Foliage and Train Tracks Along the Little Juniata

It was a day of railroad tracks, bridges, and foliage!

A few weeks ago, on his way home from taking my car to our mechanic in Huntingdon, my husband stopped for a quick hike along the Little Juniata River. There he discovered a bunch of railroad tracks and bridges. He couldn't stay long on that day, and he felt that he'd only scratched the surface in the short time he'd spent there, so he wanted to go back. I'd reserved every Friday in October as a possible vacation day, and he knows how I am about railroads and bridges and water, so on this day, I went along with him to explore the area.

And what a beautiful day it was! It was sunny and warm, with a high in the low 80s F: more summer than fall. We left our car in the parking area and set out along the Little Juniata, walking on an abandoned paved road covered with leaves.

We walked a ways down along the abandoned road and set up our chairs and relaxed in the shade, while listening to the sounds of the trains going by. There were surprisingly MANY of them; this is a very busy section of tracks, and the rumble and screech of the rails became a familiar sound. We also saw several other smaller, non-train conveyances on the rails: lots of work being done there, apparently.

We hiked back to the river itself and claimed a spot along it so that we could go wading in the cool, clear waters. My husband was the first one in, and he stream-walked across to the other side. A bit slippery along the flat spots, was his report. And when he came back, I donned his (somewhat oversized for me) stream-walking shoes for a short jaunt out myself.

The sights and sounds of this day . . . A familiar cackle and a flash of blue: a kingfisher overhead, a sign of a healthy stream. The silver/white belly of a trout as it came out of the water, flipped through the air, and went back under. The rustle and whisper of falling leaves; a flotilla of leaves, floating down the stream. A huge blue dragonfly flying all around my legs, looking to sit on me, perhaps: both of us enjoying the water and the gorgeous day.

And then we hiked out, stopping at several railroad trestles for photos. As my husband sat by the river, I climbed a steep grade to get a few shots of the railroad tracks above us. Given the active nature of the rails, I made it a tiny, hasty photo shoot. Climbed back down. Surveyed myself: and I was covered in . . . QUILLS!???

"Did I just crawl through a dead porcupine and didn't even NOTICE?" I asked my husband. "That's a country girl for you . . . " he laughed. But fortunately, it turned out that they were just the barbs of some strangely shaped seeds. I'd crawled through a bunch of brambles and poison ivy to get up and back, so I removed the seeds from my clothes, then went down to the water and rinsed off my hands, arms, and legs. Better safe than sorry.

As I sat down by the water recuperating from my climb, I saw a tiny, stripey snake (maybe a foot long at the most) swim across the surface of the water. First in one of the tiny side pools. Then along the rocks. Then it disappeared. I looked again, and our tiny snake was moving along against the current. Almost like it was playing. (Do snakes play?) From there, it made its way out into the main river area. What a brave soul. Go, tiny snake, go!

I found myself pulling out my notepad, making a few specific notes so that I would remember it all: about the silver belly of the trout; the blue dragonfly; the laughter of the kingfisher; the rustle of the leaves; the tiny, brave, stripey snake; the rumble and screech of the train.

My husband had his little iPod and speakers set up. He knows how to make me happy: the soundtrack to our day was a set of 80s tunes, in alphabetical order, I guess: ASIA, then Benatar. "What are you writing?" my husband asked. "Le Bel Age: the good times," I replied. "A perfect soundtrack for this beautiful day."

The song: Pat Benatar, Le Bel Age. For these, my friends . . . these are the good times.