Take A Shot at the Daisy Airgun Museum in Rogers.

It's been 130 years since the first Daisy airgun was manufactured... and today, you can see models of just about every Daisy ever made at the Daisy Airgun Museum in Rogers.  Let's look inside.

A Messy Chili Cheeseburger at Sam's Olde Tyme Hamburgers in Rogers.

I could say I've never met a burger I didn't like... but that would be a lie.  There have been some disappointments out there.

But not at Sam's Olde Tyme Hamburgers in Rogers.  Oh, no.  What I encountered at the red-awning decked shop on the east side of town was a messy, gloppy marvel of excellence, with a perfect patty beneath.

The Road To War Eagle Mill - And Bounties Beyond.

The drive up to War Eagle is not one you take quickly. No matter where you come from, you end up on windy, scenic, two-lane roads with miles of sky and fields aplenty.

Approaching from the south, you round a bend, and suddenly, you’re glancing out over a verdant plain below, green dotted with the red of farm buildings and the far-off site of a three-story structure. That is your destination.

You snake down the side of the hill, roll out into a field and wonder at the sign that states, “War Eagle Craft Mill, next 10 exits.” Exits? You’re in a cow field, for heaven’s sake! Roll right with the road, down past a couple barn-type buildings on the right and a couple houses on the left, and then, you’re at the bridge.

The bridge at War Eagle is nothing to sneeze at. It’s a 1907 original, an old wood- and steel-framed century-old monument to time, arching its single lane out over the greenish river just down from the water break and coming to a landing beside the big red building you saw a mile back from on high. You have to slow down, to make sure no one’s coming from the other side, before you ease on over and back onto the

security of the gravel. You have arrived at War Eagle Mill.

The big gravel lot to the right is usually dotted with cars and motorcycles, sometimes with people just getting out of their vehicles, stretching their legs and visiting the facilities on the far side of the lot. Sometimes, there will be children there with handfuls of corn from the converted candy machine, toddling after the ducks and geese that tend to wander up from the river below. Sometimes, there’s just the hum of the afternoon and the swish of the waterwheel.

Up the stairs and past the “No Wet Feet” sign, you enter the mill and are greeted with the ever-present churning and grinding of the millstone and machinery. Sometimes, one of the folks working back in the rear will pour in whole grains to be busted apart by the stones. Or there will be a couple people asking questions about the mill’s operation. It always seems to smell good.

Shoppers come and go, checking out the paper bags of flour, cornmeal and grains or sampling some of the dips and jellies that are thoughtfully shared. There are jams, salsas, cookies

and all sorts of mixes, as well as oven mitts and trivets and even fresh-baked bread in tiny loaves to snack on, if you’re hankering for something to take with you. And there’s that smell—not just of the grains but of something else, something from the oven—that draws you upward.

You climb the stairs to the second floor, where all manners of cookware and quilts await. This is where you can find your non-edible souvenirs of the day, the knives and stones and the honkin’-big cast-iron Dutch ovens. And you can look down from a number of windows on the water, waterwheel and

bridge below.

But the scent drives you farther upward, and you find yourself in the Bean Palace, the third floor of the mill, with a hard-to-deny menu of simple things, such as beans and cornbread, a cornbread sandwich or, heaven help us, cobbler. Bits of history

are tacked on angled ceilings and walls, bits of a past that’s embraced and treasured by those who work here and those who choose to make the trek, over and over again, to visit Arkansas’s only working undershot wheel gristmill.


For generations, the power of the War Eagle River has been harnessed to mill grain for the Ozarks. Farmers would bring bags and bushels of corn and wheat from their fields to the mill to have the grain ground for their bread and sustenance. The mill’s history spans back to 1832, when the first mill and dam were built by Sylvanus and Catherine Blackburn. The first mill washed away in a flood in 1848. The second, built on the foundation of the first, became the heart of a community with an attached sawmill and a blacksmith shop, church and school all on the same property. It was destroyed by Confederate troops, burned to the ground three days before the Battle of Pea Ridge in 1862.

Sylvanus’s son, James, built the third mill in 1873, but instead of using water power as his father had in the previous two mills, he used a steam-powered turbine to operate the machinery. It burned in 1924, and the foundation sat barren for nearly fifty years.

