Sylvan And Sunday Gulch 07/15/21

Southern Hills RV Park, Hermosa, South Dakota

When Isaac was old and his eyes were so weak that he could no longer see, he called for Esau, his older son and said to him, . . . . “I am now an old man and don’t know the day of my death. . . go out to the open country to hunt some wild game for me.  Prepare me the kind of tasty food I like and bring it to me to eat, so that I may give you my blessing before I die.” ~ Genesis 27:1-4     From what I know (which is precious little), in the Old Testament when a father blesses his son(s), it’s tantamount to comprising a last will and testament; the only difference being that the father’s blessing back then couldn’t be revoked.  No matter what.  We see the same thing in edicts of kings.  Once it’s done and sealed, it cannot be changed.  I would venture to guess that most everyone knows at least the basics of the Jacob and Esau story – Esau sells his birthright over a bowl of stew, Jacob, by virtue of impersonation, deceives his father into blessing him instead of Esau.  I want to give a few more details.  Isaac was old, and he was blind – obviously very blind.  For whatever reason, he seems to believe that his days are numbered, so he wishes to convey his final wishes upon his favorite son, Esau (Isaac actually lived an additional forty years: see Gen. 35:28-29).  But Isaac lays a condition upon Esau before he can receive his blessing from his father – bring me my favorite meal.  I find it interesting that Esau not only hunts and kills, but can put it together in a tasty stew that seems to be his father’s favorite meal.  And here’s the most important part of this narrative.  Isaac is prepared to overturn God’s ruling – over a bowl of stew.  In Genesis 25:28-34, we learned about Esau doing the same thing – despising God over a bowl of stew.  How often do we do the same?  Casting aside God’s plan and His directives in order to do what we want or think better/best?

Another glorious day, another challenging hike.  This one was a six-miler (or so) that skirted around Sylvan Lake, and then up into the mountains around it.  Remember that beautiful, extremely busy lake where we ate lunch the other day?  That’s the one.

We drove the Needles Highway to get to our trailhead, and made a stop along the way to check out the actual Needle.

Then it was on to our trailhead, to begin our hike.  Because Blaine likes to add on the miles, we combined two trails today.  Parking at the trailhead for Little Devils Tower (the mountain we climbed the other day), we walked over to the lake (half a mile), then around the lake (1-mile loop) to the trailhead of the Sunday Gulch Trail (4-mile loop).

He’d read that it was best to hike Sunday Gulch in a clockwise direction, and we ended up being so very glad we did!  You’ll see why eventually.  😊

The scenery God created just for us was beyond spectacular!  The pictures are nice, but could never do justice to being there.

After we returned, we still had enough get-up-and-go, to take the scenic route towards home, and stop off at Badger Hole for a quick looksy. 

You’ve read what the Park sign says about him, here’s what smithsonianmag.com had to say:

South Dakota’s first poet laureate lived much of his life alone in a prim cabin in the heart of Custer State Park. He wore whipcord breeches and polished riding boots, a Windsor tie and an officer’s jacket. He fed the deer flapjacks from his window in the mornings, paid $10 a year in ground rent and denounced consumerism at every turn. “Lord, how I pity a man with a steady job,” he wrote in his diary in 1941.

Born January 1, 1883, Badger Clark built a career writing what many today call “cowboy poetry,” and what many others, then and now, call doggerel. Clark himself seemed resigned to this lowbrow status. “I might as well give up trying to be an intellectual and stick to the naivete of the old cowboy stuff,” he wrote in his diary at the age of 58. Yet Clark’s poetry became so widely recited throughout the American West that he eventually collected over 40 different postcards featuring his most popular poem, “A Cowboy’s Prayer,” each of which attributed the poem to “Author unknown” or “Anonymous,” as if the poem belonged to everyone—as if it had been reaped from the soil itself.

One final stop at the Visitor Center to check out their video and suck up some air conditioning.  (yes, the Jeep has it, but indoor air is different – like the difference between bathroom water and kitchen water 😊)

In other news, our little three-week old grandson isn’t so little anymore!  These pictures make him look like he’s three months, rather than three weeks!  Precious child!

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Tomorrow’s gonna be a down day.  We need it!