Fall color, deer danger in full swing

</element><element id="paragraph-1" type="body"><![CDATA[New Liberty Church is peaceful in October. The brown gravel lane is a one-of-a-kind in this area and the white church on its sandstone pillars creates a storybook scene under the yellow and brown leaves.

The area is calming and the old, broken, Celtic Cross headstone is a clue the cemetery is as old as any European cemetery in Southern Illinois.

There were shorter attention spans than mine in our group and we loaded back into the car, all five of us, Vicky Matthews, Erin Howard, Luke Barnard and eight-year-old David Matthews, ready to return to Harrisburg. We had spent the afternoon at Jackson Hole, watching the leaves float in the pool there, the only watering hole around.

The weekend was about to be over and it had been packed to the gills. On Saturday Eric Johnson's head count of 49 was among the highest on any of the River to River Trail Society hikes. The crowd was there for the longest hike of the fall schedule -- 5 miles between Sand Cave and Bell Smith Springs -- and included a bevy of new faces.

The weather was warm, dry and the leaves were a yellow stained glass above our heads.

A black snake basked in the green briar.

There was a big crowd Sunday at Heron Pond. I did not expect that nook of the Cache River would have had any visitors, but apparently the changing leaves of the cypress trees are a big deal. Walking in I was saddened to see a few sickly and dying cypress until I saw the interpretive sign that indicated cypress are conifers, but they drop their leaves in the fall.

Many of the leaves were a auburn-red, an unexpected shade above the green duckweed.

Monday I used a vacation day to see Jackson Hole which was, like all other scenic spring waterfalls, bone dry. There were only watering holes adorned with floating maple leaves and bluegill that nibbled at walnut meat we dropped in the water.

The scenic drive down Oak Road and to New Liberty Church should have been a good cap for the day. But the carefree three-day weekend did not end on a calm note.

I've always prided myself on my ability to avoid crashing into deer.

"Why don't you speed up? You are driving under the speed limit," passengers of mine have said.

But I know deer country too well and know that dusk is the most difficult time of the evening to spot objects and movement in front of a vehicle. The gloom settles in after the sun has sunk, but there is enough of a glow in the sky that headlights won't penetrate. A bit after sunset the atmosphere is a dark cloud and even the road can be difficult to discern.

Blackman Hill Road snaked around woods and yards and over small hills and I drove at a cautious 20 to 30 mph. Even so, the deer leapt from the cover of the ditch. My foot hit the brake that slowed the car's momentum as the side of the creature continued toward the right side of the car. The headlights at close distance rendered its brown fur a ghostly white as it ran and I slowed, but neither happened fast enough.

The Grand Marquis jarred with the impact and the animal spun unnaturally onto the right shoulder.

I stepped out with a flashlight.

"I don't care about the car, see about the deer," Vicky said.

But I had a good reason for checking the front of the car first. I was stalling for time, giving the no-doubt injured animal time to get up and away to safety before I had to stand above it and witness its suffering.

The plastic grill -- which had already been cracked -- was smashed like a smile with the middle teeth knocked out. The bumper was cracked, but there was no blood and no hair. The damage was cosmetic.

Young David wanted to see the deer, but I told him to stay back. I couldn't see anything in the road, but did not want him to be kicked by a wounded animal in fight or flight mode. I also wanted to spare him a potentially nightmarish sight of a mortally wounded animal struggling in its final moments. If it was struggling I had nothing to use to put it out of its misery, just a dull Swiss Army Knife that if I attempted to use would only result in an ugly hoof pummeling to me.

"Brian won't let me," David complained to his mother, but stayed back close to the car.

The deer rose from the ditch and ran on three legs into the woods, obviously injured, but able to get away from its predator. I was satisfied. The deer was mobile so there was no need to wait on police to dispatch the animal, the damage to the car was surely less than $500 and the car was drivable.

I made my report to the passengers, satisfied them and we drove on a little shaken and a little slower.

This is the time of year for fall color tours and the time of year to be watchful for the deer, as though there is any time of year safe from deer collisions.