Silly Troutbirder

At a loss for something intelligent to post this morning, I’m left with repeating an incoherent one from a couple of springs ago. Hang in there with me..... The Baron and I had done an overnighter at Myre-Big Island State Park.

The purpose was to test Baron's ability to spend the night camping without causing a ruckus, in any way, that might disturb other campers. He passed with flying colors. I had thought about going fishing on Albert Lea lake the next morning. No go. I forgot my fishing pole. Instead Baron and I opted to hike the "Big Marsh Trail." In the spirit of Gary Larson the following report may be too gross or childish for some tastes - therefore it is rated SM - Silly Mature.

It was early in the campground and very quiet. Baron strained at the leash ready to go. Things went well till he spotted a wandering squirrel. Dragging me down the road and barking at the same time was not a good beginning. Escaping the campground, I found the trail. It looked like we might be entering some sort of "black hole."

Because no one was about I let the big guy off his leash. Sometimes you just gotta run. Escaping from the "black hole" at warp speed, we followed the trail along the edge of the lake. Someone, in addition to the author, had laid an egg. It was Mother Goose. The intrepid explorer decided to test the water. I called him back, where naturally, he did his shaking thing getting me all wet. Further up the trail, the woods were covered with the fleeting glory of spring wildflowers. -

Shortly thereafter, we emerged from the deep woods to overlook the goal we had been seeking - the Great Marsh itself! Which brings me to the early development of my lifelong interest in great literature. In my youth, say at about 5th or 6th grade, young boys began sharing their interest in books by referring to such titles as "Under The Grandstand" by Seymour Butts. "How We Got To Bethlehem" by Don Keys, or "Yellow Rivers" by I.P. Daily. As I sat on the bench overlooking the swamp, and seeing some kind of yellow algae bloom on the water, I couldn't help but think of Mr. Daily’s famous book title. Sorry folks. Some mornings I just can't help myself.