Fall Trails in Lyon County

Fall had rolled across southwestern Minnesota, and we found ourselves chasing color into Lyon County. Tucked into the narrow, wooded valley of the Redwood River, Camden State Park promised a blend of prairie winds, whispering trees, and the faint scent of leaves and campfire smoke. The valley had long provided refuge and resources for Native Americans, fur traders, settlers, and travelers. Now, it offered refuge to weekend wanderers like us.

Camden is a place of history. Centuries ago, Native Americans stood at the Sioux Lookout with commanding views of the valley. Later, fur trader Joseph LaFramboise established an American Fur Company outpost here in the 1830s. A few decades after that, the town of Camden grew along the riverbanks with shops and a sawmill before fading back into the prairie by the 1930s. Today, only the quiet remnants remain, marked by interpretive signs along the trails.

The park’s campgrounds stretch from high prairie to shaded riverside. We set up at the lower campground, in the valley woods beside the Redwood River. The park’s 80 sites are divided between this leafy hollow and the upper prairie plateau. Horseback riders, mountain bikers, and hikers share the trails that trace through 16 miles of prairie and forest, with five miles open to bikes and ten to horses. There’s even a one-mile paved connection to the Camden Regional Trail, which leads all the way to nearby Marshall.

By the time we arrived Thursday evening, the campground was quiet, and just three other campers were scattered among the trees. We had enough daylight left to spark a campfire, sit back, and listen to the soft trickle of the river beyond our site. As darkness settled in, a pair of owls began calling to each other through the woods, their hoots echoing across the valley. It felt like the perfect fall evening in Minnesota, peaceful and timeless, and maybe a bit chilly. Fall was in the air.

Friday: Small Towns and Big Discoveries

Morning arrived cool and still in our little valley. When we pulled back the curtains, a massive flock of birds erupted from the trees outside our camper in a flurry of wings. Wrapped in blankets, we sipped coffee and watched them scatter. Around eight, a train rattled through the park, its low rumble mixing with the gurgle of the river. It was a good way to start a day of exploring.

We headed for Tracy, a quiet town on a Friday morning. The streets were wide and empty, lined with old storefronts and fading brick buildings. Squatch Coffee and Eats was our first stop, housed in an imposing two-story sandstone building on Third and Morgan. The window read ‘Support Your Local Caffeine Dealer.” We knew we had found our people. Inside we found a cheerful café in what we suspected had once been a bank, because the cubicle-like booths and an old vault-turned-playroom hinted as much. It made us chuckle; we’re a childless couple, but the creativity didn’t go unnoticed.

I went all in with the Squatch Bagel Sandwich, loaded with sausage and bacon because sometimes you just shouldn’t have to choose. Jen went for Al’s Oasis Omelet, essentially the same ingredients but eggier. Strong coffee worked its magic, and soon we were buzzing with caffeine and curiosity.

Next, we wandered into Lights and More, a sprawling two-story store bursting with used treasures and antique oddities. Owner Lauri Hebig greeted us warmly before flicking on the lights to reveal the basement, her “More.” It was a collector’s wonderland, antique tools, fishing tackle, floral teacups, street signs, and even a rocking horse. Jen unearthed a vintage board game called Stadium Checkers and grinned like a kid.

Across the street, Tattle Tales offered children’s clothes and toys, neatly displayed in what looked like an old storefront that still carried a hint of small-town nostalgia. Childless or not, we couldn’t resist browsing before heading to The Cinnamon Hen, another gem filled with repurposed furniture and home décor.

Owner Nancy Dobson and her husband, Tom, were a creative team. He handled the woodworking; she did the painting. We admired a refurbished dry sink before Nancy invited us into the back room, where she revealed a secret passion project, an entire miniature fantasy world built by hand. Dragons, castles, mountains, caves—all meticulously crafted for a children’s book she was writing for her grandkids called Yongsan (Dragon Mountain). The castle was open at the back, revealing tiny furnished rooms, cobwebs and all. Nancy explained that she let her grandkids play with it to see how their imaginations worked, drawing inspiration for her story. It was pure and delightful, and if she hadn’t told us, we would have never known it was all cardboard and Styrofoam. It was hard to tear ourselves away.

Before lunch, we stopped at the Wheels Across the Prairie Museum. The grounds were dotted with vintage farm machinery, trains, and historic buildings in various stages of restoration. It looked like more were being added, like a living tribute to Minnesota’s prairie past.

The fall colors were in full swing at Garvin County Park near Garvin. The Cottonwood River glittered between golden leaves and we were ready for a walk. We climbed the trail to Merton’s Lookout and took in the sweeping view, then followed the River Trail for a short while. The horse camp was full, no surprise given the weather, but the regular campground was quiet and serene.

