People ARE the Difference

It's been almost a year since I left Oklahoma.  That's right.  I left my beloved state.  I left my friends and family, and adopted grandma behind – all in the name of love.  While I have no regrets about my decision, that doesn't mean that I don't miss Oklahoma – mostly my Oklahomies.

Sure, I miss chili chocolate tea at t, an urban teahouse, the Lee's coffees at Lee's Sandwiches on Classen Boulevard.  I miss the Towheads habanero salsa from Urban Agrarian.  I miss the Wichita Mountains.  I miss LakeHefner, even in its dwindling state.  I miss the Paseo and Plaza districts.  But, most of all, I miss the people.

The state where I live now is beautiful – classically beautiful.  I would trade the mountains, the pine trees, and the half-frozen wild rivers to have my Oklahomies here.  People make ALL the difference. They can make a difference in a good way, or in a bad way.  Unfortunately, national news has been full of the handful of bad ones lately.   Or, always.

Let me tell you about a few of the Okies that are the good people.  Let me start with my blood-family. My redneck brother has towed my car when I buried it in snow.  He has helped one of my friends haul a piano that she found at a garage sale.  A piano.  A big, heavy piano.  Because he's my brother and it was for my friend.  It once took us FOUR hours to drive 20 miles in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve, because he was helping others.  He helped make sure that a dozen or more people got their homemade tamales for the holidays.  He pulled numerous people out of ditches.  He stopped to pick up one stranded worker just to drive him to a convenience store to pick up enough food to last for the night and took him back to work.  He lives for helping others, and beams when the kids at church look up to “Mr. Paul”.

My other Okie brother will literally give you the shirt off his back.  He IS OKC Kayak (and now, Tulsa Kayak, too).  He will give you his last granola bar if you are on one of his trips and you are hungry.  He will give you his gloves, jacket, and hat if you forgot yours.  He spent most of a day helping me load the moving van with the heaviest of my furniture, and then helped pack up more boxes, too.  Yes, I arrived at my new home with some interesting labeling on some of the boxes (“Misc.” somehow turned into “Misc. sex toys”).  Rarely has anyone been able to beat him to the check, either.  He is always striving to do the right thing.  That's just who is he.

"Southern Belle" Bernie

The last remaining sister in Oklahoma is the Southern Belle.  She will charm you with her Okie accent and genuine smile.  She will sing and dance and make you laugh.  She is not afraid to visit people in the hospital, no matter how bad of shape they are in.  When her own husband was in a serious accident, they both kept their sense of humor.  You will never just get a “happy birthday” from her – she will tell you all of the things that she loves about you on the anniversary of your birth.  She has a soft spot for ALL people and animals.  She sees no boundaries of class, race, religion, sex, or age.  She is teaching the next generation to live with joy and laughter.  It's not her duty, it's just her.

My mom is an honorary Okie, though she probably would never admit it.  She put up with eight, independent, hell-raising kids that took after their father.  She raised the family while my dad worked out of town more often than not.  Then, she took care of my dad through a horrible illness that slowly took away his life over four and a half years.  She has volunteered with hospice, worked as a hospital chaplain, and still runs daily errands for friends she made at the assisted-living center - even though she no longer works there.  She delivers communion, drives them to doctors' appointments, and keeps them company.  Every day is spent serving others.

My Okie friends are changing the image of Oklahoma.  They vote.  They encourage others to do the same.  (Remember, most of the embarrassing Oklahoma news stems from elected officials - did you vote?)  They open businesses.  They employ others.  They stand up for their beliefs.  They stand up for those without a voice.  They tread lightly on Mother Earth.   They make art from others' trash.  They foster animals, and kids.  They feed people.  They are leaders by their actions – not titles.

Oklahomies would not have made me ask for their help if I got my car high-centered in the snow – it would have been freely offered.  Okies would not have made me wait until they finished shooting off their last five rounds of ammo.  Okies would not have complained when the handle of their shovel crumbled when I barely used it.  They most certainly would not have given me an address to send the rest of the money I didn't have on me to cover the last $12 for their old shovel, after they emptied my wallet.

See no evil, smell no evil?

I won't deny that there are some bad people in Oklahoma.  Or, some Oklahomans that do stupid things, or follow along with things that aren't right.  It doesn't matter who is looking, or listening.  We need to all try to do the right thing regardless.  Okies, along with everyone else, are imperfect.  We can all do better – be better.  Maybe other states are judged differently – because the people rarely concern themselves with anything or anyone outside of their personal bubble.  All that I know, is that the Okies that I know and love aren't the ones I read about in the news.  MY Okies are working diligently to make my home state even better.  And, I miss them (and Towheads habanero salsa).

