Tag: Hamburg State Park

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Labor Day Morning 2023

7:15 a.m. – I was sitting in my camp chair at Hamburg State Park in Mitchell, Georgia wrapped in a white fleece blanket, drinking black coffee from my favorite oversized Snoopy Halloween mug. 64 degrees of hot flash heaven! The smoke from the neighbor’s fire last night was still rising in spiral-y wisps from the pit, scenting the air of burnt wood. My clothes didn’t match today, and I didn’t care – floral shirts and a tie dye t-shirt. I had a bad hair day, too, and that was fine with me. And no makeup to top it all off.

8:00 a.m. – Across the lake, I spied a lone angler in a jon boat, fishing the uninhabited wilderness island shoreline in his sun hat. Hamburg State Park is said to be the most remote of all Georgia State Parks, and forgetting the WiFi hotspot was at first disappointing, but then it wasn’t. My husband had found himself a Harlan Coben book in the Little Free Library, and I’d done some reading and writing, too. But at that moment, he was still snug in the camper, wedged in like tire chocks by 3 snoozing Schnoodles who like to be cozy in the covers.

8:30 a.m. – In the far distance, I heard the boom of gunfire and my heart wept for the doves losing lives and mates. Dove hunting season just opened in Georgia. Don’t even get me started.

9:15 a.m. – A middle-aged woman wearing a mid-calf navy skirt, a gray sweatshirt, and a pair of laceless Keds that reminded me of my grandmother’s Grasshoppers walked a slow-moving Border Collie mix along the camp drive, neither in a hurry to be anywhere. A bald man on a white e-Bike sped past, then a man on a regular bike, turquoise with a basket, eased by and tossed a morning greeting hand in the air, smiling big like the fresh air exhilarated him from the inside out. I smiled and waved back.

9:30 a.m. – We had one of those neighbors this time – you know, the kind with the voice that carries all through the campground, informing everyone across all 30 campsites of her daughter’s Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, the current plight of her own insurance woes, and a cousin’s wedding episodes of family members who didn’t get along ruining the day. It takes a good bit to really get on my nerves, but I came very close to standing up and shouting FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS PEACEFUL, WILL YOU P L E A S E STOP TALKING???? Her husband kept taking the dog for a walk – a little dachshund puppy in a red sweater – telling it, “Heel, Heel.” And I didn’t blame him one bit.

A leaf twirls groundward from a water oak

9:45 a.m. – An occasional leaf turned loose from a branch and twirled to the ground from the water oaks lining the lake, and every now and then a fish broke the surface, ploonking back into the water as its silvery scales flashed a watery hello. The Blue Jays were the other loudmouths on this campground, and yet I understand their marked presence – and purpose – there with all those oaks and acorns now that I’ve read Slow Birding by Joan Strassman.

9: 50 a.m. – My husband emerged from the camper and had finished reading his book. He was ready for his typical breakfast of graham crackers and plain Chobani Greek yogurt, with coffee. I fixed my yogurt with fresh diced peaches, and we talked about the (probably) 5,000 pictures of the sunset I took (quietly) from the campsite over the weekend.

10:00 – Neither one of us wanted to leave. We were just ready to see the noisy neighbors pull out. He asked, “Is it just me, or did this trip seem a lot more relaxing than any camping trip we’ve ever taken?” I assured him it wasn’t just him – that we really did relax deeply, and that tomorrow we’d be back at work – – but that for today, we were savoring this Labor Day as we celebrate of all the workers who make our country an amazing place to live.

We raised our mugs to working hard so that we can play hard, too.

Great Egret perched on a post in the lake
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May 29 – Thankful for These Moments

Two of my goals this year are spending more time in nature and taking my camera along more to be intentional about observations as I work to improve my photography. Sunday at Hamburg State Park turned out to be a gorgeous day, and I wanted to take my camera back to the mill we’d toured the previous day to look around the dam outside and see what all was in the area of the bridge and the creek. We drove the short distance from our campsite to go exploring, but we decided to leave the dogs in their soft-sided kennel in the car with the windows cracked since the temperatures were cool. In areas like these, you never know what might be lurking under a log or near the water, so we left them in the truck to nap as we kept an eye on them from the bottom of the ramp near the water.

There are birdhouses all around Hamburg State Park, and as I checked information on my eBird account and Merlin app, I discovered that this was a birding hotspot. Just a few seconds of sound recording proved that there were many different species singing from the tops of the trees. Swallows, bluebirds, a variety of warblers, blue-gray gnatcatchers, and cardinals topped the lists in a few spots, along with vireos and wrens. I saw an Eastern Kingbird, too.