Lunch was in Marshall at Sazón Catracho, a Honduran restaurant that smelled like heaven. I ordered Baleadas, thick flour tortillas stuffed with beans, eggs, and cheese, topped with a spicy crema. Jen tried Pastelitos de Maíz, golden corn turnovers filled with savory meat. We both washed it down with Piña, a sweet pineapple drink that instantly became our new favorite.

After lunch, we set out for a mountain bike ride on Camden’s five miles of shared paths looping through forest and prairie. The route started with a steep climb out of the river valley, rewarded by sweeping prairie views. Wide grassy trails carried us across the ridge before ducking into dense woods near the ravine. A rousing descent through deep piles of leaves brought us back to camp, refreshed.

That night, we cleaned up and drove to Bitton’s Roadhouse in Garvin. The place was packed, a classic roadhouse vibe with servers darting between tables and the hum of local chatter. We met Eric Trulock, a friendly local who reminisced about his high school football days and his stint working in the freezers at Schwans, the iconic frozen food company with roots in Marshall.

Owner Sissa Bitton told us how her husband, David, had once been a regular at the bar that used to occupy the space. When it was closing, he came home and declared, “We gotta buy the place.” That was eight years ago, and their menu is simply a list of things they love to eat. Jen went for smothered chislic, aka cubes of steak topped with gravy, on a bed of mashed potatos. I dug into a sirloin steak sandwich equally cheesy and glorious. Above the door, a sign read, “Believe in Miracles.” That summed it up pretty well.

Saturday: Marshall and the Camden Trail

Saturday dawned cold enough for hats and gloves. We set out to ride from the park to Marshall via the Camden Regional Trail. The first mile was a steady climb out of the valley, and by the time we reached the top, the gloves were off. Next came an eye-watering descent into the little town of Lynd, which bumps up against the borders of the park.

The paved trail stretched out in front of us, and a light tailwind kept us rolling easily past fields and neighborhoods. Benches and interpretive kiosks along the way told stories of the land’s natural and human history. It was one of those peaceful rides where every hilltop revealed a new view of golden fields and blue sky.

Our reward in Marshall was breakfast at Main-Stay Coffee. The open, modern space buzzed with conversation, and the staff worked at lightning speed. We both had breakfast sandwiches, and they were out in minutes. Hot, hearty, and exactly what we needed, they made for a good base for a busy day.

Just down the street, the farmers market was in full swing. Vendors sold vegetables, honey, crafts, and pottery. Thai peppers spilled from five-gallon buckets, and a Hmong farmer convinced us to try bitter melon and ribbed gourds. We learned that when mature, those gourds become loofahs, the same kind you’d find hanging in a shower. We left with rolls, kimchi focaccia, and enough Thai peppers to make a winter’s worth of hot sauce.

A few blocks away, we stopped at The Bike Shop. Owner Chad Kulla greeted us warmly and showed us around, proudly pointing out a fatbike trike that drew our instant admiration.

Our next stop was the 9-11 Memorial Park, a small but moving tribute in the heart of Marshall. The Redwood River bisected the one-acre park, crossed by a simple pedestrian bridge. At its center stood a ten-foot iron beam salvaged from the Twin Towers. Nearly 3,000 bricks surrounded it, each bearing a star for a life lost. It was quiet there, a place that made us pause.

Pivoting from reflection to art, we visited the Marshall Area Fine Arts Council gallery, where local artist Jessica Stölen’s exhibit blended photography and imagination. Her dreamy portraits of costumed models in wild places were paired with information about the public lands where they were taken.

The Lyon County History Museum brought us back to mid-century Minnesota. The highlight was a fully restored 1950s ice cream shop, complete with jukebox, paying homage to the Schwan’s ice cream company, which had its humble beginnings in rural Lyon County in the 1950s. Jen pressed A6, and the old Seeburg machine clunked to life, spinning a 45 in glorious stereophonic sound, playing “Lady” by Kenny Rogers. She sang along, and it felt like a little time-machine moment, the two of us with our sundaes in the corner of a museum. I’ve known Jen for over thirty years, and this is how I found out that my punk rock girl is a fan of The Gambler. Of course, we didn’t skip the three floors of exhibits, which covered everything from the county’s pre-settlement times to today.

We grabbed lunch at a tiny spot tucked behind a grocery store sign simply reading Hindi Store. Inside, there were just two rows of shelves and a single table. They had managed to squeeze in a minuscule counter for ordering, and it didn’t take long to decide. Jen had a lamb and rice gyro platter; I went for goat meat and rice. For dessert, we shared Coconut Qumbe, East African caramelized coconut balls that melted on the tongue.

