72 : Valley Driving
We had already left for church that morning, about two minutes out, when Oxbear suggested we take a drive over to Red Bud, Illinois, to visit Fort de Chartres. It had been a couple of years, and the family was all busy for the afternoon, so we decided to go for it.
Turned around, packed a backpack of shorts and t-shirts for the road, and still made it to church one minute before the service started.
Yali sat in a chair at the head of the table during the church luncheon, importantly licking the sauce off a meatball. I’m guessing he felt like pretty big stuff sharing some chow with half his aunts and uncles. Also the glass of cold lemonade. I’m pretty sure that was also a very big deal.
About an hour later we were driving across the bluffs of western Illinois towards that old Revolutionary War era fort down in a valley baking in corn and quarry rock, somewhere between the Kaskaskia and Mississippi rivers. Herds of clouds packed a pale blue sky.
Unfortunately, as we approached the old fort at the edge of the valley, we realized a little too late that some huge festival was taking place on the grounds. Indian tipis, pioneer tents, and endless rows of parked cars packed any easy access to the gates. Fort de Chartres would have to wait for another afternoon.
“Well, let’s find something else,” Oxbear suggested.
“Like what?” Puck asked, a little grumpy.
“I don’t know. We’ll find something.”
A few minutes later, something caught Puck’s eye. “Look at those huge holes in the side of the cliffs!”
Rock mining.
“Ug,” I said. “I don’t like holes in things like that.”
“You know that’s an actual medical condition,” Oxbear said. “People who have a hard time seeing holes where they shouldn’t be.”
We drove towards the bluffs to check out these holes. Huge caverns. Oxbear parked the car to investigate. He and Puck walked over to the gated gaping openings, cold as a refrigerator, even in the summer heat. I could feel the icy air from the car.
“Good morning!” Puck declared loudly into the cold hole. “Refreshing!”
Eventually we ended up on the bank of the mild Kaskaskia River where the boys threw around Puck’s birthday boomerang for awhile and lightly waded through the muddy waves at the shoreline, before driving a long road of glades and fields back home for fried chicken and biscuits.