The Magical Enchanted Rock Garden of the Driftless
Much like whimsical fairy tales spun by moonlight, gardens blossom in countless enchanted forms and sizes, each exuding its own magical beauty. The seasons twirl through the garden of time like playful pixies, dressed in ever-changing costumes, transforming all they embrace with their mischievous touch.
With the gentle wave of her invisible wand, my mother—our family's very own fairy godmother—dreamed of crafting a multi-tiered flower sanctuary upon our hillside. This enchanting endeavor served a dual purpose: to cradle her exquisite blooms while safeguarding, yet beautifully taming the rebellious soil that threatened to march downhill while battling an army of erosion.
With limited funds and spirited little ones, she summoned forth the most powerful magic of all—imagination! But what wondrous creation could be conjured for this task? Why, rocks! Those sleeping giants of the earth, those ancient storytellers! But, alas, how does one acquire enough of these stone soldiers to build such an enchantment?
Fortunately, our enchanted kingdom stretched across 80 acres of magical terrain, nestled within the mystical Driftless Area—a curious realm that ancient glaciers' frosty fingers mysteriously chose never to touch. This whimsical wilderness held within its realm a treasure trove of unparalleled wonders—rolling hills that seemed to ripple like emerald waves and verdant woodlands that whispered secrets beyond mortal imagination. For hidden beneath mossy blankets and peeking from earthy nooks were countless rock-creatures, just waiting to be invited to Mother's hillside ball. The stone sprites were practically throwing themselves at our feet, as if they'd been waiting centuries for someone to finally notice their potential beyond being mere trip hazards for wandering deer and daydreaming children.
The Marvelous Driftless Area
Hold onto your wizard hats for a wild ride through the Driftless Area, where the land is as rugged as a mountain goat on espresso! This quirky gem in the Upper Midwest is where forests and savannas shake hands like old friends at a magical reunion! Unlike its icy neighbors, this spot cleverly dodged the last ice age's frosty makeover, missing out on those typical glacial goodies—hence the fabulous title, "Driftless Area!"http://eaglebluffmn.org/resources/driftless/
Nearly a millennium ago, Native societies began weaving their spiritual marks upon the land, conjuring tens of thousands of earthen mounds shaped like mysterious lines, perfect circles, and even magical creatures such as bears and thunderbirds. Effigy Mounds National Monument, https://www.nps.gov/efmo/index.htm, perched along the mighty Mississippi in northeast Iowa, showcases these historical wonders. Situated near the charming haven of Harpers Ferry, Iowa, this treasure is guarded by the National Park Service and features more than 200 American Indian mounds, nestled in one of the most breathtaking regions of the Upper Mississippi River Valley.
Sadly, even enchanted realms aren't immune to dark chapters. The Driftless area witnessed the tragedy of Native Peoples upon white settlement; the Sioux, Ioway, Ho-Chunk, Sauk, and other indigenous groups were either forced away or perished during the 18th and 19th centuries—a somber reminder that not all magic in history was benevolent.
Our Family's Dance with the Land
The heavenly providence that guided us to this incredible landscape was, alas, at our very doorstep! Living in the quirky Driftless Area has its challenges, but it weaves a special spell that brings folks closer to Mother Earth's embrace. My mom possessed an amazing passion for the land—a love that flowed from her heart into mine like a magical elixir, sparking my own adventure in farming and animal-keeping!
Unlike the surrounding flat terrain that stretched like a lazy cat in the sun, the hilly slopes of the Driftless were as ill-suited to conventional agriculture as a fish to bicycle-riding. Fields often suffered from severe erosion, with topsoil fleeing faster than mice from a hungry owl. During the 1930s, the region witnessed a curious marriage of conservation and industrial production in agriculture—a dance of balance between bountiful harvests and preserving nature's treasures.
In his wisdom (which sometimes sparkled like rare gems), my father fenced off the steep upper slopes and invited the cattle to become woodland gardeners, keeping the grass trimmed short as a court jester's haircut. This clever arrangement made it easier to access the creek and woodland area while preventing erosion's sneaky advances. The cattle, walking single file through safe passages between the barnyard and stream like obedient school children, created compact dirt trails—perfect enchanted pathways for woodland adventures!
Building the rock garden was no simple spell to cast—it required multiple expeditions worthy of intrepid explorers, venturing into the woods to collect and transport rocky treasures back home. My dad, clever wizard that he was, conjured a small wagon that could easily be hitched to his trusty Ford tractor (his mechanical steed). I recall watching him connect the wagon to the tractor with anticipation bubbling in my heart, knowing that our exciting journey into the magical woods was about to commence!
