October 11, 1995

 

Dear Corey:

 

Greetings from the river and the woods and the autumn season in Arkansas.

 

No one is in the campground but me and two campers. Dad has gone hiking with a friend. Already something has occurred. A man driving a pickup carrying two ricks of wood knocked at the door. The wood had been ordered for Ozark Campground by a person who would be camping to the immediate right of the road, here; he’d be in a black, Nissan, king-cab truck. Our trailer is to the immediate right of this road, I’d never heard of the man who’s name is on the bill which was for $40, I’ve seen no black pickup, and, although it looked like a lot, I don’t even know about ricks of wood. I sent the man to Erbie Campground. I’m hope it’s not for here, because the wood person said that there are 25-30 people meant to arrive somewhere for a humongous bonfire. The fire rings, here, don’t do bonfires. Sometimes such a gathering(unless its a family) can be trouble.

 

Oops. The man with the wood just came back–I see him circling. He’s here, right now. Knock knock. I must answer the door.

 

He didn’t make it to Erbie but called his wife and the wood belongs in this campground. Well! People who order wood with notations about king-cab trucks should be here to receive it. I tried to call the black-truck person–no one answered–he lives in Omaha, Arkansas. So, I’ve taken the wood person’s number and I’ll call him when the truck person arrives.

 

Now I’m totally alone, here, the two campers just left. Wow! Just me and the woods and the river! How shall I use it all? I don’t know.

 

You can see that there are happenings here.

 

 

And that’s the latest news from Arkansas where the campground hosts are superior, the elk romantic, and raccoons leave their footprints on your car and throw the lids off trash cans.

 

Love,

Mom

 

Oct. 15, 1995

 

Hello again; I’m doing this letter your way. Works nicely.

 

We received your letter; enjoyed it immensely. Missouri and Arkansas are in the same black hole as Alaska–weatherwise. Do you see us there? We’re the ones bright, warm and so dry that there won’t be much for what a ranger calls “the leaf peekers” to see. And while you have ravens, we have blackbirds. We’re convinced that they rule the campground and maybe the world. They hold what Dad calls early-morning “cawcuses”, often the first sounds we hear upon awakening. They’re a self-important lot. There are murders of them meeting all day long, debating, filibustering.. Outriders in four directions give signals like Morse code to each other–about the neighborhood, I guess, or maybe they’re warning the larger crow congregation in the area that danger’s afoot or awing. There’s caw(kaw?) three times. One answer is caw, caw, caw, caw, another is caw, caw, caw, caw, caw, and the most important answer seems to be a hahahahahahahahah in a higher crow voice. Although they wear sinister black suits and stare with creepy, yellow eyes, they do keep the garbage off the road and out of the campground, so they earn their place here.

 

We hope you and Rough But oops Cut(I did not do that on purpose. Honest!) aren’t having to express yourselves too often. The strange use of language in the professional worlds never ceases to amaze and sometimes annoy me. We hope there are no more earthquakes of that magnitude at your house and we love the title of “Tourons.”

 

The mystery of the ricks of wood was solved. Tai khon do( spelling chancy) black belters came on an outing–30-40 or them. They divided the ricks into many rickettes? ricochets? rickies? piles, and there were no bonfires. One day, they took a twenty mile hike. They were great campers–no litter, a clean campground, no noise–they honored quiet time. When Dad told their leader how much we appreciated them, they said “It’s part of the philosophy of martial arts.”

 

October 21, 1995

 

Hello:

 

We’ve moved. We’re at Cedar Hollow Campground near Bull Shoals, Arkansas. We came here so Dad could take his ham radio test in Gasville. He’s taking it right now. This changed our plans some because we meant to stay at Ozark Campground until November first. And, on the way, we had to make an unexpected detour to Springfield to begin another root canal on one of my teeth. I had a raging tooth ache for two nights; when you can feel a train whistle in your tooth, it’s sensitive. Every tooth on my right side shouted in anger. One bad tooth can stir up the whole neighborhood. So, we went to Springfield last Wednesday–after we finally got out of Ozark Campground. After Dad hooked up the trailer, we discovered that the trailer had no break lights. The car had no break lights. We’d met a man in Jasper who owned a garage and was supposed to be able to fix anything electrical in a car. So Dad unhooked the trailer and we took the car to this man. He slowly and calmly examined the matter, pronounced the cause (a goof on the part of Reliable Chevrolet), corrected it without fluster or bluster. When Dad asked him how much he owned him, he stretched and said, “Oh, I guess that’ll be about five dollars’ worth.” And we’d interrupted his lunch! He’s president of the Jasper Camera Club so he and Dad talked photography some. As we were leaving his shop, I said, “The more I become acquainted with Jasper, the more I like it.  The gentle friendliness, the unhurried ambiance, the room to breathe, the culture and art.” At that moment a car right in front of us stopped. The driver got out and hurried back to our car and said “Were you wanting to look at some land, here. I’m developing some river front property right over there.” Dad and I were astonished. We’d looked for land in Arkansas many times but had stopped. Dad said “No, we’re’ not wanting land, now, but do you have some information?” He did. We got it. We all moved on. But if that land is there and good at the end of our year, we may well look at it with interest. Talk about serendipity; talk about vibrations. Spooky!

 

For now, Dad passed his ham test. We’re going to lunch at a restaurant on stilts over a river; it’s called Gaston’s.

 

We have a cellular phone now. We’ll give you the number to use for emergencies or something really important. Using the thing is expensive and, if we answer it, it costs us even when we’re not calling. It’s mostly a safety measure for us. The number is 417-830-4450.

 

Once and for all, this letter is finished. Love, Mom.