Here We Go A-Wandering

June 7, 2020June 7, 2020 ~ mstturpin ~ 5 Comments

Photo by the author – Ammonite fossil on the hiking trail at Cleburne State Park, Texas

There are times when you just have to go somewhere. I imagine every unmasked stranger carries not just Covid-19, but some alien spore that will launch from their chest like a special effect in a John Carpenter movie. We are living in a badly plotted horror flick. When I heard the Texas state parks were open again with limited capacity, I signed up for a day pass to Cleburne State Park.

My husband Andrew and I arrived at the park just before noon. Texas in June is more suited to early morning or late-night hikes, but we had packed plenty of water in our CamelBak hydration packs. Andrew chose the trail. Although it was marked on the map as “Challenging” it also appeared to be the one with the most shade. Equipped with boots, hat, and hiking staff – I felt I could handle the route.

At the start of our hike, as we trod smartly along the tree-lined path, I hummed the tune to The Happy Wanderer.

If you went to school in the 1960s or early 1970s, I bet you know this song. We sang it at every choir practice or music class. It was written by Florenz Friedrich Sigismund (1791–1877) and since I’m sure the copyright has long since passed, here are the lyrics:

“I love to go a-wandering,
Along the mountain track,
And as I go, I love to sing,
My knapsack on my back.

Chorus:
Val-deri,Val-dera,
Val-deri,
Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Val-deri,Val-dera.
My knapsack on my back.”

We passed a little stream as I reached the second verse.

“I love to wander by the stream
That dances in the sun
So joyously it calls to me
Come join my happy song”

The trail Andrew and I climbed, while not exactly mountainous, did have enough elevation change that I felt compelled to stop every few feet and rest. Panting might help dogs to cool off, but it did not work for me. I would have collapsed on the juniper needles blanketing the path, but for the green poison ivy poking up in every level spot.

“How much farther?” I asked Andrew.

He pulled out the map and considered it. “I think we are a little less than halfway to the scenic overlook.”

“I hope there’s a bench there,” I said.

We continued along, Andrew in the lead and me following. I stared at the trail, carefully avoiding anything resembling a stick that might turn out to be a snake in disguise. We spotted a lovely ammonite fossil and I stopped to take a picture.

The fossil reminded me the area we hiked was, in prehistoric times, the floor of an ocean. The limestone we walked on was made up of the skeletal remains of marine life that inhabited that sea. If only we were wading through that cooling water now.

“Do you still have plenty of water?” Andrew asked as we paused and I soaked a towel with cool water from my pack.

“I’m good.”

“We don’t want to get heat-stroke,” Andrew said, “but I’ve heard that’s a pleasant way to die. You just pass out and go.”

“I’ve never thought of any sort of dying as pleasant.”

“Well, yes, but of all the ways to go,” Andrew continued, “I think if you kick off first, I’ll just head to the desert and walk until I’m gone.”

The trail leveled out along a stretch of wildflower filled, sunlit fields. I sipped my water and mentally checked off the symptoms of heat-stroke. I occurred to me that worrying over heat exhaustion had so consumed my thoughts that afternoon that I hadn’t thought once about dying in the pandemic. Not even when we passed other, unmasked hikers on the trail.

At one point we scrambled down an incline of loose scree, our feet sliding almost from under us. I grabbed at the cedar tree branches bent over the trail, in order to slow my descent. Andrew waited for me at the bottom, then held my hand and helped me climb up the other side. I studied Andrew’s back as he pushed on upwards. His hiking boots kicked up tufts of dried leaves and gravel.

“If I die first and you decide to go off hiking in the desert,” I said, “box up my ashes and take them with you. That way you won’t be alone.”

“All right, I suppose that could work.”

Right after, we discovered we’d been on the wrong trail. We ended up at the point where we’d begun the loop, not a bad thing as we were near the trail sign that pointed to the exit.

I’ll be back inside next week, waiting out the pandemic. I’ve never liked crowds, or crowded places where large groups congregate, so I don’t miss those types of gatherings. I do like my solitary pursuits – reading and writing, but I’m always glad of Andrew’s company. When you’re on a journey, I think it’s nice to have someone by your side. Or leading the way, watching for snakes.

Don’t Fence Me In Wichita Falls

April 30, 2018April 30, 2018 ~ mstturpin ~ Leave a comment

My fiance, Andrew, loves Wichita Falls. We drove up there this weekend and he pitched an earnest plea for us to buy his childhood home.

Childhood home

Besides the lack of a down payment, I was not swayed by the quaint architecture or the quiet neighborhood.

“They had Fox News playing in the hotel dining room,” I said.

The hotel featured full length mirrors at the end of every hallway. Every time I passed one it startled me, as though I were encountering myself in some other dimension. They also served to remind me that I didn’t need that cinnamon bun from the breakfast buffet. The atmosphere was somewhere between The Shining and The Biggest Loser.

Full Length Mirror

“Oh that’s just the hotel,” Andrew replied. “The only public liberal arts school in Texas is here.”

The oil boom and bust left Wichita Falls stranded like a second string prom date. The city is filled with empty high rise buildings, evacuated like the set of a dystopian movie. Something with zombies or plague. But it’s also lovely and stocked with my favorite sort of shops – cheap antique stores and artsy coffee shops.

Wichita Tower

old building

Wichita Falls is home to the World’s Smallest Skyscraper, the Newby – McMahon building. A con artist collected money from investors in 1919 and proposed to construct a high rise office building, but the oil men he conned didn’t notice that the blueprints listed the size in inches, not feet.

Little Skyscraper front — World’s Smallest Skyscraper

Forever and a Day — There are also several breweries in downtown Wichita Falls

Fuzzy Hat

We’re getting married in October, and I found this floofy hat that I thought I might wear, but Andrew made the same sort of face I made when he suggested moving to Wichita Falls.

