a spontaneous hour alone, someone to join me in trying out that cool little coffee shop, farmers market, wine store, free yoga class – whatever.  I was hoping to meet someone like that in Hike it Baby, and although I did make one good friend sort of kind of through that, she still lives kind of far for spontaneous adventures.  I hope that I will meet someone in these new groups I have joined who can be my new neighborhood friend, but I am still in those early stages so I am not sure yet.

Later, over the weekend, I got the opportunity to spend some time with some friends, some old and some new.  I met some really awesome ladies and got to know some others better, spent time with a friend out at a park with our babies, and some time laying on another friend’s couch with my little one asleep in my arms.  I realized that missing a friend doesn’t mean that I don’t have friends in my life, but it is maybe just that I am missing a stage of having friends that is probably a thing of the past.   Maybe friendship just looks different in your forties.  Perhaps at this age, we can have friends on deeper levels – friends to learn from, engage in activities with, commiserate about motherhood with, experience new things with, march and resist with, and that’s okay.