Valley of Sighs

There I was waiting for Pist to come down the road to open the gate so I could follow him back up to the house in Beaumont Antire.
I'd lost my key to the lock but instead of getting a new key cut last fall or allowing me to just replace the damned lock he has to drive the quarter mile down the road.
I did a lot of eye rolling and unambiguous sighing. Pist is my long suffering, sporadic (I do like my space) partner and Daddy to Bellie.
Bellie is cool. She never mentions her other Daddy.

Pist is the first syllable of his last name.
When we first met - I had stalked him - he had told me he'd been called Pist since he was a kid.
I would see him at the Y. I'd be on an elliptical and he'd be on the track.
I was bored so I watched him and invented an elaborate story about him in my head. He was easy to watch.
I really wanted to talk to him so one day, as he walked by me, I said, PSSSST!
PSSSST, I said again. He turned.
Confused, he asked if we were acquainted because, unknown to me, everyone called him Pist.
Since he was a kid.
Which sounds like PSSSST.
According to him.

I discovered the story I invented about him was accurate the second time we talked.
He is a scientist and a pianist and resides in the house that he had built into the bluffs near the confluence of the Big River and the Meramec River.

Update 1/9/21. Text received this morning: Madam. You've neglected to mention it's the 4th key you've lost.

Our Visit to Jeff Co

I grabbed company and road tripped to Beaumont Antire in Jeff Co today to experience and document the landscape, the arcane, what's been discarded and left to deteriorate, and to take in the sights.
We were tourists. Snarky urbanites.

We confident posed as bitches on wheels.

I presented twisted narratives for the sites we visited because these places have movie set attributes. The mood was noir on an overcast day at times overtly baffling amidst a landscape drenched in October light. It was Jim Thompson-ish (author of The Killer inside Me and The Grifters) .

We encountered compelling sights like the old and salvaged STL City light poles on a single unpaved road that housed 10 trailers. And consider that David Lynchish street sign. The fire hydrant on the crest of the hill near a rusted trampoline with an alarming view of the valley.

Jump higher!

One of the trailers made me stop the car when I noticed a smaller trailer parked behind it. I was laughing so hard my road guest watched mystified until I could say: Look, they bought their trailer a little trailer!

Darren photographing Beau:

The Big Valley:

We speculated that this bucket tied to a branch was a trap but only because we wanted to scare ourselves.

In the floodplain. Darren is going in to inspect the water damaged and abandoned club house.

Seed pods:

Darren's work:

Darren's photo of Beau whose other name is Running Cloud:

Wearing a halo of reserve and squinting into the wind. Photo by Darren Snow.