Day 2: In which we see rainbows

Everyone moves with grace if they are in their proper element, says a character in the novel Water Dancer by Jennifer Levin.

I conclude that moving through air, on land, is not my proper element. I do not move with grace. Not too long after we woke up Tuesday morning, I fumbled around with the container of my homemade yogurt that I brought to eat for breakfast and managed to knock it off the counter where it was sitting. Being somewhat less “solid” than store-bought yogurt, it splattered and landed upside down all over the carpet.

Fortunately, the carpet was treated and the yogurt was easily wiped up and was washed down the drain.

I was going to eat a peach with it, so instead I ate the peach with the peanut butter sandwich I had also brought along “just in case” (for some reason, I tend to get really hungry when we drive any distance the car) made with the salt-free bread I baked on Sunday, which I wouldn’t offer to company but doesn’t taste too terribly bad.

As we pulled out of the parking lot of the motel at 7 am, we talked about what we were going to. Drive straight home? I said I wanted to see what Branson looked like. He said OK.

We never got to Branson, however. We were sidetracked by signs for Table Rock Lake, which was created by a US Army Corp of Engineers dam across the White River back in the late 1950s. So we stopped at the Visitor’s Center and enjoyed those exhibits, and walked down to the shore of the lake, where we were captivated by an old sycamore tree with its roots exposed....

struggling to stay alive...

and met an interesting man who told us about the fish hatchery at the base of the dam. So we drove there, and were very amused by this planter...

 wondering how many people might actually touch these plants just because they were told not to...

And then we went inside, and there were the rainbow trout.

Rainbow trout are not native to Missouri or Arkansas...

and the Departments of Conservation of both states are busy raising these lovely fish so people can catch them. And not just the state, there is a private trout hatchery about 20 miles from our house.

Once upon a time when I was 8, 9, or maybe 10 years old, our family went on a camping trip in the mountains of California. One morning, very early, before anybody else was awake, Dad and I got our fishing poles and sat for a while on the bank of a small river near the campsite. I caught a trout – and probably my dad did too. My dad cleaned them and cooked them in a skillet. It was one of the best breakfasts I ever ate. It was certainly a lot better than a peanut butter sandwich on salt-free bread.