But swooping down first on one side of the dam and then the other was a Great Egret with a wide wingspan, its legs looking as skinny as those wire marshmallow roasters we hold over the fire, trailing in flight behind him.

I dashed across the road to get a glimpse from the bridge, clicking away all the while, as he led me straight to his friend – – a Great Blue Heron. They waded in the water on their thin backward-scissoring legs, scanning for birds, their necks craning up, down, and sideways with an odd humor, much like a dog that cocks his head back and forth when he strains to understand. Watching these birds was a highlight of my entire weekend!

I heard my husband calling my name, trying to get my attention from afar and be quiet all at the same time. He was standing frozen still, telling me to have my camera ready. I headed in his direction as he urged me to come quickly but approach slowly.

There. Do you see on that tree stump?

He pointed at the base of the stump just across the water, a few feet away.

I was looking for a bird.

I wasn’t expecting a snake.

But there it was, a venomous Cottonmouth, as big around as a giant summer sausage with its Zorro mask and owl eye patterns down its sides, looking a lot like an ellipsis inside parentheses to an English teacher. It had been approaching the top of the tree stump and turned around to seek shelter in the hole at the base when it saw my husband. It stopped briefly to flick its forked tongue at us for interrupting its plans, took us in for just a moment eye to eye, then continued on its way to shelter beneath the ground.

I felt blessed to have seen this snake in the wild (happy, of course, that it was on the other side of the water), and even more glad we’d left the dogs in the car. I was also counting my blessings that I could positively identify the snake. You see, a year ago, I joined two Georgia snake groups that are monitored by expert herpetologists who identify any snake posted on the page with a quick turnaround time. I’ve learned how to tell commonly mistaken species apart and gained an appreciation for the extensive role of snakes in our ecosystem. The groups are What Kind of Snake is This? Georgia and Georgia Snake Identification and Education, both on Facebook. As soon as I posted the photo and location, the response from the expert confirmed what I had learned from repeated similar sightings posted by others.

Venomous Cottonmouth, Agkistrodon piscivorus. Keep a safe distance to watch this one!

I’m grateful today for fascinating moments like these. I’m abundantly grateful for the men and women who fought bravely defending this nation and its places that I love and who ultimately gave their lives for the peace I enjoy today in these state parks full of quirky, underappreciated, and often misunderstood wildlife. I’m praying for the families whose hearts are heavy with remembering the joy their fallen loved ones brought, missing all the memories they sacrificed so that I could enjoy making these memories today. For us, this day is not about a day off from work grilling hot dogs in merriment, but one of taking time to realize that the rights and freedoms we have today have come only because those before us fought for them – and died for them.

And that is how we are keeping Memorial Day a sacred time of remembering and appreciating.

Hamburg Mill Dam
Barn Swallow
Day Lilies
Eastern Bluebird
Great Egret
Great Blue Heron and Great Egret
Great Blue Heron and Great Egret
My husband, standing across the creek from the Cottonmouth
Venomous Cottonmouth
Venomous Cottonmouth showing its forked tongue
A lovely sunset
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May 28 – Hamburg Mill Tour

On Friday evening as we checked in to Hamburg State Park in Mitchell, Georgia to camp for the weekend, we noticed an event flyer for a tour of the old gristmill here at the park. We’d admired it the first time we camped here in 2022 and had been disappointed that we couldn’t see inside. Here was our chance!

So we bought 2 tour tickets for the 2:00 tour and joined the local historian guiding this tour.

We weren’t disappointed!

We learned that the Gilmore brothers built this mill in 1921, and that it is owned today by the State of Georgia – and is still a working mill. On the tour, we learned that the dam powers the mill, and we saw diagrams and each section of the way the mill works. I had no idea that grits and cornmeal are the exact same thing; the only difference is the size of the grounds of corn. The powdery grind is cornmeal, while the thick, gritty grind is what we call grits. And oh, with butter and salt, they are simply divine.

I also didn’t know that “milling about” came from the 1920s and 30s when farmers would socialize while waiting their turn to have their dried corn or wheat milled into meal or flour. Apparently this was the “market” of the day, where coming wasn’t just about bringing crops but also about keeping in touch with others in the community.

What I did already know was that when people said they would be somewhere, “if the Good Lord’s willing and the Creek don’t rise,” this was in reference to the relationship between the Native American tribe of Creek and the white settlers encroaching on property that was not originally theirs during colonial times.

I’m including some of the photos I took on the tour so that you can see the inside of the mill. If you’re ever in this neck of the woods, it’s well worth the $2.00 for the tour (or check this one out on Youtube)!