Lake Parsons

“There used to be a bunch of us,” he tells me from the seat of his side by side. “Now it’s just me and my brother and then that there’s my sister. We come out 12 days a month, but if we can stretch it an extra day we do.”

Twelve days being the limit in a 30 day period, they’re taking full advantage of this fairly large county park on a natural lake. A plentitude of Osage orange and black walnut trees drape shade across nearly every spot, each equipped with a clean, recycled-tires picnic table, 30 and 15 amp service, and some with water spigots that need a hex tool to operate.

Seven campers, all told, the siblings and another group of three, plus the campground host, make up what seems to be a semi-permanent — but well kept — population here. A sign reads $18 for campers, $5 for a tent and our van leaves us the higher amount lighter.

The fee is collected, in the morning, by a city employee who’s come to mow the already short grass, as the campground host’s dog didn’t want us coming too close to his trailer the night before. No envelopes are available at the iron ranger.

Hornets have overrun the bathrooms, not that anyone has cleaned them in recent times anyway. Cigarette butts, 7/11 cups and various assortments of styrofoam litter nearly every site and open space in the park. Not one but two nice and nearly new looking playgrounds, as well as half a basketball court, occupy the otherwise large grassy area between sites. There’s no swimming allowed at the campground, and signs galore warn of the dangers of blue algae that’s formed lately, and perhaps often. The local guy in the side by side tells us there are two other swimming beaches, but also warns us against doing so due to the algae. Several nice docks allow for easy put in of pontoons and kayaks.

They tell me the crappie are phenomenal this time of year. They also tell me that the blue algae makes them dangerous to eat, unless it’s rained recently. That doesn’t sit square with me in any case, but we manage to have a quiet night with little more than a hooting owl and the faint sounds of campers enjoying their evening fire.