A man name Jewell Medlin and his wife purchased a cabin on top of a hill that included the mill foundation in the deed. Jewell contacted his daughter, Zoe, and asked if she would be interested in running a gristmill. They successfully reopened the War Eagle Mill on the same foundation in 1973, one hundred years after the opening of the third mill.

This fourth mill is powered by an undershot wheel, the only such device operating in all of Arkansas. Zoe and the man who would become her husband, Charlie Caywood, ran the mill for thirty years. They sold it in 2004 to Marty and Elise Roenigk of Eureka Springs, the owners of the Crescent and Basin Park Hotels. Today, Elise is the sole owner, Marty having been the victim of a car accident in June 2009.

The wheel goes whenever it goes—all the time. That’s the nature of running water. The mill is open every day during most of the year, and every

weekend through the dormant winter months.

Then there are the fairs. Every May and October, these massive events take over the landscape and bring thousands to the area, ninety thousand in the spring and over a quarter million in the fall. For a few days each year, War Eagle becomes the biggest town in Arkansas (yes, even bigger than Little Rock) with vendors, live entertainment and arts and crafts. It’s hard to imagine—looking out from the window on the third floor of the mill and savoring a cornbread sandwich—the pastoral landscape beyond the river, green and quiet.

War Eagle Mill isn't just a quiet three-story gristmill any more. It’s big business, with a website drawing in folks to order products and a bustling retail business with flours and meals placed in stores all over Arkansas and the surrounding states.

Still, much of the sales come from folks who make the pilgrimage from Rogers or Harrison or Eureka Springs and load up on the bags of flours and jars of jam and preserves. There’s been some small controversy with fans over the recent move to paper bags from the traditional cloth sacks replaced at the beginning of 2013, but the reasoning comes from the fact that most folks aren't making garments out of flour sacks any more.

The business continues, despite years that sometimes bring flood or snow. The eatery atop the mill also does well. The Bean Palace is certified USDA organic. Besides the sodas available by can, just about everything there could qualify. Bread, cornbread and pastries are all made from the grains ground downstairs; beans,

smoked meats and fresh vegetables make up much of the rest of the menu. In the morning, there are pancakes and waffles and french toast served with smoked meats and eggs; at lunch, there are cornbread sandwiches, stews, soups and salads. And there’s always a cobbler, hot and ready, and Mason jars of tea, all

swaddled in that fantastic air of history.

War Eagle Mill is open every day through January 2nd, when the big three story red building on the War Eagle River will close for its annual cleaning.  Even if you can't go before then, you can still order wareaglemill.com.

anytime at

And you can try all sorts of great recipes here.

Want to learn more about classic restaurants near and around War Eagle Mill?  Check out Classic Eateries of the Ozarks and Arkansas River Valley.

War Eagle Mill & Bean Palace Restaurant
11045 War Eagle Road
Rogers, AR 72756
(479) 789-5343
wareaglemill.com

Quick Bite: Victoria's Cafe and Bistro, Rogers.

This restaurant has closed.

I spied this little cafe tucked into a row of businesses in downtown Rogers on a Friday night, just a half block from the Rogers Little Theater.  I had been walking, heading down to the park to take in dinner at The Rail, but this small storefront caught my eye and its OPEN neon intrigued me.

Twilight was just starting to fall when I crossed the street and went through the door.  There weren't many people inside, just a couple of full booths and a couple at the bar.  The lady at the bar indicated I could sit where I liked.

The interior was nicely done, a bit eclectic-hipster pop in design, with a painted metal ceiling and a split story back.  I could see what appeared to be a pool table on the upper level, and there was a kitchen at the back out lower.

I asked if they were still serving -- it was about 7:40 on a Friday, and I thought I saw a sign that said they closed at 8 p.m.  I was told sure, they'd still serve me.

For some reason, it took a while to get a menu.  I waited about 10 minutes before I flagged the attention of the barkeep and asked about a menu.  She brought it to me and apologized -- apparently one of the waitpersons had quit the cafe's employ and they were understaffed.

The menu seemed pretty robust -- several burgers, a goodly number of salads and sandwiches and quiche.  My eye was drawn to the quiche, especially to the Sea Side -- a crabmeat and artichoke heart version.  Okay, what the heck.

