We took the new car (finally got one; dont want to make a big deal of it) for a mini road trip down Highway 64 yesterday. Gorgeous day, even better weather, and good company. We were headed to a diner in the city of Ozark, but its gone, so we took a little tour of the city cemetery. Such a peaceful place on a cliff overlooking the Arkansas River. Some of the tombstones are so old that the dates and names have been erased by time; others sorrowful monuments to children gone too soon. One made us stop and hold hands. It was an above ground double tomb with a headstone carved with a man and woman, arms wrapped around each others waist and looking out over the river. Both had been born in the 1930s; neither has yet to leave this earth. To the right of the cemetery was a man mowing the lawn of his home, and to the left was our second favorite Mexican restaurant with an overflowing parking lot. Outside of areas like this, people might think it strange that so much life goes on undisturbed around a graveyard, but down here people dont fear death or the dead. This is the Bible Belt, and its not for show. Faith around here is an absolute, and the Hereafter as real as the plates in their cupboards. Im finding comfort in these graveyards integrated with the city around them, losing my fears and gaining appreciation of my days and the history behind them. Dane had his heart set on an independent diner, so we kept on going in the direction of Magazine Mountain. In the tiny town of Caulkville (pronounced Cocksville), we found one nestled between a pond and a field. Walking inside was like stepping back into the 1960s. Folks were wearing their best petroleum-based polyester Sunday outfits and hairdos held in place with cans of Aqua Net; others were ploughboys and family, dressed in well-worn work clothes because their work is never done. Everybody was laughing and passing around babies for cuddles and kisses. Some were eating the homemade pies that were at least a foot tall. Whatever they were doing, they still had the kindness of a smile or a hand raised in greeting for two strangers invading their little town of 283. The owner walked us out when we were done and told us she and her family had opened the restaurant forty-one years ago, weathering both the good and the bad times. Shed also planted the towering Magnolia, walnut, and sweet gum trees that lined the pond when they were just saplings. When someone told her to stop stooping over to pick up tiny bits of paper and cigarette butts, she replied, They call me tidy bowl, and kept on going until everything was spotless. Then she told us she couldnt find a single teenager willing to work, for pay, to keep the outside clean; they just didnt want to work these days. She turns 66 this year. She couldnt have been more authentic when she thanked us for stopping by and asking us to come on back and visit again. I had a terrible time adjusting to life down here. Its not easy leaving behind fifty years of city living and shifting gears to the pace and personality of such a different way of life. On the ride home, I kept thinking how lucky I am that I let myself get swept away to this place against my will, and thanking every cloud in the crisp blue sky that I didnt miss the experience. But that dont mean Im more curious than ever about whats around the next curve.
Posted on: Mon, 08 Sep 2014 14:10:28 +0000
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