Medicine Park

We stopped and had a picnic supper in a recently-discovered and highly commercialized little resort  called Medicine Park. This river area was a public park, running through the center of town.

There were little kids splashing everywhere, so I finally caved in and let Zay and Mim wade in the water---but only up to their necks. Well, if you had smelled the water, you would have set a few limits too!

 The geese were fearlessly swimming and strutting all over the place, joining the waders and begging--nay, demanding--scraps from our picnic lunch. While we were watching the grandchildren  doggy-paddle in the puddle, three wild ducks swooped down and made a glide through the canyon. It was impressive.

 

All the same, we had a concert to attend, so we soon called our bedraggled youngsters to the car, where they struggled into clean, dry clothes that didn't smell like old geese poop. We made it to the school auditorium and listened to Elijah's third-graders and then his fifth-graders. All together, there were around two hundred and sixty choir students. They sang exuberantly. With the auditorium packed, I'm sure nobody noticed what remained of the pond-water smell.

Attractions--Large and Small

 The fence is to keep tourists out...at least the ones who follow the rules and suggested guidelines. The buffalo in the background don't read, yet for some reason they keep their distance from this fierce little attraction

 We always have to stop and say hello to the prairie dogs in their village full of tunnels. Most of the time there are plenty of them on the surface, standing to bark a warning, or slinking up to the fence, hoping for someone to disregard the notice board and throw them a cheese pretzel.

This one found something to munch. We thought it looked like a piece of bread crust, but didn't want to approach and ask politely to see. After-all, if buffalo are afraid of them, they must be fearsome indeed. I'm sure the "cuteness" is just a ruse.

A Picnic in May on a Hot, Windy Day

 When my own children were young, we used to hike in the Wichita Mountains. Now that the grandchildren are visiting, we've renewed the tradition. No, we didn't take the eight-mile Buffalo Trail. We had a lot to do in one day, and the temperature was approaching ninety degrees, so we just hiked a little ways--less than a mile actually, although it included quite a bit of climbing. Since there was a great breeze, it didn't feel as hot as I knew it was.

 That was fine with us, but it sure messed up Mim's posing for the camera. She always had to hold her hair out of her face.

 I liked the look of the swirly clouds and the little trees against the sky here.

 There were plenty of rocks and stumps to clamber over, and the wild flowers were vivid.

 We saw a cosy little bench near the end of the trail, but, since it was not in the shade, it wasn't tempting in the least.

 In the distance--a lake beckoned. Nope, we didn't swim in it, but we did make it back to the creek at the beginning of this article, where two squealing grandchildren scampered around to cool down, chasing fish that were as long as their feet, but swifter.