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Happy
Lonesome Log |
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Happy Lonesome Log Cabins Driving east from Eureka Spring, we headed toward our next spot. For most of the way there were not the twists and turns we enjoyed on Scenic Byway 7. Still, it was a beautiful drive across north Arkansas. This was probably the shortest leg of our trip (daylight all the way). When we arrived at Mountain Home, AR, we turned South southwest towards Calico Rock and our destination. As I may have mentioned, we had forgotten our detailed directions to our spots and were navigating by little "MapQuest" printouts. I simply used the mailing addresses on the several websites as the coordinates. Well. . . we did have a couple of those largish atlases too. We ball-parked our way to Calico Rock, which wasn't too difficult. It was finding where the little dot was that represented Happy Lonesome (but what we learned latter was simply the mailing address) that was the trick. We were looking for HCR 61, Box 72. The "MapQuest" printout indicated it was on "Jones" in Calico Rock. We had entered Calico Rock from the northwest on Highway 5. Jones was off Hwy 56, which took us northeast. Jones wasn't supposed to be too far from the intersection of 5 and 56. We passed through Calico Rock, recognizing various street from the printout, never seeing Jones. So, hardheaded me, kept driving. 'Just wanted to make sure Jones wasn't just over that next rise. . . 20 miles later we had decided that perhaps it would be a good idea to turn around. We did know that the proprietors of the Cabins also ran the town Hardware store, where we could get more detailed directions. At just that moment, we spotted a highway patrolman stopped on the side of the road (apparently lying in wait for speeders coming from the other direction). Quickly pulling to the right, I exited the highway and made an abrupt stop next to the patrolman's car, crunching the gravel rather loudly. We pulled up on the drivers side of his car. I had Carole roll down the window so we could ask him if he knew where "Happy Lonesome Log Cabins" was. Carole said, after we left, that she thought it looked like we had woken him up. . . Anyway, We asked, "Could you give us directions to 'Happy Lonesome Log Cabins?' He didn't understand so we put the question again, to which he replied something to the effect, "I have no idea what you're talking about." Then we proceeded to explain that we were on our honeymoon and were looking for a Bed & Breakfast type establishment. He must have been waking up a little as the light of his budding suggestion came to the surface. Still with the expression of deep reflection, putting two and two together in his head, he spoke, ". . .well. Those folks who run the hardware store own a B & B. You might drive back into town and ask at their store. But if that's the place (grinning weirdly) y'all gunna be in the wuds." "Hmm..." we thought to ourselves - flashes of "Deliverance" wafting in and out of consciousness. Not that we didn't expect to be in the woods. It was the way he said it (which I'm also sure was as innocent as can be). I guess our (my) bewildered mental state was taking it's toll. I figured we had pressed our luck enough, so we thanked the Officer for his help and turned around, heading back towards Calico Rock. On the way back down Highway 56 I noticed the spots we had stopped to look at what passed for our maps. I was still convinced and determined to find "Jones." It just had to be along here somewhere - MapQuest said so! After a few miles we entered town again. My eyes were darting left and right, checking the street signs at every intersection. The suddenly - there it was! Screeech, jerking pull to the right. "JONES!" I blurted. Carole thought that was rather humorous and had a good laugh. . . :) We pulled up the proudly discovered Jones scopeing the neighborhood mailboxes for the Box number. It was obvious this was simply a residential area, albeit, about 50% trailer homes. At least the road was paved. Ooops. . . 'just turned to gravel. Sighing, beaten, I resigned myself to to the hardware store for directions. . . "Calico Rock General Store." A rather respectable establishment just of the main drag. It had sort of an Old World feel to it. After we had "shopped around" a little we approached the young lady at the checkout counter. She seemed to understand our question. A very helpful young lady, bubbling detailed direction punctuated with the short version of the history of every landmark along the way to "Happy Lonesome." My head was swimming. I presumed upon Carole's grasp of the lesson, personally fearing to ask for clarifications, lest we get the long version and, hence, lose what little daylight we had left (I didn't relish the thought of trying to find our "wudsy" destination in the dark). Finally. Directions that would get us a little closer to our destination. That had a calming effect. We were to continue on - on the same street the Hardware Store was on. On. . . out of town (about 2 blocks away). On. . . to "Optimus," which we had learned had a highway sign with it's name but which really wasn't a town yet, though the locals were trying. On. . . to the ruins of our hosts first hardware store, recognizable by the facade (pronounced in those parts "fay-kade"), where we were to turn left onto a paved road which used to be a dirt road. On. . . to the sign and entrance to Happy Lonesome. Alleluia!
On the way in we had to maneuver to let a couple cars by. . . Traffic even here? We had as yet to actually arrive at Happy Lonesome, so I speculated that these were either fellow guests or our hosts. We passed a minor construction project. It looked to be the beginnings of Mechanics garage. Then, there it was. A street sign in the middle of the wilderness: "Happy Lonesome." We were there.