While I waited for my order, the barkeep brought me tea and water and I caught up on messages that had piled up through my day.  My quiche came out quickly (of course, quiche being what it is, it probably just needed a warm-up).  Along with it was a few red grapes, a single red grape tomato, a roll (mentioned in the menu as Hy-Bread) and a pile of pink coleslaw.

Now, I'd opted for that slaw instead of a green salad (oregano vinaigrette sounded just dreadful, truthfully) and I'm glad I did.  Listed as "California chop salad," this sweet offering was a combination of purple cabbage, carrots, green cabbage, dried fruit and strawberries in what tasted to be a sweet strawberry vinaigrette.  It was very light and a little sour, bright and festive.

The quiche really got my attention, though.  The crabmeat was likely Krab (the crab-flavored product you get to snack on at the grocery store) but it worked in this application, especially with the sharp, tart artichoke hearts.  It was both savory and sweet, yet still fit the desire I'd had for a light meal.

The Hy-Bread roll, though, was something else, moist and pliant with a good substance and heft, served with real butter.  I will have to try these again.

I didn't try the brownies, but oh, they look scrumptious.

I left right at eight on the dot quite satisfied, yet not overweighed by my repast.  I'll have to check Victoria's Cafe Bistro out again next time I'm in Rogers, perhaps to check out some live music at this venue.  It's prominent on the restaurant's Facebook page, which I found later.

You'll find Victoria's Cafe Bistro on Walnut Street in downtown Rogers, a half-block from the Daisy Airgun Museum.  It's open for lunch every day and for dinner Thursday-Saturday.

Victoria's Cafe Bistro
113 W Walnut St
Rogers, Arkansas 72756
(479) 246-0100

Floating away: the flood and War Eagle Mill.

• WAR EAGLE MILL
• RISING WATERS: The mill at 8 a.m. Monday morning.

The waters continue to rise at War Eagle Mill. This photo was taken by the folks who run the place around eight this morning. Since then, the waters of the War Eagle River have continued to rise — though, understandably, no one's there to shoot the flooding now.

I wonder how this is going to affect the bi-annual War Eagle Arts & Crafts Fair, just a week and a half from now.

• WAR EAGLE MILL
• STILL THERE: But water's inside the mill

If you're in need of War Eagle Mill goods, though, you are still in luck. The distribution center for the mill is uphill and is still accepting orders at (479) 789-2146. Updates will be forthcoming at the mill'swebsite and on the mill's Facebook page.

UPDATE: News from War Eagle Mill this morning — and a new photograph.

The folks at the mill dropped a line out on their Facebook this morning with the photo to the left.

8am, 4/26/11. We think it's peaked for now...maybe 3 to 4 feet inside the Mill. Fortunately production continues at our granary.

The War Eagle Mill Craft Fair scheduled for May 6-8? Still on.

UPDATE: As of Tuesday afternoon, the waters are receding.

FINAL UPDATE: As of Friday morning, the Mill and the Bean Palace Restaurant have reopened. How's that for fast?

The Ruins of Monte Ne.

The dreams of an American entrepreneur deteriorate by and under the waters of Beaver Lake

A monolith stands on the shore of Beaver Lake. The tower rises three stories above the shoreline, seemingly serene and calm from a distance. On closer approach, the colors shout out, obscenities and names and other graffiti spattered across the face of the structure. If the light hits it just right you can see the graffiti is apparent both inside and out. You can approach it from land or lake, walk right up and inside, where generations of paint have layered the walls in the name of art and defacement.

But why is the structure here? What caused it to be abandoned on the lakeshore? The answer lies between the waters of Beaver Lake and the dream of an entrepreneur with ideas about Utopia.

***

I have heard whispers of Monte Ne all my adult life, but mostly from people who had heard it from others. An old friend who scuba-dived said he had been meaning to get up there for years. An acquaintance told me there was a resort under Beaver Lake that was part sanitorium, part summer camp. It sounded like “The Road to Wellville,” the 1994 movie about a 1920s health resort. A little research and a personal visit would banish those myths and solidify what Monte Ne really was in my mind.

