How many Memorial Days have we picnicked at Tyler Bend?

How many years have we picnicked at Tyler Bend on Memorial Day?
Five years?
Ten years?
Fifteen years?
Twenty years?
Or more ...?

We didn't have a red-checkered tablecloth this May, so Megan brought Dwain's Grandma's old cotton tablecloth to cover the picnic table at Tyler Bend. The character of this image reflects memories of picnics from our childhoods ... except with lots more kinfolk 50 years ago.

Tyler Bend campground is relatively new, built after the Buffalo National River was established more than 40 years ago. As children, both of us picnicked with our families at Buffalo Point (called Buffalo River State Park at the time). It is still magnificent and a great place to swim, hike, camp or just lazily float on an air mattress or inner tube. The river is a place to forget worries and relax.

Now, Tyler Bend has been our go-to-park for the past 25 years since we started seeing each other in 1989 ... even before we were married. 
The park is within 30 minutes of our driveway and has all the amenities we enjoy.

Hot dogs are on the grill, and we're hiding behind the smoke and getting high on the aroma of blackening hot dogs. We're in a secluded picnic area, hidden by curtains of wild river cane and trees. We've been lucky every year and get the same picnic table and grill. It is close to flush toilets and running water and is a great place to watch people in the pavilion and parking lot. We've hidden in the darkness watching the chaos of weddings, family reunions, and a young boy getting sprayed in a cloud of bug spray.

Fresh-faced and refreshed after our recent picnic, we leave the visitors center and start up the 1-1/3 mile trail to the Collier Homestead. The trail is narrow and most of it is shaded. Bring your Deep Woods Off for nasty little hitchhikers.

 

Megan was surprised to find this tiny snail crawling up a leaf. When she first saw it, the snail was curled up inside its shell. It must have come out to entertain us. It wasn't camera shy.

You have to stop along the way, catch your breath, take in the scenery and pose for a selfie. What the heck is that growing in Dwain's beard ... leftover lemon pie?

Megan found it more than interesting what you see when the camera is set on macro. She was taking a picture of a bumblebee on this very fragrant flower. The bumblebee wasn't the least interested in people. Thank God! We didn't notice the little worm curled up underneath the top flower, until we pulled up the image ... a gift for us.

Look at all the pretty wildflowers we're walking through. The Park Service says we can't dig up wildflowers and plants or move rocks or kill snakes, but we're encouraged to carry out as many ticks as possible.

What a bummer, weak eyes and reading glasses in the wild, especially when the temperature is in the mid-80s and the humidity hits 100 percent.

Here are more of those pretty wildflowers and pair of busy butterflies. We wish we had some of those butterfly-friendly flowers in our yard. The Park Service won't share with neighbors, but deer can browse on plants and butterflies and bees can drink.

Time for a drink of water, empty the rocks and tighten the straps on our sandals, and head up the hill. And we get to walk down the steps and cross that intriguing little bridge.

The safe and easy part of the trail is over. Let's be careful and not act stupid. Those bluffs are steep and slickery. They're not kidding on that sign. There are no rails and nothing but a few cedar trees to keep you from falling ....

Here's an example of views along the trail. Wow, the river's a long ways below. No one sunning on the sandbar or floating past in canoes and kayaks knew we were atop this bluff, back in the scraggly cedars.

Break time at the half-way point on the trail.

Here's where we've been ...

... And here's where we are going, back in the deep, dark forest higher and higher above the river. We heard owls. Will we see a bear?

We're always fascinated at how trees can live where there doesn't appear to be any soil whatsoever and the wind blows constantly.

Time to point our shoes up the hill and continue climbing toward the overlook, then an easy stroll to Collier Homestead.

This is one of the rewards. Anyone who has walked the Collier Homestead Trail knows exactly where we're standing ... including Elvis, whose name is carved into the guardrail between our arms. In all the times we've stopped to admire the view, our names have never been carved in a tree or guardrail or rock. The Park Service frowns on personalizing the Buffalo National River. We don't normally see trash of any kind. Let's wait a little longer and take in the view.

Time for another break as the hot Memorial Day sun bears down on us through the thin canopy of leaves. Dwain's sweating profusely by now; Megan is merely glistening. Nice girls don't sweat. But she did have to ask for Dwain's handkerchief to wipe the humidity off her face.

Finally! We made it to the ol' homestead (Collier Homestead) and evidently company's coming. No surprise. This is a very popular destination that can be easily reached by anyone.  It's even handicapped accessible. You don't necessarily have to take the long road and hike there like we did. Megan is wearing a new t-shirt that she says she gets to wear at least three times this summer -- Memorial Day, 4th of July and Labor Day.

Front Porch Tales anyone while we eat some Pistachios and drink a little water?

Here is a fish-eye view of Collier Homestead.  The National Park Service preserved the old cabin, smoke house, rock well, and a few other outbuildings so that younger generations could see up close and personal what life might have been like back in the "olden days" for hill folk.  The Old Oak Tree that probably had its share of wooden swings could tell us so many fascinating stories.

And back to the Visitors Center we go.  This time, the hike is mostly downhill.

