Iowa Wild : Nature Always Wears The Colors Of The Spirit

957 WordsNov 28, 20164 Pages
Iowa Wild Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. —Ralph Waldo Emerson I sleep the sleep of mothers—which is to say, I wake at the noises my husband snores through. In the waxing light of day, coyotes yip and howl a few miles down the creek. Though these tricksters are no threat to us, their calls have woken me early. Grabbing my glasses, I sit up and soak in the rare site of my boys peacefully lying next to one another—no arguing, no wrestling, no teasing. Three daddy longlegs cling to the inside of the tent; one just inches away from Batman’s plastic nose. Saylor eats, plays, and sleeps in the comic universe, but that tiny arachnid would scare him worse than if the apocalyptic horrors found in his stories actually came to life. I debate about climbing over everyone to reach it. If I don’t remove the thing and Saylor wakes, all hell will break loose. If I reach over to remove it, I will likely wake someone up and erase my rare chance at some alone time zen in the wilderness. I choose zen. The northeastern part of my home state lures me in each summer. It sings in the ancient language of deeply carved river valleys and teaches wisdom from lofty limestone bluffs. This Driftless Area, untouched by the last of the glaciers and unlike the more well-known topography of the corn belt, welcomes my family when we have a desire to wade knee deep in trout fishing heaven. We pitch tents in Yellow River State Forest, just yards away from the creek where rainbows and browns hide

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