***

The tower is a prominent feature from the ruins of Monte Ne, a resort built just past the turn of the 20th Century, a vision of one William Hope “Coin” Harvey. The entrepreneur came to this area of the Ozarks to build the resort. He purchased 320 acres of what was then called Silver Springs and renamed it Monte Ne -- a name he conjured up from Spanish and Omaha Indian words for mountain and water.

He used some revolutionary ideas in the construction of his resort -- including the utilization of slabs of concrete in many of the structures on the site. He combined this with more traditional construction methods. The two hotels constructed at the resort that made it to completion

were made from logs with tile roofs. These two structures called Oklahoma Row and Missouri Row were at the time the longest log cabins in the world.

He financed the building of the resort through the sale of his writings regarding free silver. His nickname, “Coin,” comes from his most popular work, Coin’s Financial School. He sunk $100,000 dollars (half his own, half from investors) into construction at the site. It wasn’t just about building the hotels. He had retaining walls built along the creek and lagoon and walkways constructed and even had a railroad assembled to run between the resort and Lowell to bring in guests. Those guests would disembark from the train and be escorted by gondola to the resort itself.

He built Arkansas’ first indoor pool in a bathhouse on Silver Creek across the lagoon from the resort. The downtown area he laid out had a livery stable, a bank (which used Harvey’s own scrip instead of American dollars), a grist mill, general store, and post office. His son Tom even ran a newspaper, the Monte Ne Herald, in the town.

The resort was something else in its heyday. I sat down with Shiloh Museum director Allyn Lord to talk about Monte Ne. She literally wrote the book on the subject; her Historical Monte Ne book came out a few years ago and is a great read with lots of photos from the old resort. “Monte Ne was a great destination back in its heyday. This was back before air conditioning. It was really cool down in the valley, even in the summertime.”

But some of Harvey’s ideas just didn’t take well with guests. He had a lights-out at 10 p.m. policy and reportedly wouldn’t allow sick children at the resort. He was a wiley sort. “He wasn’t crazy,” Lord told me. “Some folks think he was, but those were different times.”

It was a great dream, this nirvana in the Ozarks, but it was not to be. Harvey’s bank failed. The railroad went under. His son Hal died and his son Tom took off and left for good. Harvey tried unsuccessfully to run for Congress and his friend Williams Jennings Bryan wasn’t able to find a place for him in the Woodrow Wilson administration. These sort of things could turn anyone’s mind dark.

In February 1920, he published Common Sense, announcing his intention to leave a message for the future in the form of a pyramid. His plans called for a structure that would have been 130 feet high and which would have contained artifacts from the age preserved for the future -- a globe, newspapers, domestic items and things like record players and such. Harvey had a 165 foot retaining wall built, but that’s as far as he got on the structure.

He did, however, complete an unusually shaped amphitheater he planned to rent out to bring in more money for the pyramid’s construction. The twenty foot high, 140 foot long semi-circular structure was built without an architect. It was very irregular but could seat anywhere from 500 to 1000 people at a time.

The Great Depression pretty much ended Harvey’s pyramid dream. By that point he had sold off the hotels, which continued to do business under other operators. The Oklahoma and Missouri Rows spent time as the Ozark Industrial College and School of Theology until 1932.

Harvey wasn’t quite done yet, though. He formed The Liberty Party and gathered together a presidential convention at Monte Ne in 1932, the only presidential convention ever to be held in Arkansas. He expected 10,000 people -- he got just 786 delegates who nominated him as their presidential candidate. The party ended up merging with the Jobless Party and Harvey ended up running independent, coming in 6th in the election with just 800 votes.

He was done. He continued to write his newsletter, The Liberty Bell, until his death in 1936. He was entombed along with his son Hal (who had died in 1903) in a concrete structure, along with many of his books and papers.

The buildings were sold off and used for other purposes -- such as training facilities for the Arkansas Guard and facilities for a girls’ camp.

What truly took out Monte Ne, though, was the encroachment of Beaver Lake. The Corps of Engineers determined in 1960 that the lake would inundate Monte Ne and made moves to buy up the land all around there. The log structure portion of Oklahoma Row was purchased and moved north, where it can still be seen, sagging by the side of Highway 94.

However, the Corps expected Beaver Lake to cover all of the old resort. Those levels fell short, which is why you can view much of what’s left behind today.


