October 27: Northwest Arkansas to Kirbyville, Missouri

We all got up early on Friday morning so that we could be on our way before Les & Mary Gay had to leave for their doctors'. It promised to be another misty or rainy day. I ignored the warnings that it would turn cold and dressed inappropriately which I came to regret. We said goodbye to dear Les and Mary Gay. The photo above is the last I took of them as they stood by our car.

At breakfast Les had drawn a map of a shortcut to the road we wanted in southwest Missouri, recommending a visit to Bass Pro Shop's Big Cedar Lodge or Dogwood Canyon along the way to fill up our time. Our hostess, less than two hours away, didn't plan for us to arrive until late afternoon. The scenes of the mountains and valley and lake through the morning mists were incredible. Following 187 from the Dam Site Road we came upon some of the most beautiful country yet. These gray mornings had been preferable to sunny skies for displaying the brilliant fall colors. And the vistas from the backroads in this country are exquisite, changing around every bend, so that I had to back up several times just to get pictures. Click on the photos below to see them larger if you'd like.





We came to a bridge known as "Golden Gate", the first of several one-lane bridges that we would cross. As we neared Hwy 23 we decided not to turn north according to Les's map, but south to visit Eureka Springs. M learned that I had never seen the historic Crescent Hotel. It was still so early that it was doubtful the shops would be open, but perhaps we could find a cup of coffee at the hotel itself. We wound our way down through the lower part of town and found the visitor center where we picked up a map and directions to the hotel and I unpacked my suitcase to get out a heavier jacket.

Winding our way to the hotel through the tiny, twisting streets lined with B&B's and cute houses and hillbilly shops and stairways up or down to the next level in this mountain town, one could readily imagine the hippie mecca it must have been thirty years ago, or the New Age haven it still may be. We found the hotel at the top of the town and helped ourselves to a tour of it. The views were sometimes spectacular, and the history of the hotel nicely displayed around the lobby areas was interesting, but we quickly got the sense that it was really second-rate now, and perhaps on its last renovation. There is certainly much structural compromise to the building, slanting stairways attesting. And that they had the same antique print framed at the same place on each landing was a bit cheap. Mother led me to the dining room which disappointed immediately as it was decorated to the nines for Halloween. Nor did the brunch look that inviting. We decided to wait and find coffee downtown.

Mother's foot is chronically damaged and it hurts her to walk sometimes. I was quite aware of it, and tried to convince her that we didn't need to walk anywhere, but she wanted to see stuff, so she kept pushing herself, to her later regret. My regret, that I had not dressed more warmly, became more intense as the weather turned windier and colder. Just a nasty day. The kind you should really be squirreled away in a warm, cozy, brightly lit room. We parked and paid the meter and found a few shops open early. Tourist shops, gift shops, overpriced jewelry shops, overpriced art galleries, but no coffee shops. We walked too far uphill, passing a nice lady with a nicer dog which M had to pet, but never found a place to sit for a cup of coffee. We crossed the street and headed back downhill, eventually finding a small ice cream shop that advertised cappucino. Inquiring inside, we discovered that her machine had just been turned on and we would wait twenty minutes before getting a cup. So we moved on. M thought she recognized this shop or that alley. But soon Eureka Springs lost its appeal. I think that was about the time it began to drizzle.

We got in the car and drove through a much busier town, now that it was waking to business. We tried a thrift shop we'd been told about (I was on a mission to find Judy Rogers with whom we were to stay the next week on our way home a cup and saucer to add to her nice collection of them). No success. We got back in the car and I drove east on 62, heading toward Berryville. (This is where the Beisners used to have their paper printed every week, so M knew the route well.) Before we'd gone a mile we saw another junk shop. This one produced for us, not only a beautiful Limoges cup and saucer for a price I was able to haggle down, but an enjoyable conversation with an overweight, overaged hippie with long hair. He'd hardly ever been out of Eureka Springs.