Rainwater, that mischievous sprite, often carved deep ravines into the pasture lands, causing significant soil erosion as it raced toward the woods. As a solution, a mighty bulldozer was enlisted—a gentle giant of an earth-moving dragon—to create a rough dirt road, enabling us to reach the open area along the banks of the magical Hickory Creek.
The Enchanted Waters of Hickory Creek
Hickory Creek is a beautiful and fascinating water-sprite, forever changing her gown with the seasons. She varies in width and narrows in certain spots like a ballroom dancer, swishing her skirts like water surging in a spring and pressing herself against her unmovable escort, the mighty bluff, causing the creek to bend and twirl. The water rushes and spills over rocks as it reaches the tight corner, giggling like a child playing an eternal game of hide-and-seek with the sun's golden rays.
This cold, clear creek is spring-fed and dances with vigor in the spring, meanders dreamily in summer's warm embrace, and whispers in hushed trickles during autumn's golden days. Hickory Creek, born from a natural spring nestled at the Tri-City Golf Club just a short distance from Luana, Iowa, winds her silvery path toward the Yellow River Watershed Basin. She is one of nine tributary sisters that make up the Yellow River's four segments, and stands as an essential thread in the tapestry of local ecology.
I hold cherished memories of frolicking in the creek with my faithful canine companion, Skippy—a furry magician who could transform simple afternoons into adventures. Together, we delighted in the swimming hole where time seemed to pause its relentless march. The melodious symphony of water cascading over ancient rocks, accompanied by the sweet, intoxicating fragrances of the surrounding woods, created an enchanting sensory tapestry of pure joy and tranquility.
The lively stream also served as a haven for various aquatic creatures—fish that flashed like silver coins, crayfish that danced backward ballets, and freshwater mussels holding secret pearls of wisdom. It provided a vital elixir of life for the surrounding flora and fauna, including our beloved farm animals who drank from its crystal waters.
During the sun-drenched summer months, wandering along the creek bed was like discovering a dragon's treasure trove. Fascinating rocks and stones in various shapes and sizes lay scattered about—nature's jewels waiting for appreciative eyes! We delighted in collecting these magical artifacts and bringing them home to enhance our growing collection, each stone holding memories and stories within its silent form.
Pancakes and Magic
One vivid memory that dances in my mind like fireflies on a summer evening is of my mother cooking pancakes over an open fire using a flat round griddle. The aroma of the batter sizzling and the comforting warmth of the flames created an atmosphere of pure enchantment. As the sun played peek-a-boo through the emerald canopy, casting dappled golden patterns on the forest floor, we gathered around with eyes wide and tummies rumbling in eager anticipation. My mother could outshine the stars as her hands worked their everyday magic, flipping the pancakes with the grace of a fairy tale princess. Each one emerged as a perfect golden disc—a small sun to be devoured with childish delight. To a five-year-old, the aroma of the batter sizzling and the comforting warmth of the flames created an atmosphere of pure magic.
These moments of outdoor cooking were more than just about food; they were about family togetherness, joy bottled like a precious potion, and the simple pleasures of life that make life's tapestry so rich. It was a time when the world seemed to slow down, allowing us to savor every moment, every bite, and every shared smile. Like a precious heirloom, along with the delicious taste of those pancakes, is a memory etched and stored in my memory chest forever, as if they were rare magical gems.
The Lasting Enchantment
Upon reflection, I've discovered that the old saying, "leave no stone unturned," applies to memories too—each one holding a precious glimmer of magic when examined closely. Our gardening project not only provided a scenic view to rival any fairy tale landscape and physical exercise to strengthen our mortal forms, but offered sweet fragrances like bottled dreams, seeds to share like promises, and an overall sensory experience that nurtured the soul's garden.
These special memories of my mother have cast a transformative spell upon my present and future, playing a pivotal role in shaping me into the person I am today. The two most treasured gems of wisdom she has bestowed upon me—more valuable than any enchanted jewels—are the value of hard work (for even magic requires effort) and the importance of kindness and hospitality towards others (for what is magic if not shared?).
As I journey forth with her insights tucked safely in my heart like a magical amulet, I am gently reminded of life's simple joys and the importance of sharing these lessons with generations yet to come—passing the wand, so to speak. For me, there exists no greater reward than knowing her wisdom has illuminated the paths of others and will continue to cast its gentle glow long after the storyteller has finished her tale...and that, dear readers, is enough magic to last a lifetime!
Skippy and the flower garden
*The childhood pictures shared in this post are authentically mine. If you're interested, I have included links to Effigy Mounds and the Driftless area for additional research. In the spirit of sharing, please take a moment to reflect on a special memory you have with or because of your mother and leave it in the comments below. Thank you.*