Dwain wonders where in the world the big ol' water blotch on his t-shirt came from. Megan was just glad she thought to pack more water before we left home.  It was cold, too. So were the mini Snickers bars. Life is good! 

Thank you for the brave ones who made this freedom of life possible.

Memorial Day ... is the first day in the 99 days of summer 2014.

Memorial Day ... is the first day of the 99 days of summer 2014.

What better way to start summer than enjoy the scenery and float the Buffalo River in a traditional canoe, a now-popular kayak, a large inflatable raft or if you want to get back to the heritage, stick your fishing rods in a flat-bottom boat and get ready to do some serious paddling.

Sunday, May 25, 2014, was perfect for floating. Temperatures were in the mid-80s, and the water level was perfect.

These two couples miraculously were side-by-side and forgetting the worries of the world.

 

We love the water, but floating is not one of our passions. We've done it many times, but we'll leave it to the young people and the crazy tourists.

Bravo for this couple. They're probably locals who own their canoe and all the necessary hats and other accessories for a comfortable day on the river.

But ... if we were this young and wanted to work on our tan, a day on the river would be like surfing if you lived in California or Hawaii. I think the young man knows how to navigate the boat, and his girlfriend doesn't look concerned about the boat tipping over. He even had reggae music playing on his iPod.

What did we forget to mention?

Sunday was humid as we hiked alongside the Buffalo River and on bluffs hundreds of feet above the river. But below us were the floaters and sunbathers who unknowingly entertained us on our trek through the forest.

How important is your name? Woody Guthrie's songs answer the question.

Hidden beside rural roads and in hay meadows and woods across the Ozarks are weathered headstones and simple stones that mark old graves.

Here's one of those simple, anonymous stones placed in the midst of "modern" slick-faced headstones with carefully-chiseled names, dates and other information in the Omaha Cemetery. Does any living soul know the name of the person buried in this spot?

This stone marks a grave in Bellefonte Cemetery. Deciphering the data on this stone would take more effort than we were willing to invest on a chilly March Sunday. We also would need just a little luck to correctly identify the grave.

An entire section of Davidson Cemetery, near Crooked Creek between Harmon and Zinc, is marked by row after row of carefully lined up shards of rocks.
Who is buried there?
What are their names?
Why did they die?
What were their ages?
Names for remains buried in that area may still be known by descendants, but they are the only people keeping those memories alive … until they are gone.
So what is in a name?
 

We attended an Arlo Guthrie concert earlier this spring, and the Woodstock icon repeatedly emphasized his father’s insistence that names are important.

Arlo said the importance of identifying people by their names was one of three reasons behind Woody Guthrie's lyrics to the song “Deportee.”

The three points are:
- The inhumanity of the government paying farmers to destroy food to drive up commodity prices, rather than feeding hungry people around the world.- The injustice of bringing Mexican farm workers into the United States to plant, hoe and pick our crops, then deporting them back to Mexico.
- The national media’s apathy for the names and identities of Mexican farm laborers who died in an airplane crash.
While names of the American crew were listed in national news accounts, the Mexican victims were grouped together under the classification “deportees.”
That’s why he addressed those victims in the “Plane Wreck at Los Gatos” as: “Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita; adiós, mis amigos, Jesús y María...”

The same insistence on addressing each victim by name also compelled Woody Guthrie to list each victim on the Reuben James, the first U.S. naval ship sunk by German U-Boats during World War II.

Sure, that made the song too long for commercial success, until singers shortened all those names into the chorus, “Tell me, what were their names?”

Walking in the Gillioz Theater in downtown Springfield, Missouri, on Sunday night, a young lady with a camera asked if she could take a picture of us.

After snapping our picture, she handed us a business card for the Springfield News-Leader and asked us our names … of course. Now we feel like Hollywood stars with our faces identified and our names correctly spelled on the newspaper's website. Anyone want our autographs?

We all have a name for a reason … not a pronoun or a description of our jobs, of our appearance, of our age or of our nationality.  Our mamas and daddies loved us enough to ponder what names they should give us, so we should at least respect that effort.

Even this more than 150-year-old headstone in Crossroads Cemetery is legible: It says the headstone is in memory of James W. Beck, Born April 9, 1837, died April 12, 1862.

Still in Crossroads Cemetery, we stop at the carefully chiseled headstone of Julia A. Wife of W.J. Turney. Born in Alabama Nov. 3, 1936, and died Oct. 7, 1877. The capstone on the grave is missing, and we have no idea what the abbreviation at the top of the stone means.

Tracing threads on Google search, the abbreviations apparently are symbolic of Heroines of Jericho, according to a member of the organization. The lettering in the middle is the name of a grip for the Master mason's Daughter degree.
The lettering around it is a catechism that is recited between the Heroine and the Knight (Master Mason) upon meeting, once a particular sign is given.
Another commentator said TKCFND could be the first letters of a prayer. OSB may be "Order of St Benedict"  or 'Ordinis Sancti Benedict' or the first letters of Latin words from a prayer.  
Another commentator made us squeamish with a translation of V R S N S M V - S M Q L I V B -- initial letters of a Latin prayer of exorcism against Satan: Vade retro Satana! Nunquam suade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas! (Begone Satan! Never tempt me with your vanities! What you offer me is evil. Drink the poison yourself!)

