Thursday, September 1
The crew and I continue to enjoy our field-and-forest camp at Kinney Flats in southern Colorado.
Most of the time, when the Perfect Tow Vehicle isn’t carrying us on forest roads, Bridget, Reggie, and I stay close to camp. Sometimes we stroll the lane that passes our camp or we traipse the open, pine forest and fields.
I pick up Reggie and carry him across a high-grass meadow. Bridget weaves her way through.
The crew wakes me up this morning barking at something outside our window. I overslept past daybreak. Sitting up I look out the window.
Oh, another stampede. There they go!
I feel like I’m becoming the Dian Fosse of bovines.
At midday I push back in the lounger and observe the cattle. They graze contentedly in the field next to our camp. Then, for no reason I can decipher, one will get it in his head to trot away from the rest or maybe he trots toward something. Instantly all the others lift up their heads and trot after him. They pick up speed until the entire herd is at full gallop.
Cattle and people do share some traits!
I watch with amazement as the herd crashes, without pause, into a thicket of gambel oak, those small trees that grow in tight clusters under the pines. Headlong they go, right into the thick of it,bellowing, smashing branches, until the higher-pitched cry of one rises above the chaos.
That’s the point at which the bovine mob comes to its senses and individual thought returns. Attempting to understand the bovine mind is a foolish endeavor. It does seem that they ask the same question, “How do I get out of this mess?”
Gambel Oak may be Colorado Scrub Oak or Rocky Mountain White Oak ( for those of you who know trees and like details).
I wish I could capture the birds with my lens.
They rarely are still! They sense that autumn is imminent and, by gosh, there’s work to be done!
So far I’ve seen nuthatches, bluebirds, various sparrows, flickers, doves, nighthawks, stellar jays, purple finches (maybe they’re house finches), the big, black birds that caw (one peered into the ceiling vent), and a bird of prey that circles above the field next to our camp.
Previews of autumn colors appear here and there.
Some people enjoy geocaching, a form of outdoor treasure hunting using GPS devices.
Hunting for colors with my crew, using my eyes and camera, is the way I prefer to “geocache”
Such a variety of “finds” in a small area! With every step, more are found, too many to photograph or to show here, and each one a treasure.
A vague restlessness is the first sign I’ll be itching to move camp.
I probably would move tomorrow if it weren’t for the upcoming Labor Day Weekend. I’ve learned that the Friday before a long, holiday weekend is not a good time to show up at a campground or state park.
The first-come, first-serve campsites are likely taken. More than that, with the inevitable crowds gathering for the last hurrah of summer, it would be like joining the bovines crashing into a thicket of gambel oaks.
I’d end up crying out, “How do I get out of this mess?”
No, it’s better for us to stay at Kinney Flats for the long weekend.
As best I can tell from online research, hunting with guns won’t start until the weekend after Labor Day weekend. We haven’t heard much gunfire at this camp. If we do, I’ll toss the crew into the PTV and drive away from it for a few hours.
That’s all for now . . . .
Whatever you do, wherever you are, I wish you an enjoyable holiday weekend!
NOTE: Thank you for the many kind and complimentary comments under the previous post. Please know that your messages are appreciated, even when I run out of steam and stop replying. If I reply to one, I feel guilty for not replying to all.
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Thank you! — Sue
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