Father of the Year

Here you have my friend Harold who last year was voted the Father of the Year of Plainview, small town of 755 citizens, in Yell County. This is not a picture of all his children in the wagon. These kids represent a fraction of the youth he has mentored, sponsored and befriended in his tenure as the town's substitute dad. You see, Harold never had kids of his own. Nada. Never even been married. How's that for something to chew on?

Harold, who worked for years as a rodeo clown, is a cowboy and a retired lineman for the county. He dedicated his life to Christ some years ago and began his work with the wayward children of the small town nestled in the River Valley, hemmed in my Fourche Mountain and dwarfed by the shadow of Mt. Nebo.

Admirers of Harold, who nominated him for the award, brag on his agreeable nature. He's the babysitter when single moms are in a pinch.

We are lucky indeed to know folks with dedication like Harold. The youth are worth it.

Too Much Rain/ Too Much Dogs

The hometeam lost to the Georgia Bulldogs yesterday, 52-41, over there in Fayetteville. Bless thier big, meaty bones. More than 74,000 folks crowded the stands - the fifth largest attendance ever. Wasn't enough to get our boys a win though. Too bad, too. We've had a heck off a time getting into the groove in all ways down here.

Don't know how you are settin' where you are, but we are mostly drowning. We've had our share of rain plus some, and our agri-based state has felt at odds all summer and into the fall. This gentleman farmer can't get into the fields to cut the hay. Can't do nothin' he said. He went to the local cafe in Centerville, town of 400, for the biscuits and gravy breakfast and set out on the front porch greeting everyone as they came by, most in the same straits as him. Notice the spittoon for his Skoal?

Here' s hoping you find a comfortable place to perch when the waters get too high or the dogs bite too hard....

Master of the Grill at Oddly Named Festival

We love our meats grilled in the South, whether that be cow, rabbit, emu, deer, buffalo or chicken on the racks. Everything's just a whole lot better when it's been slow cooked over low burning coals. At least that's what Jesse Owens, extension agent, told me.

Jesse has been grilling for over 30 years at an annual festival in the southern part of the state to raise money for the local 4H clubs. The festival is called Malvern Brickfest.

Anyway, we who wouldn't know the first thing about starting a grill, are indebted to the dedication and sweat of our grillmasters. Burn, baby, burn!

God's Little Half Acre

Unlike Erskine Caldwell's, God's Little Acre, there's no hanky panky going on at God's Little Half Acre on Highway 7 in the Ozarks. After all, it is a final resting place with tombstones dating as far back as the mid 1800s.

After driving past this little fenced in plot of land for many years, I finally gave into curiosity and stopped. I'm glad I did. Cemeteries can shed some interesting light.

There were the usual infant markers for daughters and sons birthed and lost in the same year, several veterans and even a tombstone for James Freeman, C.O.D., who served in the 2nd Arkansas Calvary. The information is encircled in a type of marshall or sheriff badge. Now, what in the world does that mean?

Of utmost interest, however, is the tombstone which appears to have been scraped over with a knife, and the name Spciy Freeman was written on it with a stick. How very rudimentary and odd! Almost as if the death had been unexpected, and so a batch job was executed on an existing tombstone. The poor soul didn't even warrant a proper header. Wonder if he/she was a scoundrel? The family certainly didn't take pride in putting him to rest.

Also very peculiar in this little stretch of ground is the mound of rocks, some border plots like little rock fences, but there are no markers or tombstones.

Sad to see many of the markers are so old the writing has been worn away.

In rural spaces, as much of the Ozarks continues to be, regulation of such entities as cemeteries remains in the hands of local communities. This cemetery is so rural, even though it is on a well-traveled highway, that the closest house is at least 15 miles away.

I will keep y'all updated as I find out more info.