That afternoon, we browsed Marshall’s boutiques, which turned out to be full of personality and small-town charm. At Kristi’s for Women, owner Kristi Miller greeted us the moment we walked in, cheerful and helpful behind the counter. The shop was bright and well-curated, with soft sweaters, denim jackets, and scarves arranged in cozy displays that felt more like a friend’s living room than a retail space.

A few doors down, Nobel Woman Boutique had a distinctly different vibe, and Jen browsed racks of classic, neutral-toned pieces and tables filled with minimalist jewelry, handbags, and candles. The boutique carried both familiar brands and unique finds, the sort of things you buy as a gift and end up keeping for yourself. It struck us as the kind of store that could hold its own in a big city but felt perfectly at home in Marshall’s walkable downtown.

Our final stop was Rlee’s Emporium, a playful, eclectic shop that blended clothing, gifts, and quirky home décor in the best possible way. One corner had graphic tees and jeans; another offered shelves of kitchen gadgets, mugs, and retro signs. A fun store, for sure. Marshall’s downtown had that rare mix of energy and friendliness that made us want to linger just a little longer. We stepped back out on the sidewalk, and as if the town was making a point, we saw a police officer stop traffic to help jump a stalled car at a light. No fuss, just neighborly instinct.

Before leaving town, we stopped at Walnut Grove Mercantile, a small shop famous for its homemade fudge and other culinary delectations. The front porch had wooden benches and hitching rails, where we parked our steeds. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of sugar and fudge. Owner Steve Klein stood behind the counter in an apron, carrying on a family business that started as his father Ray’s honey farm in the 1950s. We sampled Mustang Spirit Fudge, a homecoming-weekend special for Southwest Minnesota State University. And because it had oatmeal in it, “It’s breakfast fudge,” Steve joked. We bought a box for Aunt Margaret, whose birthday was around the corner.

Our bike bags now bulging with treats and produce, we pedaled back toward the park, stopping in Lynd to poke around Lyndwood Antiques. Owner Brian Mock had just opened the place a week before and was still arranging his goods. Vintage signs, tools, and odd curios filled the warehouse-like space, but more was on the way. He told us he’d been antiquing since he was a teenager and wasn’t about to stop now.
With thirty-some miles under our belt, we screamed down the steep hill to the campground and even passed a bewildered party crew on a hayride.

That evening, we drove to nearby Ghent, a tidy little town northwest of Marshall. KB’s Bar and Grill was packed, and next door, KB’s Ballroom hosted some kind of community doin’s. Our server Jo, who’d worked there for thirty years, brought our food with a smile. “I like it here,” she said. “I like people.” Jen had a classic patty melt, buttery and perfect, while I faced down a triple-decker pork sandwich stacked with pulled pork, bacon, ham, Swiss, and bourbon sauce. We decided it was worth every calorie.

Before heading back, we stopped for a nightcap at Brau Brothers Brewing in Marshall. Orange hats filled the taproom, it was pheasant opener weekend, and the centerpiece of the space was a cherry-red 1950s fire truck turned beer dispenser. The old Lucan pumper truck, now gleaming and full of taps, poured more than two dozen varieties of beer and soda.
We had just eaten, but my German heart started beating a little faster when I spied Currywurst on the menu. And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Some call it the unofficial national dish of Germany, and I call it delicious. We lingered over our beers, listening to hunters swap stories at the bar, before heading back to our quiet river valley campsite.

Sunday: One Last Breakfast

Sunday morning came too soon. While the other campers rolled up their awnings and hitched up their wagons, we went for a wonderful Sunday morning walk on the Hiking Club Trail. Two miles were just enough to work up an appetite, then it was time to leave.

We took care of our growling stomachs at The Wooden Nickel in downtown Marshall. A well-loved bar by night, it transforms into a breakfast joint by day, and the specials board offered things like Hangover Burgers and Bloody Marys alongside hash browns.
Jen ordered Breakfast Tatchos, tater tot nachos, a concept we immediately endorsed. I had a classic breakfast sandwich and eyed the pool table in the corner, where a few regulars were already chalking cues.

After breakfast, we grudgingly turned back home. Camden’s valley disappeared behind us, the river winding quietly through its woods, and birds gathering in the branches of the maples, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. We talked about the people we’d met, the meals we’d shared, and how good it felt to slow down for a few days. It had been one of those weekends that reminded us why we love exploring small-town Minnesota.