Again, we couldn't find the name for the remains inside this crypt, just the name of the person who reworked the Bellefonte Cemetery so many years ago.

We'll revisit these cemeteries and visit some others in search of one-of-a-kind headstones.
There are always adventures to follow, especially in our cryptic curiosity. 

Megan and Dwain 

Bring your lawn chairs, some wildflowers and some fond old memories

Bring your lawn chairs, a bouquet of wildflowers and some fond old memories as our dear friends, Jeannie Nash and her brother Jim Nash, remember and say goodbye to their mother.

Our destination on this early May afternoon was the DePriest Cemetery on the Silver Hill Road in Searcy County. Little family cemeteries are always a surprise as you explore thinly populated county roads. This cemetery is neatly marked with a chain link fence and a covered pavilion, obviously for feeding the crowds on Decoration Day or at burials, like the one Saturday afternoon for Wanda Fowler (August 12, 1933 - May 1, 2014).

If you were wondering what Dwain was carrying in that basket, we walked through our yard before we left. Colorful Iris were blooming everywhere in our yard. We took a pair scissors and cut a fresh bouquet. We couldn't imagine not sharing our colors and scents of spring with Jeannie and Jim in honor of their mother.

We were encouraged to take lawn chairs and dress casually for the service. We were welcomed by the small crowd of mostly familiar faces already seated in folding and lawn chairs neatly lined up in four rows underneath a shady cedar tree in the southwest corner of the cemetery. People were already telling tales and exchanging stories. In this particular picture, we have Kaye and Thomas (T.J.) Taylor (left), Larry Johnson (red chair), Judy Chatterton (blue chair, center), Jeanne's daughter Kayla (wearing hat in front of my hat), Wanda's sister, Joyce Douglas, (in wheelchair in front of Kayla), Jim Nash (blue shirt and tie) and Jeanne (black-and-white outfit beside Jim).

Jim welcomed the crowd and shared a joyful memory, as his mother would have wanted. Waving his arm in the direction of the Buffalo River, Jim said whenever he smells the oily fumes of a kerosene lantern burning, he is a 3-year-old child listening to his old, mostly departed, DePriest relatives make joyful music at Grinders Ferry on the Buffalo River.

Jeannie's and Jim's mother, Wanda Fowler, was the daughter of Ben and Ruby DePriest. Her parents are buried in the DePriest Cemetery and Wanda is buried beside her brother Rex DePriest. That's what his headstone says ... "Our Brother ..."

Jeannie Nash is the only childhood friend I remember meeting for the first time. I was in elementary school at Valley Springs and walking around the southwest corner of the downtown Harrison square. This unknown girl, Jeannie Nash, stopped me and said she would be a classmate of mine in the fall. How she knew that, I'll never know. Then she invited me to take her to Coffman Drug Store and buy her a soft drink. Did you do it? Megan just asked. Lawd, yes! We were destined to be lifelong friends.

Mark Donald officiated at the graveside service. On a magnificent, cloudless 85-degree day, he stood out in the sun in dress slacks, a coat and a tie and gave a full service and sang one of Wanda's favorite hymns. Then he concluded the service by playing Elvis Presley's version of Amazing Grace and his own childhood memories of listening to Elvis Presley's gospel album every Sunday morning as his mother put goop in his hair and tugged him and his brother into suits that were probably a little too small. But we do know one thing, Wanda Fowler liked to dance and was especially fond of Elvis Presley's gospel music.

We joined Dwain's old neighbor and childhood friend, Larry Johnson, at the back of the crowd. Larry's mother had fallen and had surgery earlier Saturday. She was in the good hands of a local orthopedic surgeon. Trauma and broken bones are terrible at any age.

Too bad I don't have sonic hearing, but I don't doubt Kaye is swearing to Jeannie, "I swear I'm telling the truth ..." lie, lie, lie. Just kidding. These are two of Dwain's closest friends, and their history goes back to childhood adventures and untold mischief.

Bill and Judy Chatterton have obviously visited the pavilion at the far side of DePriest Cemetery. Family members had gathered in the shade to visit and share refreshments. That's what we do at many funerals in the country where everyone knows everyone.

Jeannie, we're so sorry. That's all we can do. Your look says it all ... but we are always ready to listen to you if you want to talk. That's what friends are for. You've been there for us many times.

The very sweet woman standing beside Kaye wanted Dwain's e-mail address. Boy was he flattered.

Here's Dwain's old college roommate, Jim Nash. At times, we could escape to our carefree days as students at the University of Arkansas. That look on Jim's face masks his pain, in double. We can't imagine how he keeps up this outlook.

And here's Jim and Megan. Friend Jim was introduced to Megan in the early-1970s after he had left college and was a ski instructor at Marble Falls and later in Colorado. Jim's a trooper. He was sitting beside his mother when she took her last breath. Jim is just a really good guy.

The shadow looks like it's time to take our basket and lawn chairs and walk back to the car. The family needed some time alone ...

 Dwain and Megan