Arkansas - The Natural State
People sometimes ask me which state trip was my favorite, and that is a hard question to answer; however, if I am pressed, Arkansas is always in the top three. Since we didn’t know much about the deep south when we started this quest, we didn’t know what to expect of Arkansas. We spent a week there in April because I had read that the dogwoods would be in bloom then and we hoped to see the Ozark mountains in all their glory.
Andy and I were stationed in Holland for a year and a half in 1967-68 as he was in the Army and assigned to a NATO division. We made several good friends during that time, among them Harry and Cheryl from Fordyce, Arkansas. I appreciate the good advice they gave me for planning this trip and, best of all, they drove to Little Rock to see us and take us to dinner at a restaurant that specialized in catfish with all the appropriate trimmings. It was a memorable feast.
The following day we visited the Central High School Museum. Having grown up in the 50s and 60s, we were aware of the importance of Central High where, in 1957, nine black students were enrolled under federal troop protection. It is probably one of the most significant icons of the desegregation movement. The Museum, located in a former Mobil service station across the street from the high school, contained a memorable exhibit called All the World is Watching Us: Little Rock and the 1957 Crisis. We happened to be there as the school day was ending and the diverse student body streaming out of the building informed us of the success of desegregation, which had taken place more than 40 years before.
Hot Springs was fun! It’s a lively town with many bath houses and thermal hot spring spas to enjoy. We were advised by our friends to eat at McClards for “the best barbecue in the state.” We had to wait in line for a while and were surprised at how small and unprepossessing it was given its reputation. The barbecue did not disappoint, but the service was, well, humorously perfunctory. No smiles, no greeting, just a direction to make up our minds what we wanted to eat. Our waitress was in a hurry to serve all the tables in her area, so she practically threw the plates of food on the tables. It was clearly all part of the ambiance at McClards.
One afternoon we were walking down the main street of Hot Springs when we saw a sign for Poetry Slam with an arrow pointing to the second story of the building. My career as an Educational Psychologist involved working with teenagers. At that time, poetry slams were all the rage, especially in Berkeley. I had not seen one yet, so we decided to go upstairs and find out what it was all about. We ordered something to drink and sat down, soon realizing that my husband was the only male in the room; we were getting some quizzical looks. One by one, women came to the microphone to read their poems, with passion and intensity. The poems dramatically described issues of sexual harassment, domestic violence and other injustices done to women. The crowd enthusiastically responded, and we were both fascinated. While poetry slams, in general, are thematically diverse, this one was specifically focused and just not what we expected to witness in Hot Springs, Arkansas. One of the best parts about traveling to previously unseen parts of our big and diverse country is the debunking of stereotypes which are not necessarily true. Sometimes they are, but sometimes they just aren’t!
We drove from Hot Springs to Eureka Springs, a charming small city in northeastern Arkansas. Our route was through the Ozark mountains, which were covered in blooming dogwoods that lived up to my expectations. I have so many lovely photos of them. Alongside the beauty, however, there were small towns with obvious signs of poverty: ramshackle houses, inoperable cars, lots of junk in the front yards. I wondered about the people who lived there and what their lives might be like.
Our favorite experience in Arkansas was visiting Mountain View, “the folk music capital of the US.” Our friends had told us to be sure to plan our trip so that we could stay there on a Friday or Saturday night. Why? Because that’s when people come from as far away as Texas and Louisiana to play music on street corners, in parks, and small venues all over town. We stayed at The Inn at Mountain View, a B&B in an 1886 Victorian home. After stashing our luggage in our room, we wandered around town listening to music, singing along when we knew the words, and marveling at all the talented people in this small, rural town. It was down-home folksy, but magical at the same time.
The next morning, all the residents of the B&B were instructed to come to the parlor for coffee after which we were invited into the dining room to sit around 3 or 4 tables of 8. There was a lazy Susan in the middle of each table filled with bacon, eggs, biscuits, grits, pancakes, sausage, you name it. One woman at our table introduced herself and suggested we go around and say our names and where we were from. When it was my turn, I introduced us and said we were from San Francisco. After several folks expressed surprise (one woman asked if we had driven there), I explained our goal of visiting all the states in alphabetical order. The woman who first introduced herself asked what we thought of Arkansas, and we told her what we had done and seen and what a wonderful time we were having in her state. She then said, “Thank goodness, because it seems like Arkansas is always at the top of every list you should be at the bottom of and the bottom of every list you should be at the top of!” I’ll always remember that quote and what a joy it was to tell her about the kind people we had met, the beauty of the Ozark mountains, the food, the music, everything.
After breakfast, we went outside to the big veranda and listened to more music. The host invited everyone to “come on out to a cool porch for a hot cup of coffee,” and more music. Guests and hosts alike played instruments and sang. It was a great way to end our trip. I wasn’t kidding when I said that Arkansas was one of our favorite state visits.
