PHOTO POTPOURRI--

  
High on a north ridge of the Wooster Memorial (Spangler) Park Sue pauses to enjoy the late summer sun as it dapples the forest floor of this 350+ acres of plush woodland.  The park is laced with some 7 miles of challenging hiking trails and bisected by a gently flowing stream which, over geologic time, is likely a tool Mother Nature used to carve it's chiseled topography.

Today the park boasts 17 geocaches; all tucked invisibly and playing hide and seek with cachers like us and our friends the Meinzers, who after two, near day-long exhaustive visits and mile upon mile of hiking-searching, have managed to find 12 of the little treasurers.

The remaining five, all spaced at least 1/10th of a mile apart will nudge us toward a future expedition of savoring nature's visual communion in this nugget of public land.

In an earlier caching outing Sue and I came upon this tombstone which celebrates the all-too-brief life of a youngster who evidently found passion and likely noteworthy achievement on the baseball field.

I found myself wishing I could have seen him play while hoping Heaven rewards him far beyond what life had to offer.

Pro-creation, praying mantis style:  These two insects (below) found themselves smack dab in the middle of the B&O Bicycle Trail during their amorous exertions while we wandered by on yet another caching outing.

Note the wary expression of the lower creature for which I apologized profusely.

Moments later Sue and I went on our way and immediately bumped into another couple of cachers who happened to be from the Columbus area.  Nearly as quickly, and to our total amazement, they inquired if we were known in caching circles as the Skagways; which happens to be correct.

Turns out they also do some snow-birding in our Florida town; just a half-mile or so up the road, in fact, and they recognized us from our pictures in our geocaching log postings on-line.  Needless to say we are in the process of cementing our connection and looking forward to shared caching outings with them in the sunny south.

As we wandered back toward the parking area, Sue exclaimed, "What was that?"  I heard it too, a strange noise coming from the near-by brush.  It sounded like an aggressive human trying to clear his throat, or maybe a grunt through a very moist nasal passage.

While Sue turned to take a closer look I noticed a white tail deer in the same brushy area.  I was reminded it was approaching the season for their rut, and suggested to Sue this might not be either the time or place for excess curiosity.

I could picture an agitated buck deer blasting out of the bushes and encouraging our immediate departure.