Quest for Water

We were driving through towns only heard about during severe weather coverage on television (okay, I mean the radio, since I haven't owned a TV in many years).  The kayaks were strapped firmly to the roof and were buckling as the heat made their plastic frames pliable.  Folks in towns like Custer City and Thomas stared and shook their heads, as if they had just seen a car with surfboards driving through Oklahoma.  Our likelihood of finding water to wet the boats was looking as grim as surfers seeking to catch their next wave on the inland seas. 

The current drought is going on two years.

Today's plan was just to paddle around at American Horse Lake.  On the way there, I mentioned that the last time I had visited, the water had dropped a good three feet in a matter of two weeks.  That was probably two or three months ago - before the mercury hit the hundred-teens. 

An hour's drive later, I make the last slight left to the lake and meet a new gate with a bright orange sign announcing "DANGER - RESTRICTED ACCESS" and forbidding entrance.  We got out and walked the last few hundred yards to what used to be the water's edge.  There was no lake.  There were hills of red dirt and shale.  Beer bottles from years past and entombed plastic tubs that held bait in a past life.  When we finally found water, it was a stagnant, green puddle.  There was no sign of the clear waters that had stolen my heart the first time I discovered this lake.  We would later learn that the lake was being drained for more work on the dam that was damaged during flooding several years earlier.  For now, we were rejected.  All we could do is return to the car and vow to come back without boats and armed with trash bags, so we could clean up my playground in anticipation of rains that will revive her and make her beautiful once again.

American Horse...Lake?

GPS, maps, and the Oklahoma Water Atlas are consulted and we redirect to Canton Lake.  All that I knew of Canton, was that this was the source that fills Overholser, Stinchcomb, the North Canadian River (oh, I mean the Oklahoma River), Lake Hefner, and my water bottle.  The backroads take us through dry farmland and past many unmarked dirt and gravel roads.  I'm always excited to drive on an Oklahoma road that I haven't ever seen before.  As my traveling companion says, "when plans fail, the journey begins".  Little did he know at the time that the plans would fail more than once on this day.

"ROAD CLOSED TO THRU TRAFFIC" the sign read, just past the sign that pointed the way to Canton Lake.  Well, we had been debating whether to go to Canton Lake or Foss Reservoir, so the next choice was obvious. Besides, the map shows that we would be crossing the South Canadian River, so we could always just stop there and slide the boats down the side of the bridge and launch into the sandy riverbed. We recalculated our route.

The wide bridge announced the South Canadian River crossing, but we peered over the sides and couldn't see any water in either direction.  Not a puddle, not a ribbon of stream, not a drop.  I was beginning to think that the townfolk in their pick-up trucks were right about our deteriorated mental condition.  What were we thinking when we loaded boats and set out to go kayaking today?

South Canadian "River" to the East

South Canadian "River" to the West

I crossed my fingers and questioned my loyalty to the sun gods.  We need clouds and rain, too.  Why hadn't I realized this before today?  Oh, what have I done?!?  I search for upbeat tunes and continue speeding across dusty towns with more people in the cemetery than the last census.  One town boasts that it is storm-ready and I wonder what that means.  Union Pacific trains stretch for miles in their stillness, with just enough gaps to keep from blocking the numbered county roads.  I wonder if there will be another gate, another roadblock, or another dry patch of land awaiting.  There was no Plan E.

Blinding sun reflected off whitecaps and sparkling white boats bouncing skiers.  The three-mile earthen dam (one of the largest earthen dams in the world) wasn't doing a "dam" bit of good, since the water had receded several feet from the foundation.  But, there was water, and lots of it.  Probably not 63 miles of shoreline, as the Oklahoma Water Atlas boasted, but there was still plenty to share. 

No big boats launching here!

I already had the launch site picked out on the map - the furthest boat ramp from the dam, and the one bordering the Washita National Wildlife Refuge.  There was only one other boater in this part of the lake, and they were anchoring for a walk on the sand and a dip in the inviting water.  Our kayaks splashed their way across the lake against the wind.  The drips of water blown from the paddle blades were welcomed on hot skin.  This was nothing like the quiet little pond that we were originally trying to reach.  Good thing that we are Oklahomans and are resilient, stubborn, and still able to evolve.  We will make it work, and we are going to enjoy this journey, wherever it takes us. 

These people are Oklahoma-ready!

