Little Red

A curious thing, quiet and slow, played its music for us yesterday morn. We headed out the back gate and down the trail to the little creek. We call the creek, Little Red because of the muddy red waters that run after a storm. On the early plat maps of Kingston, it’s referred to as Bullion Creek. There was just a bit of silver mining here in Kingston’s heyday. But the current natural affairs seem to give a more fitting name and on this visit, I noticed something unusual happening.

On this morning, Little Red had maybe an inch of clear water running. Just a quiet meander now, but it can roar when the small watershed that feeds it feels a drenching rain. We had had a nice half inch rain during the early hours and the ground was soft, leaves still dripping and there was a fresh crispness to the woodland air. What caught my eye, was a slow movement up stream. Beneath the drooping cottonwood branches that canopied the creek, there was a wall of muddy water slowly moving downstream. It was a flashflood, but one that most likely will only ever be mentioned in this story. The mighty wall was all of 3 inches high, as it slowly made its way past us.

It was a moment of simple beauty. We’ve seen Little Red raging with 5 feet of muddy water roiling by. Loud and raucous, the raging waters echoing off the rocky canyon walls, but this special morning the flood was very soft and quiet as it gently moved down canyon. We watched in admiration at the story which Nature was revealing to us.

If our walk departure had been few minutes later, we would not have known that we were stepping across a flash flood. That thought brought on a pondering of what ifs. How many times during a day do we miss an important or changing event by moments. If I only walked along Little Red Creek a few times a year, what stories would I have missed.

I meet people sometimes who have a great need to walk a different route most times they venture outdoors. Aldo Leopold’s wish that people would only be more observant, is one that I too echo. I can walk Little Red creek in the early morn, around noon and late in the evening and each walk tells a different story. The characters change, as the temperatures change, as the sun journeys across the sky. An evening walk with a flashlight for the return trip reveals many marvels not seen or heard during daylight. The stars fill the dark skies as well and calmly listen as a Great Horned Owl calls from a nearby snag.

I am sometimes told that I tell too many stories. But it is the stories that nature reveals and that our daily lives embrace that give the interest, the color and the spice to Life. So as you wander the hills on your next walk, look for the stories that you missed. A strewed pile of feathers says someone had a meal. Leaves and twigs wedged eyelevel high on a trees’ branches tell the story of a recent flood. Where you’re standing was under 6 feet of water. A bear track is vivid in the soft mud. Which way was it traveling?

The stories weave an understanding of our world, as best we can. The memory of that quiet, 3 inch, high wall of muddy red water overtaking the clear stream water below, will always leap out at me when I cross Little Red Creek. I walk each day in hope of many more moments to quietly ponder the miracles Nature is constantly making.

So, what stories will you bring back from your next walk?