World Championship Cardboard Boat Races in Heber Springs - Are They Crazy?

You have to admit, the idea of floating a boat made entirely of cardboard, duck tape and paint may sound just outrageously out there.  But for 30 years, the folks in Heber Springs have gathered at Sandy Beach on Greers Ferry Lake just to do that - and to watch. Check out the video in my story.

Roadside Strangeness - The Mammoth Orange Cafe in Redfield.

A little town along Highway 365 may not be known for much, but for roadside travel buffs, it's a must-stop - just because of a strange orange orb at the town's major crossroads. Let's take a look inside the Mammoth Orange Cafe.

Miss Rhoda has pie, too.

You know, sometimes the best things come in small packages. The best pies don’t always come in an eight or nine inch pie shell. And you’re just as likely to find a good pie at a hole in the wall restaurant as at a five-star eatery.

At Rhoda’s Famous Hot Tamales in Lake Village, those pies come in tart shells. But they pack just as much of a punch as a slice of a big pie.
Now, you can order a big full-size pie from Miss Rhoda, if you like. But if you’re just dropping in for a hot plate lunch or a coffee can full of tamales, the little pies will do you just fine.
That’s just what we did on our way down to New Orleans last week. My traveling companion and I left Little Rock extra early to pick up a few assignments here and there.

We arrived at Rhoda’s right around lunchtime and the joint was packed. The parking lot was packed. There were people sitting outside to eat and a line inside the door. That’s how good those tamales are.

We’d already eaten once that day (and you’ll find out more about that meal soon) but had saved just enough room for the pie we were there to check out. Seeing the little pies on the counter was a relief; no oversized slices here. Best of all, each pie was a buck.

I almost got the one little half-and-half pie of the bunch, a pecan-and-sweet-potato beauty. But what sort of service would that have been to you? I have to try them all out and make sure I recommend the best one of the lot.

We tried three of the pies -- the chocolate meringue, the pecan and the sweet potato. The chocolate meringue was a nice filling chocolate custard with a tacky meringue top, sticky and gooey in all the right ways but not fluffy like most meringues. It was tasty, but still not the star of the show. That was so hard to determine. The sweet potato pie has its own renown, and I know why. It’s a firm, not-too-sweet made-from-the-real-deal pie with just a bit of fibrous potato left in the mix. There’s no doubt you’re eating a sweet potato pie when you bite into it.

The crust is supple and buttery. The consistency is firm. The sweetness is measurable. It’s a good filling little pie.

But the real star is the pecan pie -- a rich, deep color custard with a hint of butter and bourbon overtones. It’s meaty and a little cloying, but for its size it’s perfect, bigger than the pie shell goodness.

There’s a depth to each bite, that combination of good Karo-nut syrup and fresh shelled pecans. It’s the not-to-be-missed star of the bunch.

Now all this time we’d been in the restaurant, my photographer had been shooting around, and Miss Rhoda wanted to know why.

We told her it’s what we do, taking photos of food and sharing them with people. She let us shoot the unsteamed tamales all ready to go. She let us shoot around the inside the restaurant. She even posed for us in her kitchen. She’s one hell of a dame, and we owe her some photographs.



Of course we ordered tamales -- we left with a sack of a dozen to take on the road with us. The intention had been to have a sit-down closer on the road to New Orleans. However, a barge had struck the I-20 bridge at Vicksburg, and we were left sitting in a parking lot in Mound, LA waiting to cross.


It was a shade cool, it was late afternoon and the only food in site was a pub on the north side of the interstate and a convenience store on the south. So we dug into the bag, pulled out the paper-wrapped package, tucked it open and pried open the aluminum foil. There we found those sweaty corn-husk-wrapped beauties, steamy and soft, softer than even I’ve ever had them in the store. Lacking the appropriate plastic ware, we took turns pulling out husks and sliding messy fingers along them, pushing out the soft tamales and eating them like, well, like Push-Up orange sherbet pops. I am not afraid to say I sucked the shucks. A roll of paper towels kept us from totally desecrating the interior of the vehicle.