 

Red Dirt Shores

Welcome to the kayak tour of Lake Hefner.  Oklahoma City's drinking water.  Home to 9.5 miles of walking/ running/ cycling/ blading trails.  Classic spot for new, old, and quick romances.  (I still feel sorry for the first boy who took me "parking" here, before I knew what that was.)  Today, you will be introduced to the intimate details you might have missed those thousands of times you only thought you saw the lake.  When viewed from the inside, at the water-surface level, the perspective changes.  The lake view becomes macro.

We will start our tour at Hobie Point.  The sailboaters claim this sandy beach, but it belongs to us all.  What?  You didn't know that Lake Hefner had a sand beach?  It's been dry for a while, but the water is now starting to return.  The sand gives way to mud before we have enough water to float the shallow boats and launch.  Don't forget your water, sunscreen, hat, and sunglasses - you're going to need them!

Heading west and south, we pass Canada geese and great blue herons on the hunt.  We round the side of the Tom Jones Memorial R/C Flying Field (and home to a family of foxes).  I still remember the day that Tom Jones took his last flight in Oklahoma.  Do the kids with remote controls in hand know who he was?  They play on his field, never realizing that another anniversary of his end approaches.  Regardless, his legacy still takes to the skies in the field with his name.  As the daughter of a pilot, I can't forget.

Across from the fishing pier, killdeer babies run like fuzzy ping-pong balls on stilts.  Mallard families take turns sharing responsibility for the young ones.  We pass the marina, where thousands of cliff swallows emerge to clear the air of mosquitoes.  The recent drought leaves plenty of clearance to take our thin boats under the docks and see the busy parents filling the open mouths.  We wonder at their bravery to attempt their first flight over water.

The golfers to our left are oblivious as we glide by.  Look among the rocks and you might spot the blue-winged teal that rests there.  The wide inlet is bordered by nesting Eastern kingbirds.  An occasional grebe is spotted between dives.  This area is in the flight path of the ospreys who perch with fish in talons in the pond on the other side of the road.  When we round the next point, the red dirt shores seem to slough into the matching water.  It is a bale of soft-shelled turtles that sun on the beach.  This is where I learned how to identify them by their pointed noses as they breach for air.

Ahead of us, the water is rushing in from Lake Overholser through the canal.  A little higher, and the water will connect to the shallow bird sanctuary on the other side of the fishermen.  Eight types of egrets and herons reside there, as well as beavers, snakes, songbirds, raccoons, and cormorants.  The blackbirds guard their nests in every willow.  Flimsy starbursts of straight branches make up the nests of the green heron.  Their nervous, awkward ways entertain us.  Rarely-seen migrating species rest and refuel in this area.
See the dark birds with thin, bent beaks?  These few are the last hold-out from a group of 20 or 30 white-faced ibises that came through last month.  The visitors revolve with the daylight, and each season I spot something I've never before seen. 

Jetted ahead by the influx of water, we approach the shallow southwest corner of the lake.  Coots run on top of the water and small fish jump in our boats.  The sides boil with spawning catfish.  Let's follow the dam around and search for mink in the rocks.  Yes, there are mink here.  The runners and cyclists may never see them, but ask the fishermen that sit quietly.  The water tower still proudly brags about the '89 Olympics held here.

Windsurfers and kiteboarders catch the abundant air on the northeast side of the water.  Our small boats become a rodeo when we turn into the summer wind.  There is the Lego-like lighthouse to our left.  Smoky gray cats mingle with siamese by the boat docks.  See the left ear, missing the tip?  These cats are part of a large colony, fed and neutered by volunteers.  We splash past the row of restaurants, promising to come back after dark and listen on the water to the one-man bands playing the patios, or The Wise Guys playing covers to all ages on the lawn at Louie's. 

Further south, beavers are changing the landscape.  It snows with cottonwoods, fighting to reseed.  Pubescent geese mingle with the ducks, looking for a free meal by Stars and Stripes.  The park has a new face, complete with viewing scopes by the flagpole - ruining the days of losing layers and tanlines midweek in the center of the lake.

The muddy parking lot to the west is Paddler's Park - claimed by the kayaking community.  Just think of it as a day at the spa when you wade through the muck to get your boat wet.  A group of politically-active kayakers literally cleared the path to this area.  Their actions helped OKC Kayak to continue to bring boats and their experience for others to enjoy on the waters of Lake Hefner.  On the far side are remnants of a pier by funky, teepee-like shades.  Remember these landmarks when we return after dark, they will guide us back to the shore.

This completes your kayak tour of Lake Hefner, as our paddles dip in the mud at Hobie.  Feel free to stay a while.  Park your chair in the sand, open a bottle of wine, and enjoy front-row seats to a no-special-glasses-needed 3-D theater for another rich, Oklahoma sunset.