JOY ALONG THE WAY: BIG BIRD, NOT YELLOW, ON CAPE LACROIX CREEK

June. Time for my summer report from the creek banks.

I have often complained about the sad condition of the banks that stretch off Cape LaCroix Creek from the old troll bridge to the new one and even farther up and down the stream.

They have been caving in, big time, for years. Not just any little old mud slides as otters might make but great chunks of ground on both sides. Of course I'm not a Creek Bank engineer, only a complainer and a reporter without portfolio for such, so don't expect my wordage to produce any results. But, by George, some truck loads of the white rocks have been hauled in and dumped there in sporadic places. The rocks are not put together with any binding material as they are at the Independence Street bridge across the creek and on down the waterway. Maybe more exact and wholehearted work will keep the tennis courts and the pedestrian trail from slipping into the water at some future date.

In some places along the banks, soil has sunk and formed a two-tiered bank. On the lower level playing ground again, I suppose. There are some elderberry bushes too. The lacy blooms are beginning to show white and take form.

Numerous box elder trees are sprouting on this lower level. There is Johnson's grass, sour dock, white sweet clover, wild morning glory vines and countless unidentified weeds and grasses.

I'm always thrilled at how nature, in my mind, attempts to add little touches of beauty as if to cover up such smorgasbord of tangled growth. At certain intervals along the banks there are patches of lavender vetch spread out like little rugs as if inviting one to have a seat and listen to the flowing waters. I decided to decline the invitation for fear the bank might choose that moment for a breakaway.

I do stand back a bit and listen to the water as it splashes over the rock shelf that extends, in one place, from the bank to bank. Unlike the soil banks, it seems to be immovable.

I always expect some surprise when walking alongside the creek or just standing and looking. In past times there has been the muskrat swimming along, leaving that silver "V" in the wake. The V would suddenly disappear and I would shift my gaze downstream to see it reappear. It always did.

Now, I see some trembling of the waters and feel that old Troll is still around, although I think he is still mad about the destruction of his old home. Maybe he is causing the banks to cave in!

My report must include the dipping of the barn swallows, low over the water. I'm sure they are after some bugs, but quite often a wing will touch the water and make delightful little concentric circles that last for a few seconds before being smoothed out again to join the common ripples.

My big surprise for this report was the sudden rise from the shoreline of a big bird. It was too big for any kind of wild duck or goose and didn't have any torso for such fowl. It was sleek, long legged, with a wingspan of possibly forty inches. It was headed away form me so I couldn't see his big head or beak. In the lingering morning mist it appeared to be blue-gray. It flew low, never above bank level. My imagination kicked in it. Was it a sandhill crane, a limpkin? A blue heron? Where were my binoculars when I needed them?

I shall make repeated visits to see if I can have a replay of the adventure. Maybe the big bird is nesting there. If so, I hope the eggs and possible fledgings will not suffer the fate of being mud-buried alive.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.