Pressing on we were looking for the Wal-mart we knew about where we would buy stuff and gas. We still hadn't found coffee. And it was getting colder and rainier. Driving into the downtown area of Berryville, we found a likely place for coffee. We parked but took a detour through a gift shop next door. Seeing more perfect gifts for various friends, and talking ourselves out of them, we chatted with the proprietor who suggested a coffee shop at another corner. We entered the restaurant next door, but the interior smelled strongly of frying foods for which we were not in the mood. So we took her advice and found a delightful shop. It was a bright, warm second-hand shop, carpeted, and filled with cloth-covered tables. They were serving soups and sandwiches, cornbread, and chili. We ordered our cups of coffee after browsing the shelves, so nicely arranged with lots of things we wanted to buy. And then we kept getting up to look at more. There were a variety of locals who had come in for lunch, including a three-year-old with her mother who called out in delight when her daddy came in at the door to meet them for lunch. I left without buying the things I'd picked out for each of my daughties.

On impulse I headed north on highway 103 just a few miles east of Berryville. The map showed me that it would connect me to highway 86 in Missouri which we had wanted to take to Branson. We traveled through more beautiful country, passing small towns and large farms and wide hills of autumn trees. But right near the Missouri border, when the highway I wanted turned to a sharp left (and intuitively the wrong direction), the signage failed me and I ended up on highway 311 which we would learn over two hours later led back down to highway 62 and less than a mile from where 103 had put in. What a frustration that was.



But the drive had been full of beauty, if not some rain. And serendipitously I passed New Leaf Publishers which I had just learned about a month or so ago in looking over some homeschooling material. I turned around to investigate and found that it was right there in the middle of northern Arkansas! M sat in the car while I went in and introduced myself and talked with a very nice young woman who told me that yes, I could buy books right out of the warehouse, and that if I liked, I could buy them from the slightly damaged bin for only $1/lb. What a delight. I left a half hour later with 35 pounds of books, including an enlarged facsimile, nicely bound, of an early illustrated edition of The Pilgrim's Progress for the Skarie family, and the Ussher's Annals of the World which we gave to the Ortega family when I discovered someone had already given it to us. So the frustration of wandering on the wrong road was mitigated by this happy providence.



After finding ourselves back at 62 at Green Forest, we decided to stay on the main roads, coming quickly to US 65, wide-laned and hilly and faster traffic than we'd been in all day. The road was longer than I expected and I was tired after the long day of driving aimlessly. The rain was steady now and it was cold. It was still too early to meet Carol; we hadn't been able to reach her by phone and did not want to show up at her house before she was there. I wished for a place to rest, warm, and with a cup of hot chocolate. I began to describe such a place in a prayer request but quit with the happy thought that God knew better than I what would please me. Road construction was making the travel more harried and I decided I must get off to find a restroom and a break from the constant gas pedal. Ah! There is a Cracker Barrel. Good enough, I thought. So we got off the road. But the exit did not lead to the Cracker Barrel. I would have to go further and turn around to be on the correct lane to reach it. But my going further put me smack into the entrance to the College of the Ozarks. M knew of the place already and had simply forgotten about it. But she was sure there was a restaurant in the big lodge we were facing. There was not only a restaurant (and more importantly a bathroom) but there was a Starbuck's style coffee shop in the middle of the spacious, warm lobby. I never could have dreamed of this refuge. We ordered hot drinks and sat in the overstuffed chairs and enjoyed our rest until Carol called and assured us we were only seven minutes from her.



Carol Pratt is an old friend of M's who we knew when we lived in Pea Ridge. She lives in a comfortable doublewide with three bedrooms in the middle of a lovely woods. She is an earnest Christian who lives to serve. She has a few social qualities that drives M up the wall, but this visit in her own home made me love her more than ever. Her idiosyncracies don't bother me so much as her fellowship way outweighs them. Her voice is loud and she is given to emotionalism and I'm sure I would not be happy to live long term with her. But I found myself loving her.



She made us supper of bean soup and cornbread after which she put on a videotape of a church meeting of twenty years ago that included toddler David and baby Susan. We had missed seeing our old pastor when we had visited in Arkansas, but this tape made M and me feel as if we had seen him and his dear wife again and worshiped once again with them.

Retiring to my room (tomorrow we would see Cal!) Susan and I had a rich cellphone conversation that lasted over an hour. I was tickled to realize just how many minutes because of the log on the phone and called her back to tell her so. Of course she called me back to correct me because the second call had added minutes.