The cabin did have a few modern amenities: a small bathroom, kitchenette with small microwave, fridge, coffee maker and so on. All these places come with a little "instruction" book. The Eck's was the simplest and the most welcoming. Basically we had the run of the place, they respected our intelligence, with only minor notes to their philosophy of remote living and conservation. Other than that, one would have thought we had been invited over to stay with Abraham Lincoln. Unfortunately (or not) the Fall weather was so mild we didn't have to start up the stove. We even opened the windows before going to bed. The night's sounds so rejuvenating. We awoke new people. The next morning, as every morning on our adventure, we were up before the sun taking in the stillness, then the orchestra of birds. When the early morning mist cleared we could see through the trees and foliage to the river below. Those little dots below, at the edge of the river, were the source of the muffled lowing that earlier had seemed to be the whispering of the fog. Cattle from a neighbors pasture coming for water. A few cups of coffee later we had dressed, and were again admiring the overlook when the rustling rattle of a tree top somewhere a little ways down the bluff revealed a bald eagle leaping and in a swooping soar, glide downward and upstream until out of view. Out for a mornings fishing, no doubt. I mused on what an image all of this was of my wonderful wife, Carole. :) With a bit of difficulty, between remaining to explore our little home away from home or visiting the neighboring community of Mountain View we opted to visit the town. Swayed by the need for necessary food items (like coffee), the desire to see if I could find a new car battery and the chance to pick up a few souvenir gifts for relatives. I gave us a reason to visit the Ozark Folks Center, too. A few miles up the the road, once we got to it. A rather large campus, the Folk Center. Mostly for music festivals, though pretty much vacant that time of year. We drove around a little to see if anything interesting was going on. Not finding much, we decided to eat at the Iron Skillet, a little restaurant at the top of the hill there. The restaurant was done up in a traditional mountain folk motif. The waitresses wore ankle length plaid costumes and bonnets reminiscent of hillbilly lore. They featured homemade jellies and herbs. The building was constructed with large plate glass windows on all four sides with manicured stone and native plant gardens outside. We enjoyed watching the birds and squirrels contesting over strategically placed seed, and were entertained by the overheard conversations of the table next to us. Apparently an employee had cut herself the previous evening and was being grilled by her management, filling out forms for workman's comp. The food: traditional dishes incorporating local family fair. It was pretty good. After we ate, we continued on our day trip to Mountain View. Of course, the Fall colors were still evident everywhere. As we arrived in Mountain View we were greeted by Wal-Mart. We checked out there auto batteries but they didn't have the model there index indicated for our Civic. Oh well. . . the car was still starting. I was sure we would be okay. . . 'Just made sure I parked on slopes. . . Mountain View, like many rural towns was centered around the Court House square. On all side the streets were lined with quaint, low-overhead, main-street type shops: Antiques, Rock Shops, Furniture, and so on. We visited the Rock Shop first after having strolled the length of a promising street bordering one side of the Court House. The friendly proprietor-rock-nut greeted us and immediately began giving us geology lessons. Interesting enough. The picture of a local. But low and behold. . . He was from Austin. 'moved to the mountains after he hurt his back to get away from it all. One of the most humorous lesson concerned some petrified dinosaur poop which could apparently be sliced and polished into the most exquisite ornaments. . . Next we shopped the "antique" store. Stocking the treasures of a thousand 1950's attics. Then the mountain grown furniture place. It had lots of well built, pricey items from beds and dressers to rocking chairs and hope chests. Among a few other items there we found our "kissy-frogs." A treasure we had to have :). Across the street, we also visited a shop specializing in iron works. Every conceivable item of wrought iron placed nicely in a designer store. Most beyond our budget also. By the time were left the Iron shop it was late in the afternoon and Carole and I figured we just might make it back to Happy Lonesome in time to explore a little. As we emerged onto the street, the court house was bustling as well as the traffic all around. . . The we recalled the then cryptic remarks of the rock-shop-nut concerning the "Bean Festival." (I had wondered about his display of earrings fashioned out of. . . Pinto beans. . ?) It made sense now. It took us a bit to it back to the car. People everywhere were looking for parking spots. When we got to the car a couple a gentlemen - I was sure they were Sheriffs - accosted me asking, "is it legal to park there?" I thought I was going to get a ticket for being to close to a fire plug or something. Turns out they were in town to celebrate the "Bean Fest." They were ecstatic when they deduced we were leaving. One of the men had the other stand in our spot until he could get back with his car. . . By the time we got back to our wonderful little cabin, it was too late to explore. We made some coffee, snacked a bit, sat on the porch admiring the view soaking up the quiet. |
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We
found the sign. . . We were there. All that remained was to
travel the mile and a half up a real dirt (sand - loamy soil) road,
taking care not to go too far, lest we end up in the river. .
! And a bonus. It was still
daylight. We proceeded eagerly. Hmm. . . In my
head: "road seems a little narrow." "A little soft,
too." 'Sure hope it doesn't rain while we're
here." That last part must have come out, for I heard Carole,
objecting, stating that it wouldn't be so bad to get "rained
in" for a while. . . :) We first crossed a little creek bed,
admiring the beauty of it. The balance of the road was a little
windy here and there. narrow mostly. Like watch out for the
branches. . . But we were where we wanted to be! 