I tell you, I’ve had tamales many places, I’ve had Miss Rhoda’s tamales more than a time or two -- but they never tasted better.

You’ll find Rhoda’s Famous Hot Tamales at 714 St. Mary’s Street in Lake Village, a couple blocks off U.S. 65. I’ve talked about those tamales before and chances are I will again. Now you know you need to try those pies, too. (870) 265-3108.

It's Short, But It's Jam-Packed.

Wanna see strange, unique and unusual? Arkansawyers know to head to Hot Springs for those sorts of things. America’s oldest federally protected land, a National Park created for a downtown and the shortest street in the world are all part of the fabric of the city.

That shortest street thing… well, it’s an interesting thing, that. It’s called Bridge Street. Used to actually be a bridge, no joke. How do you figure that? Well, the bridge went over the Hot Springs River that ran down betwixt East and West Mountain. As the city built up, that river became a bit of an inconvenience. Eventually it was all but paved over -- business built over the top of it and what have you. The bridge was paved over as a street back in 1870 and that was that.

How long is it? Ninety-eight feet -- and that’s measured each year on March the 17th. We’ll get to that in a moment.

Now, there are a couple of places on Earth that have claimed the rights to the shortest street since then -- Ebenezer Place in Wick, Caithness, Scotland is just six feet nine inches long -- which, to me, doesn’t make any sense since most cars aren’t that narrow, let along that short. Sounds suspect to me. But there’s no place on Earth that claims to have the shortest PARADE.

Specifically, the World’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Or more succinctly… this year, at least, the First Ever Eighth Annual World’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Sound nuts? Well, it is, but it’s a good kind of nuts.

Each year on St. Patrick’s Day, floats and parade acts and motorcyclists and celebrities line up about a mile back for the chance to parade along that one single span of Bridge Street. On Bridge Street it’s easily twenty people thick lined up from the edge of the route across the sidewalk. There’s a grandstand at the end of the street, and each year there’s a celebrity who’s the official grand marshall. This year it’s John Corbett -- I remember him as Chris in the Morning on Northern Exposure. Cool guy! When I went a couple of years ago it was John Ratzenberger -- you may remember him as Cliff on Cheers. It’s always someone cool.









Thing is, you don’t have to crowd in right ON Bridge Street. You can watch them lining up for the parade in the several blocks along Central Avenue beforehand… and you’ll usually see just about everything you’ll see on Bridge Street. Well, everything except perhaps the Famous Chicken.

I was allowed special privilege to get into the street and shoot the parade a couple of years ago. And let me tell you what… it was something else. I left the hubster on the east end of Bridge Street and waded out through the crowd into the street itself.

It was about a half hour before the official start of the parade and it was already packed, the streets filled with parade-goers in all sorts of varying shades of green. There were people of all ages there, lots of kids and plenty of folks just looking for a good time.

Away from the street on the balconies in the distance more people were gathered, having a cold one and perhaps a plate of nachos before the start of the big parade. As far as the eye could see, there was green, there were smiles and there were happy people. It was kinda fun.

Before the parade begins, the route is measured by a couple of carefully chosen experts who make sure the line is straight and there’s no budging. The route is 98 feet long, just like the street.

But every year it’s measured, just in case something has happened to Bridge Street in the interim. Well, you never know.

A trumpeter from Oaklawn came out and played the opening round, signaling the start of the parade. The color guard was presented, and the entire street shushed as the flag passed.

Moments later a fire truck cleared the route, and the first section of the parade started. Different important folks in green wigs and sweaters and the like came through in convertibles and such. The Girl Scouts came marching by, as did a group of folks from Diamond Bank -- small business of the year. Most of the groups that came by threw beads, candy or plastic coins into the crowds lining the streets. Custodians along the way made sure no one came past the barriers, wary for small children who might rush out in front of oncoming cars or floats. A few of them picked up beads and charms and such that hadn’t made it far enough to reach the crowd. I found myself doing the same in-between shots.

And then the big announcement as the Grand Marshall arrived in his convertible. Just past the start of the parade route, John Ratzenberger stepped out of the car and started making his way along the side of the road, shaking every hand that reached out toward him. He seemed determined to touch every proffered hand. He had a huge grin on his face and hollered his appreciation back to the crowd. The crowd went wild.

