The sun and blue sky of Sunday morning had turned into lowering clouds. The sound of raindrops began to hush around us as we followed an old forest service road towards our destination. Before long at all, everyone else was far ahead and out of sight, while I was hunkered down in the wet grass and pine needles taking pictures of spring’s first flowers. What sweetness! We had temperatures in the 40s, and those of us who had properly layered were plenty warm, even with the gentle rain.
We were hiking in an area of past burn, south and east of Pringle a couple of miles. Before the trail wove down into a valley, distant hilltops could be seen glowing gently under the grey sky, and even scattered blue sky could be seen off to the south east. We saw ample evidence of elk, but not a glimpse of the majestic creatures themselves. No deer, few birds – It was quiet out in the woods. But in amongst the fallen trees and blackened stumps, the purple of pasque flowers could be seen. Life from death. Beauty from ashes. In areas of previous devastating fire, new life springs up with determination.
The trail took us to the historical remains we had hoped to find. Old foundations, remnants of walls and chimneys, a water pump, a tumbled-in root cellar, sparkling pieces of colored glass, shards of rusted metal, miscellaneous kitchen items, ancient stoves, door knobs, coffee cans – All relics of the homestead or town site that once stood there and the lives that had previously been lived there. We don’t know its name, or who lived there, or whom they knew, or what they did, or where they came from, but someone had a life in that beautiful little valley. What will I leave behind when I’m gone? It is an interesting thought.
The raindrops plinked and pattered on a heap of twisted metal, sounding like the rush of a distant, faraway stream. We poked around in the ruins, and could have spent a lot longer there. We only left reluctantly when we figured we should catch up with the rest of the group, who had already gone back to the truck to keep from getting wetter. 
The rain picked up, but that hardly mattered. It is spring, and rain is expected! Sarah pointed out how vivid the colors are in the rain, and she is right. It’s as if the rain washes away a layer of dust, leaving everything clean and fresh with the color plainly seen.
Time and again we extend our Sunday fellowship through the afternoon with hiking. And time and again, I think how perfect a way that is to end a Sunday. Spending time in God’s glorious creation is refreshing any day of the week, but there is something fitting about it on a Sunday – it seems to me that we are in a way extending the sanctuary of worship into the broader realm of His created handiwork. His handiwork and His attributes are proclaimed in the beauty of the landscape, the intricacies of flowers and plant and animal life, the perfect way this earth holds together and flourishes year after year and century after century. When we marvel at and revel in the natural world, we are marveling at and reveling in the works of God’s hands. What a privilege. 
We headed home in a slow drizzle and stopped at Three Forks to get coffee. Beautiful weather. A beautiful day.
The hike to the mill itself was one long gentle slope up – About 30 minutes from the trailhead. It was hot out, and the shade around the mill was welcome. The old mill still stands tall and erect against the side of a taller hill. The sheet metal siding has come off in places, or swings loose in the wind. Rickety flights of stairs still span floor to floor.
The hike to the mines was another climb, boasting beautiful views of Harney Peak in the distance, over a rolling sea of pine trees. Such wonderful country – I still have to pinch myself.
We could smell the mines before we could see the tunnels. The musty, earthy damp mixed with the warm, resiny perfume of the pines, and we could feel the seep of cool mine air as we approached the entrances to the mine, which loomed black in the steep, rough walls of rock. The sheer size of some of the digs was astounding, from the towering walls of open cuts and gaping mouths of air shafts, to the vaulting and cavernous ceilings inside the mine, to places where the ceiling had caved in years ago, leaving just enough space to crouch and scramble through.
The meager glow of our flashlights and lanterns seemed swallowed up in the dark of the tunnels, glistening on damp walls, sparkling dully in pools and trickles of water, occasionally revealing old pieces of machinery from the bygone mining days. Cart track still spanned some of the tunnels, and rotted support beams tottered in the openings.
Little ferns grew at the mouths of a couple of the mine tunnels, transparent green against the bright sunlight outside. Pigeons nested in the sheltering cliffs above one of the open cuts.
Sarah and William and I went back yesterday, and picnicked in the shade of the cliffs. Trixie came along again – She is becoming quite the hiking buddy! When we stopped for lunch, she begged pieces of our lunch and bites of apple, then fell sound asleep while we sat and talked and poked around in the piles of mica.
The Hills conceal a treasure trove of history, history that is as tangible and real as the damp of stone beneath my fingers, or the rough, rotting wood of an ancient structure. The remnants of bygone days are scattered liberally throughout the Black Hills – If you know where to look.
Beautiful weather and very little wind made for a nice kayaking excursion across the lake. Pennington County sheriff’s deputies were cruising around in a speed boat, checking fishing licenses and looking like they were enjoying their job – I loved seeing that. With all the vitriol directed at our public servants, it was fun seeing them doing something like that. I can’t imagine cruising around in a speed boat is much of a chore! I wanted to flag them down and ask if they would make wakes for us to kayak in, but they got away too fast.
And finally – finally! – we drove home via Rapid City and picked up the newest addition of the Adrian household! Meet Trixie. I think it was love at first sight for all of us, even for Dad, who tends to be a little more reasonable about this kind of thing.
Trixie is a husky-golden retriever mix, or at least that is what we were told – She has all the grovelling sweetness of a golden, and at the age of seven months she still has all of her puppy energy. She was so excited and playful, to the point that she just about mauled each of us this evening, and she thinks she is small enough to curl up in a lap. Trixie already is treating us like “her people,” and she was determined to make herself at home – inside the cabin. That was a big “no”, but she is sleeping in her crate right now, and seems content. 
Needless to say, she was a little freaked out and overwhelmed, but she has the sweetest disposition and already seems to be settling in. The cats and she haven’t yet had a chance to come to a truce, but I’m sure they will in time. The cats had Baby, our sister’s dog, very well trained and it didn’t take long for them to train her. They kept their distance this evening, hungry for attention as usual, but uncertain of the intruder. I felt kind of bad, but they’ll figure it out.
We spent the 45 minutes before dinner playing with Trixie and taking pictures. Of course, we all wanted pictures with our new pup. I can already tell she’ll be a good fit. It has been seven months since we had a dog, and I think we were all very ready to have a ready-made hiking buddy, company when home alone, and just the delight a dog can bring to a household.
Our pets always remind me of the loving, good God that I serve, who created such an amazing world for us to live in, for us to enjoy, for humanity to have dominion over with gentleness and wisdom. God created this world to glorify Himself, and although humanity is the crowning piece of that creation and we all, Believer or not, bear the mark of our God, I do believe He takes delight in all of His creatures, even those not made in His likeness.
A passel of butterflies was flittering around the little cove, and finally obliged by posing for a picture. They weren’t bothered by the heat! What color and life in such a tiny creature. 
We’d been there an hour when the sky clouded over a bit and the temperatures cooled – It looked like a storm was brewing, but other than a small rumble of thunder, nothing materialized.
In Luke 12:25-28, Jesus exhorted His disciples: “
Song Dog Journal 