Packing the Picnic Basket
It’s 7 AM on a Tuesday in November, and I am ready to leave for our day at Lost Maples State Natural Area. Except, that is, for the fact that I have to pack our picnic for the day, and I am minus a sister.
Sipping a cup of coffee that I soon forget is on the counter, I open the door to the refrigerator. Removing the buttermilk coleslaw that is flavored with dill and studded with thin diagonal slices of sugar snap peas, I taste a spoonful before placing it in our insulated picnic tote. Ohhh, it’s good. Better today than yesterday—the melding of flavors really works wonders.
After tasting the salt and vinegar potato salad and adding a touch more of Old Bay Seasoning, I scrape the potatoes into a picnic container and add them to the tote. Next comes the fennel-basil enhanced chicken salad sandwiches. I still can’t decide which roll to use, so I fix one of each for the three of us—sweet Hawaiian and a soft white roll made with eggs.
I’m in a dilemma when it comes to our non-sugar dessert. My giant salted oatmeal cookies taste great, but I did something wrong, and rather than being crisp and sturdy, they are as delicate as lace. I pack them anyway because they are all I have, also including both Camembert and St. Andre for mounding on the cookie, along with orange blossom honey for drizzling over the cheese. My mouth waters in anticipation, just thinking about the delicious combination.
On the Road
Sharon arrives right on time, reminding me of the fact that she’s early. A first. But I love her anyway—even when she is late.
While I put on shoes and grab a jacket, Sharon and Michael load the car, and soon we’re off to find autumn in the Texas Hills. Once on the road, Michael informs us that we are taking the long way to Lost Maples because a bridge is out on our preferred route. He adds that he likes this alternate path better anyway. Neither Sharon nor I care—the day promises to be beautiful, and we are ready for an adventure.
An hour and a half after leaving home, we reach Texas-16 just south of Kerrville and turn left. I love Texas-16 and announce that one day I want to travel from the beginning to the end—because I’ve never seen the beginning nor the end—just tiny parts of the middle. I want to see more. Soon we are driving into the heart of the hills, and at one point, my sister Sharon, who has never been on this road before, exclaims that she doesn’t feel like she is in Texas anymore. The road crawls and climbs up the steep hilly path, shaded by trees on each side and overhead.
A Picnic at Lost Maples State Natural Area
Following a Mini Cooper since driving through the small village of Tarpley and the into Lost Maples State Natural Area entrance, we watch and wait and see the driver and passengers turned away because they do not have a reservation. It wouldn’t have been a problem any year before now, but Covid-19 has changed all of the rules. Everywhere.
We wind our way to the parking lot adjacent to the picnic area, and it is full of cars—I can feel a sad face coming on. “But it’s a Tuesday,” I groan. Everyone echoes my sentiment.
Picnic Area Parking at Lost Maples State Natural Area
However, the brilliant blue sky and the sunshine brings a smile to our faces, and while Michael unloads the car and finds us a perfect picnic spot, Sharon and I take a short exploratory walk. When we see Michael again, he points us to the chosen picnic table, and I begin to set out our humble lunch. We all agreed beforehand that since it is after 11 AM, we should eat, then hike. Even a long hike probably won’t help with all the calories I packed for us to consume, but we dive into the food set before us anyway.
The Bird Whisperer
While we munch on the broken lacy cookies, with chunks still large enough to spread with cheese and drizzle with honey, a variety of feather friends come to visit. A tiny Tufted Titmouse returns again and again. We are not sure if he is hungry, hopeful, friendly, or fearless. Michael and four-footed and winged creatures seem to have an affinity for each other, and the tiny bird seems to prefer Michael, or at least he likes the bench where Michael sits. Michael soon confesses that it is because he is crumbling cookies for the small creature to consume.
Looking around, as we repack our picnic tote, we notice that every picnic table is now occupied! The tables are far enough apart that every group can have their privacy, but still, I have never seen anything like this. It’s a Tuesday! There are no children, only COVID-19 weary adults who must have decided to become leaf peepers for a day.
Suddenly my sister calls to me and says, “Charlotte, come look at this.”
I either have a very romantic husband or it was serendipity that brought us to this table.
When confronted, Michael denies the responsibility.
The Maple Trail
Michael, Sharon, and I grab our walking sticks and head toward the Maple Trail. I have walked this trail many times before; the last time was an impromptu visit after lunch at the Laurel Tree when I had on good clothes, and my feet were shod in new black leather boots. After our walk that day, my boots were nicked and tattered and dirty, looking like they should belong to a cowhand, not a lady fresh from lunch.
Maple Trail at Lost Maples
We hear voices on the trail, before and behind our small group. The clusters of people behind us catch up. Pass and continue walking with purpose. I wonder why they hurry? We dawdle. Looking. Remarking. Wondering. Taking too many pictures—everyone but me. Michael’s photos are always better than mine, so I decide to concentrate on just absorbing what I see.
The first part of the trail is rugged, and I remember why I put on tennis shoes this morning. Sharon complains that the bottoms of her tennies are too slickerie for some of the smooth, slippery stones that litter the trail. While we walk, we notice the thousands of fallen leaves that blanket the ground. We realize we are here well past their peak beauty, but once we thought of this outing, it took us almost three weeks to find a date when reservations were still available. So, we make the best of our leaf-peeping adventure, relishing the other features of this beautiful park.
Maple Trail at Lost Maples State Natural Area
The giant boulders dwarf us—even Michael. The steep canyon walls stretch skyward. We find a bench for three, sitting and staring at the cliff beyond, and wonder who inhabits the cave at the top. There is no safe access—even a mountain goat would have a hard time reaching the opening.
Choices
We travel on, and Michael explains that he is going to follow an offshoot trail to see what is there.
Sharon and I decide to follow his footsteps, and when we reach the end of the trail, there is no Michael—only water. I panic and start calling his name.
The trail less traveled in Lost Maples State Natural Area
He answers.
“Where are you?”
“Over here.”
We follow his voice and continue on the trail till we reach a sign that gives us options. Knowing that the East Trail is a 4-mile loop back to the parking area, and we have at least a two and a half-hour drive before us, we take the path of least resistance, cross the river and follow the low road back to our car.
Our chariot awaits…
Lost Maples State Natural Area
We have been visiting this park for decades, never hitting peak color season. Many times we don’t even try, but come for the natural beauty and the trails. Most week days the park has few visitors – the droves come in the summer and on the weekends, except during November which is when the Lost Maples are at their most beautiful colorful best.
Check out their website for more information at
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