And then came the burgeoning parade, packed with silliness and pageantry and all the cool stuff you like to see in a parade.
There were the proud Poke Salad Annies in their bonnie attire; a proud parade of pooches supporting the local Humane Society;
green bedazzled trucks; the Famous Chicken (I thought he was called the San Diego Chicken, what do I know? There was a strange fellow launching ping pong balls into the crowd with a paddle from the back of a truck.

Behind him were three kids dressed up as the Irish Pickles, clad in green Crocs and green suits with green bags and baskets.

The ruckus coming up behind them was the proud Lyon College Pipe Band, an impressive site to behold. Nearly a dozen men and a woman were stepping lightly with pipes and drums to a delightful tune.




There was a group of folks from the MidAmerica Science Museum, a tissue paper rainbow float and motorcyclists galore. By this point I was walking back along where the parade was setting up… just to get ahead of the crowd. My thought was that I’d shoot everyone who was in the parade and then go back and shoot them at the viewing pavilion when they were getting their performances on. But what I discovered was even in this prep area for the parade itself, the folks in the parade were performing for the folks watching the parade -- and the folks watching were showing their appreciation.

But I did run back down the street a few times back to the parade route, to catch what was going on and to see how the Grand Master was enjoying himself. John Ratzenberger seemed pretty content up on the grandstand, surveying the action below.

Thing is, I can honestly say I ran an entire parade length several times over. I paced and jogged back and forth, running from one perch on Central Avenue to another on Malvern Avenue about a minute later… unheard of, even for me! Wow, I had gained athletic prowess! I was a superwoman!

All kidding aside, I’m glad I made the effort -- because I managed to catch the World’s Shortest Wedding at the World’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade, an impromptu marriage right in the middle of the parade! It was extraordinarily quick, as right should be, and the newly minted husband and wife hustled down the road with the rest of the wedding party..




There were bikes bedazzled with boas and bull-mooses, big Harleys and little Schwinns both. There were classic cars decked out in greenery, some with pretty girls sitting in the back. There was the “World’s Shortest Car” driven by “Dinky O’Smartie,” one of those tiny Smart Cars that at the time were still relatively new around these parts.

There was this one float… well, it just defies adequate description, but I’ll do my best. In the lead and apparently pulling the mess was a gentleman on what appeared to be either a modified garden tractor or superfied Runaround Scooters that had a toilet as a seat. He had a sign over his head that stated “Graduate of Leprechaun College.” He towed behind him a bathtub with a couple of young kids in it; a woman seated on a toilet; a portable camp toilet, a child’s potty and potted plant with an Irish flag in it. I have no idea what that ensemble was supposed to represent.

There was a delightful rainbow float made of balloons that included a gentleman with a scraggly green Mohawk. There were happy cheerleaders, gymnasts and majorettes who were quite happy to show off their talents.

There was the local chapter of the International Order of the Irish Elvi, be-speckled in sequins and sunglasses, proudly sharing their Elvi heritage. This group was large, a dozen or more ranging from gray-haired Elvi to child Elvi, mostly riding motorcycles.

They tossed Ding Dongs and Twinkies and Ho Hos to the happy crowds from a large cooler they dragged along with them. They also handed out special editions of the local newspaper and tossed beads. They were utterly awesome.

There was more -- a small float of a tractor from Jack’s Pancake House; a trailer full of women playing ukelekes and tambourines, all bedecked in green wigs and clothing; bikers decked out in Viking gear; toddlers in strollers with tiny green hats; little green painted dogs; a crowd in a Leprechaun’s castle with a Leprechaun queen; a large group of people on green bikes and carrying cut-outs of green bikes; a float I am assuming was sponsored by Chick-Fil-A promoting the idea of eating more chicken and a spring festival with an eating contest; women in pink and green boas; another pipe and drum corp (wait, I thought I already saw Lyon College, what?) and a huge group of people from the American Cancer Society.

