East River

My Evening Retreat, John's Lake

The next stop on my Still Can't Believe I'm Getting Paid for Gardening vacation took me to a quiet little lake cabin, East River.

The term, East River, makes no sense. Unless, of course, you were unfortunate enough to be born and raised in South Dakota, where the mighty Missouri River neatly slices this state in half.

Moonflowers bloom ecstatically near the lake. Opening as the sun begins to set, flowers reflect moonlight until the sun rises when they close up for the day.

'West River' is cattle country ~ a hard scrabble existence, with dry, desert conditions and more rattlesnakes than people.

'East River' is lush, green, laden with soft, nutrient-rich garden soil that sometimes makes me wonder why in the world I ever chose to move farther west.

Blossoms bigger than your head: Hibiscus flowers easily east of the Missouri River. In my home state of Utah, they require 'round the clock care. (And they're still not happy!)

Interestingly enough, it was West River South Dakotans who coined the term East River as a derogatory label for us 'softies.' (We East River folks label them: jealous.)

So, I landed in the place that I called home for the formative years of my life. And, our first task was the saddest one of all.

Taking down the old cabin that stood forever on my parent's property. It was a fully functional teeny, tiny house that had been there for ages and had finally decided it was time to fall down.

Bye-Bye Cabin.

If this place could talk, oh the stories it would tell. Over these long years 'The Cabin' served as temporary housing [aka free lodging] for many a wayward 20-something and friends down on their luck. A silent cave where my Father read entire libraries of books.

For me, it was a giant playhouse. With room enough for all my friends and most of their Barbies, too.
Early mornings, John's Lake. (You'll just have to imagine me in this shot because I couldn't figure out how to set the camera timer.)