281: frontenac state park

At the state park closest to our home, there is a trail, a quick drop off that leads down to Lake Pepin, which is part of the Mississippi River. The woods were dark--mossy, full of ferns, and when we sat still, we could hear patter above, the creek sound of leaves moving in the breeze.

Field notes: mushrooms curled in the cracks of wooden steps, columbine in bloom, the sound of bald eagles, then, at sunset, spotting them above the water, hearing "Penny, get out of that fish!" for the first time, watching the dogs swim out into deeper waters, walking on rich dirt sloped, bumblebee stalking, wild turkeys, deer scampering across the prairie, the eagles again at the top of the bluff, resting on switchbacks, drinking enough water for the stomach-gurgle.

I'm well out of shape and though I was cursing Ryan for his hiking idea in the duration, my boots stiff from winter neglect, I'm glad I came home, slick with sweat, not nearly ready for next weekend's camping adventure, but a little less shameful at my skills on the flat ground.

What a lovely way to spend a Friday evening, and how much I love this man.