Trail of Joy

After having a relatively minor bout with COVID a few weeks ago, my bride finally felt up to getting out for a bit of a hike.

We thought about heading south to Matthiessen State Park near LaSalle, Illinois—a little sister park to her more famous neighbor, Starved Rock. Both have some cool canyon waterfalls that freeze in the winter. I’ve written about previous visits and the stunning scenery.

Since we also wanted to get to our grandson’s final soccer game for the year in the morning, driving the 90 minutes to the park felt like it’d be a rushed day. Besides that, given the sunny, clear day, Matthiessen promised to be very busy, and we’d rather avoid the crowds, if possible.

We opted for a closer destination.

Krape Park in Freeport is one of the nicest urban parks in our region.

The park district website provides an accurate summary of features:

…a picturesque 44′ waterfall that tumbles down from a high limestone bluff, an operating one-of-a-kind carousel that costs just 50 cents to ride, tennis courts, multi-use trails, sledding hills, cross country skiing trails, 18-hole disc golf course, a baseball diamond, numerous picnic tables and a duck pond.

In the summer, people rent canoes and paddle boats and Krape Park’s challenging Yellow Creek Adventure Golf Course entertains people of all ages, as does the fishing pier on Yellow Creek. Children delight in Kids’ Kastle, a 10,000 square foot structure built by community volunteers and Little Kids’ Playground, designed for the youngest set.

The majestic Koenig Amphitheater is an outdoor band shell that earned the “Outstanding Facility Renovation” award in 2000 from the Illinois Parks and Recreation Association. Throughout the year people gather to enjoy band concerts Under the Stars, hear vocalists, attend church services or graduation ceremonies.

We’ve been there with the grandkids in the summer, and they could spend hours just on the Kids Kastle. They could.

Last Saturday, summer was a long way off, and it was just the two of us. We were there for a hike, to take in the park’s frozen beauty and be refreshed by the cold, crisp air. After all, it was 13° at hike time!

Driving in the park, it struck me that almost no one else was there! Only 1 car in the parking lot, and not a person in sight—a far cry from the crowds surely trudging through Matthiessen!

We opted for the 2-mile loop trail, walking it in one direction, then turning around and retracing our steps. It’s not a difficult trail at all—a little more challenging in places due to the ice, but the trusty Yaktrax allowed us to keep our footing.

From our starting point, the trail crosses a bridge spanning Yellow Creek, then follows the creek for a few hundred yards. I found the red-and-white sign warning against swimming in the creek to be just a little humorous, given the sub-freezing temps and frozen creek, and all.

A little further along, we ran into a guy who seemed to be a local. His small dog scampered behind him. They had just come down the hill we were about to ascend.

By the way, all but a few hundred feet of the loop path is paved and 4-5 feet wide. Again, pretty easy walking. Unless it’s ice-covered. And most of it wasn’t. Park maintenance personnel had plowed the entire path after the latest significant snowstorm that came through. However, we’d had a couple of days of thawing, then freezing at night, and then a minor snowfall. The uphill section in front of us, apparently, wasn’t as well-maintained as other sections of the path.

So, the guy heading our way, stepping gingerly on the ice, greeted us with a “Hello!” followed by a gentle criticism.

“Pretty slippery up there! You’d think they coulda scraped the slush off the path before it froze, dontcha!”

“Oh well,” I muttered—or something like that.

When we got out of earshot, I mentioned to Chris, “I think he’s the kind of ‘outdoorsman’ that would complain if the park district didn’t spray for mosquitos, too.”

It was icy, admittedly, but we were again thankful for the Yaktrax strapped on our boots. I don’t think it would ever enter our minds that “someone” should’ve cleared the path for us. Frankly, I was surprised that anything was done to it. Anyway, I’m getting off track.

The trickiest part of the trail was a very steep downhill from Flagstaff Hill—a bluff overlooking the park—to the creek below. In warmer weather, a man-made waterfall gushes from just under the bluff.  Approximately 50 rock steps were built into the hillside to facilitate descent—in the spring, summer, and autumn. In February, the steps are snow- and ice-covered and potentially treacherous. That was the most adventurous part of the day!