I’ve been thinking about wedding vows, and I don’t think I will include Ruth 1:16 “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people.”

Poodle Wichita Falls

I had to kneel down to get this shot. When I tried to stand up my knees locked and I waved at Andrew to try and get his attention, but he was looking at real estate listings on his phone and didn’t see me. I grabbed his arm and managed to pull myself up as I decided all future photography would be taken at eye level.

Cat on a chair — I don’t know if this was an actual cat before it was stuffed.

As we drove around Wichita Falls I noticed an interesting art display near a large, spooky building that turned out to be a grain elevator.

Attebury Grain

Don't Fence Me In

I convinced Andrew to pull over so I could take some pictures.

More fences Fences and Attebury

Andrew standing at fence — Here’s Andrew, peeking out to see if I had finished taking pictures.

As we strolled past a construction worker spray painting a store front, Andrew remarked on how well they were doing, renovating the downtown area.

“I still don’t want to move here though,” I said. “And don’t think the 6,000 liberal arts students will sway me either.”

In the last place we stopped I wandered away from Andrew, drawn to a display of vintage clothing. Nothing fit, the folks were all much smaller back then. You never see that in time travel movies, but really us future folk would be giants. I turned a corner, looking for Andrew, and ran into this guy.

Lion Guy

I don’t know what’s more startling, the lion head or the bare feet.

I weaved through aisles of antique glassware, stacks of crumbling books, and bins filled with old records in cardboard jackets. I couldn’t find Andrew and just as I stopped to take a deep breath, he popped up from behind an antique wardrobe.

“I’d know that sigh anywhere,” he said.

I was glad to see him, and glad to load up the car with our purchases and head home. Maybe I could change that verse a bit, make it “Where you will go I will go, as long as it’s convenient to a nice shopping area and has a hospital with a good reputation. Along with reasonable real estate prices and a decent commute to work and a theater.”

Rooster 1

Just Where We Belong

March 11, 2018 ~ mstturpin ~ Leave a comment

Drive in — Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

I hesitated when I saw the invitation in my email because I am not a fan of scary movies. I tolerate them because they are one of Andrew’s favorite genres. When he watches Alien Death Camp Holiday or Haunted Mental Institution Massacre, I sit beside him on the couch and mutter comments.

“Did they go in the basement? Is that a hatchet?” I’ll say, my voice muffled by the blanket covering my face.

I clicked on the link in the email and signed up for two free passes for a screening of Strangers: Prey at Night. The summary I read said the film is a sequel to the first movie, Strangers. There were enough survivors for part two, this one to take place in an abandoned mobile home park, where the victims were threatened with murderous psychopaths instead of tornadoes.

I was sure Andrew would enjoy the movie, and I was willing to go along because the screening was to take place at our local drive in theater. I have fond memories of going to the drive in with my parents in the 1960s. There was a playground at the front, and I swung from monkey bars and climbed to the top of the rocket shaped slide to look up to the giant characters on the screen. When I was older, I went to the drive in on dates, but those times I stayed in the car.
We arrived early the night of the screening. I handed over my pass to the cashier in the little booth at the entrance and he told us, “Just follow the drive around to the back. It’s the last screen.”

“That one?” I asked, pointing to our left.

“There’ll be someone there to help you park,” he replied.

We swung around past the concession stand and drove to the last screen where Andrew spotted a young man dressed in fluorescent yellow, waving cars over into compact rows on the gravel lot. We settled in where he directed us.

After a trip to the concession stand for popcorn and a soft drink, we walked back in the dark to our parked car. I glanced over to the screen next to ours where a large group of people arranged themselves in chairs in front of the screen.

“What are those people doing over there?” I asked as I pointed to two men wearing suits, which seemed strange attire for an evening at the drive in.

“I don’t know,” Andrew replied, “but I think the movie is about to start.”

Andrew tuned in the car radio to the channel that would broadcast sound for our movie, and we watched the screen light up with previews for coming attractions. The first preview was a Claymation Cartoon.

“This is an odd preview for a horror movie,” I said. I swiveled around in the car seat and peered over at the lot next to ours. The screen there had a static display that said “Strangers.”

“I think we are at the wrong screen.”

Andrew turned to look behind us. “Oh well, at least we get to watch a free movie.”

I pulled up the drive in website on my phone as the next preview, an animated cartoon featuring a talking baby, started.

“The movies tonight are Death Wish, Black Panther, and…” I paused. “Peter Rabbit.”

Andrew does not appreciate children’s movies like I do. As a parent, I learned to be grateful for any entertainment that will encourage small children to sit still for an hour and a half. I looked around at the rows of cars that surrounded us. There were no lights marking the exit, and the only illumination came from the movie playing in front of us. A chorus of singing animals appeared on the screen. Andrew does not care for musicals either.

“Do you want to leave?” I asked.

“I don’t see how we can get out,” Andrew replied. After some discussion about the all-terrain capabilities of our Honda SUV, we decided to stay.

“At least it won’t last long,” Andrew said. This philosophy could apply equally to root canals, but I agreed and then complained about the size of the screen.

“Just pretend we are sitting on our couch at home, watching the movie on your phone, from across the room.”
The plot of the movie developed as we expected. There was action and romance between a female character named “Bea” and the handsome nephew of Farmer McGregor.

“I think this is based on true events,” I remarked, as a hedgehog wearing an apron ambled through the McGregor’s garden.

I flipped up my armrest and leaned over the center console so I could take Andrew’s hand and he grabbed the popcorn box just as it was about to spill onto the floorboards. What strange circumstances brought us here, to a place neither one imagined they would ever go, but both somehow certain that this is where they belong.

Peter Rabbit

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