The sunlight was being spent quickly, and I found I’d walked several blocks back into the prep area. There were still plenty of floats and groups walking and such to go -- an entire cadre of different folks on different decorated bikes (including one made up to look like a sailboat); another rainbow and pot o’gold float; a group from Hot Springs’ Ambassador Club; a giant cow wearing a green Mohawk; an ancient hillbilly rigged car; a group of men from a fraternal order seated on a trailer and a straggling bit at the end. All of them were waiting patiently for their turn on Bridge Street.

It took me a few minutes to walk back to the parade route and I lost my good light. But the crowd was still raisin’ cane and having a great time.

This year’s parade should be a good one. You should check it out. There’s a schedule on the website… I’d suggest getting there very, very early.

The Wonder of the Headwaters.

Did you know the 10th largest spring in the world is located right here in Arkansas? Barely, but indeed it is. It’s within spitting distance of the Missouri border in the aptly named town of Mammoth Spring. That’s also the spring’s name.

You can’t see it -- because it emerges from the earth 70 feet under the little pond that caps it. You shouldn’t drink it, thanks to high concentrations of different chemicals that have seeped into the groundwater in the area due to runoff. But you can visit it and paddleboat on the small lake right by it and even feed the ducks there. Let me take you to Mammoth Spring State Park.

The spring itself has been a stopping point for centuries. Osage peoples lived in the area and fished the Spring River, which is formed by Mammoth Spring and the Warm Fork right there. Geologist David Dale Owen inspected the spring back in 1850, and soon afterward it started to draw tourists fascinated by its enormous size. The St. Louis and San Francisco Railroad came through in 1883, sidling right up to the side of the spring. And in 1887 a dam was built, creating the small lake you see there today.

It wasn’t all about the water, of course. The spring’s abundantly quick flow pretty much brought the idea of mills right to the mind. There was a grist mill right before the point where Mammoth Spring flowed into the Spring River in the 19th Century, and in 1925 a small hydroelectric plant was built there to supply electricity to the area. It stayed in operation until 1972; you can still tour the old damhouse today.

Though the spring itself was declared a state park in 1957, the first bit of land for the park wasn’t acquired until 1966. In 1971 the old rail depot became part of the property and the rest came through in 1975.

An oddity about the park -- it’s home to a national fish hatchery. The facility was created in 1903 across the railroad tracks from the spring and lake, and its cool waters are fed into the ponds on that side. Today the hatchery maintains the only captive spawning population of Gulf Coast striped bass in the world. Fish from Mammoth Spring are used to stock national wildlife refuges.



The spring itself is an interesting visit. I like to make the hike around the lake starting with the south side, which takes you across the dam and into the old hydroelectric plant. You can still see much of the original equipment inside, carefully preserved.

Around the end of the lake and back along the shoreline, you come to a paddleboat dock. The depot is right there, the old 1886 Frisco depot full of neat exhibits about life at the turn of the 19th Century. For $2.25 ($1.50 for kids) you can have a guided tour of the artifacts and such.

The lake trail hugs the shoreline and quickly darts back into the undercover a short distance from the picnic pavilions on the east side. I usually step aside for runners who seem to like the loop around the lake. It’s nice and shady on hot summer days.

And then there’s the trail leading up to the island by the spring itself, which we of course can’t see. There are usually ducks about… I’ve spent a good deal of time watching mother ducks and their trail of ducklings darting back and forth across the water.



It’s peaceful on the little island, quiet for where it is but still not so removed that you don’t hear road noise on nearby Highway 63. It’s a good place for contemplation, especially on warmer days when the cool of the constantly 58 degrees water seems to lift the heat from the water’s edge. To stand on the edge of the 10th largest spring in the world, one of nature’s wonders… it’s a moment to reflect and to think about how massive 9.78 million gallons of water an hour really is.

If you’d like to check out Mammoth Spring, make it a day. From Little Rock it’s about three hours -- Highway 67/167 to Bald Knob, Highway 167 up to Hardy and then Highway 63 right up to the border. The state park there also doubles as a welcome center.

Be sure to check out the Arkansas State Park website for more information.