At the base of the bluff, the trail leads over another bridge into the park center. I looked at the bridge, looked at the creek, and back at the bridge.

“Hey,” I declared. “Let’s walk on the creek!”

Clearly, it was iced over, and an inch of snow covered the ice. Naturally, my bride was cautious, wondering if it would hold us up. Well, only one way to find out, right?

I ventured out onto the ice. Not even the slightest cracking sound. Rather than simply crossing the creek, therefore, I led as we walked up the creek.

That’s when I noticed the tracks on the frozen creek surface. Animal tracks, to be sure, but punctuated by a 5-foot long by 8-inch wide smooth trail(?) in the snow. Looking back, the paw-prints/trail pattern continued as far as I could see. Looking ahead, same thing—5 or 6 sets of paw prints followed by a 5-foot trail with no paw prints, repeating over and over again up the creek as far as we could see.

This was a puzzle.

There were no human footprints anywhere—on the creek or the shore. What kind of animal was this (the prints’ features were hard to distinguish because blowing snow had partially filled them in)? And what created the 5-foot smooth indentation?

We walked the creek, parallel to these tracks for 50 yards or so. Then I found a basketball partially buried in the snow, frozen into the top layer of creek ice. Didn’t take much to get it free. And I thought I solved the mystery. A dog(?) was playing with the basketball, nudging it along?

I rolled the basketball on the snow, but it created a completely different kind of track—too narrow, and left imprints of the seams in the snow. Besides, I wondered, how could the animal get this big ball off the surface for 8-10 feet…and when he dropped it, where did his paw prints go?

A mystery.

We got out of the creek, journeyed on the path to the turn-around point, and headed back, taking a slightly alternate route.

Returning to the “No Swimming” sign, I looked out to the other side of the creek and, sure enough, the animal / smooth tracks were down here, too. We stepped back onto the snow-covered ice for further investigation.

Same pattern as far as we could see. Finally, I found a few tracks clear enough that I believe confirmed my suspicions: the animal was a dog, probably the size of a German Shepherd or Husky. Then I observed something else. The paw prints were clustered in a group of four. The pup wasn’t walking along, he was running.

Then I could picture it.

Running four or five or six good steps, then slide…..five steps, slide….6 steps, slide….

Imagining the scene brought a smile to my face and a bit of a chuckle.

Can you see this dog so filled with joy, running along, tongue wagging, then a big sliiiiiiiiddddeee. If he could, he’d yell, “Yippeeeee!!!!”

What gave this hound so much joy? Was it the cold? The new-fallen snow? The sense of freedom? After all, he wasn’t leashed and no evidence of a master existed anywhere. Whatever it was, my imagination told me, he left behind a trail of evidence of a joyful romp on the frozen creek.

Then I wondered about myself and the trail I’m leaving for others to see.

One of the key words in Paul’s letter to the Philippians is “joy” or a derivative of it, such as rejoice or rejoicing.

He shares with his readers that he prays for them “with joy.” (1:4)

He implies that they give him great joy, which would be complete if they will enjoy unity in their fellowship. (2:2) In fact, later he calls them “my beloved and longed-for brethren, my joy and crown….” (4:1) So great does he joy in them, he suggests that should he lose his life for their benefit, he would rejoice with them, and he would further rejoice that his life had not been spent in vain. (2:16-17)

As he writes, Paul is in prison for the faith and some of his enemies are gloating over his predicament. Nevertheless, he still expresses joy in the ongoing preaching of the gospel! (1:18)

In a closing expression of joy, a sort of thank-you note, if you will, he refers to a gift the Philippian church sent to him and writes, “I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that now at last your care for me has flourished again….”

In this one brief letter, Paul leaves behind an unmistakable trail of joy—runs a few steps and slides, over and over again.

Paul and the unknown, unseen pooch challenge me.