***

So what’s left of Monte Ne today? I’d heard my share of rumors, from “it’s completely submerged” to “it’s not worth your time.” But curiosity got the better of me. I did my research, looked up the site on Google Maps and figured out how to get down to it off the highway.

Photographer Grav Weldon joined me for the journey to northwest Arkansas. We passed through Rogers and out Highway 94 to the community that is Monte Ne today. It’s not much -- a collection of houses and mobile homes clustered around the Monte Ne Inn Chicken Restaurant at the intersection of Highway 94 and the Highway 94 Spur -- though we did sight an old fashioned windmill on a lawn.

But where were the ruins of Monte Ne? We found what we thought might be the most accessible point as we came in view of Beaver Lake. With a severe drop-off from the asphalt and no discernible shoulder, Grav asked if I’d stand in the road and divert any traffic that might come around the corner as he went down the bank to capture shots of the tower he could see in the distance.

I was excited about that tower. Being able to see it so clearly meant we had a chance of getting something visual to go with our story. A quarter mile further we found a gravel parking area off to the right side of the road -- and several cars, too. Out we went, out down the most obvious path over a guard rail. There was a sign, undoubtedly something along the lines of “Keep Out” or “No Parking” or something, long painted over.

Usually this would be the point where I’d carefully stand by at said sign while Grav took the big camera and went about his job chronicling places he probably shouldn’t go… but not this time. There were half a dozen people scattered along the path ahead, the path that stretched on to the tower.

Footpaths have been forged in the grass for some time here… and more gives way to concrete, not a sidewalk or roadbed but what turned out to be the roof of the basement section of what was once Oklahoma Row. There was one hole I noticed, big enough to trip into but not wide enough to allow one to fall all the way through.

You can stand on a corner of the building, no guardrail or safety net in place, and potentially trip off and hit the rocks below. The vantage point overlooks what was once Silver Springs below. Now you see houses on the opposite bank, a boat dock and water.

I followed Grav out to the tower. The sun was heading towards a setting in the southwest, nearly behind the tower itself, very bright and blinding. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t see the graffiti until I got close.

There’s all sorts of tags on the outside of the building, mostly around the base of the structure but a few high up around the windows overhead. Daredevils must have taken great pleasure at pointing out how far they got from the portals when they managed to tag out at such precarious angles. It still didn’t prepare me for the inside.

It was like stepping into a kaleidoscope, paint in places a half inch thick where vandals had sprayed their thoughts on the wall. The ceiling, the floor, even the fireplaces had not been spared. Much of the interior was splattered with profanities and crude images -- in fact it took much work to find things to shoot that could be included in this magazine. Through the pane-less windows the far shores of Beaver Lake could be seen, populated with trees and homes. Water light echoes flickered on the ceiling in the front rooms.

There were no staircases -- but through a hole between floors I could see more paint above. Some taggers had obviously taken great joy in climbing up into the top of the structure. “Climbing is discouraged,” Shiloh Museum director Allyn Lord later told us. Yet I found several shots on the internet while compiling this story of people -- even church youth groups -- who see climbing up into the tower as a goal to achieve.

It’s a shame, really. The tower is on the National Historic Register, but there’s no money to restore it or even keep vandals out. “There have been efforts to have it made a state historic site, with no success,” Lord told me. We shared a similar notion, that it would be fantastic if the state could come in and take over the acres currently owned by the Corps of Engineers and make it into some sort of park.

After exploring the rooms inside the tower we walked around the base. It was apparent that people had crawled far under the structure, considering the proliferation of trash and the remnants of a sleeping bag. I would later learn that the old crawl space is usually inundated with water. I can’t imagine why anyone would be interested in crashing underneath.

Off to the west side of the point, we could look back and see what we had been standing on. With the water down we could actually walk right up to what was once the basement of Oklahoma Row.

We waited until a couple managed to come back up from their inspection, then took a look inside. The basement level rooms weren’t used for housing -- except for a small room on the north end of the structure. That room contained a fireplace, a small room with plumbing that had apparently once been a bathroom, and much rubble all over

the floor. We’d later discover that access to that section was usually unavailable.

After that exploration we walked back along the shoreline to the east, passing the tower and following a long pipe that I assumed had once been underground. Time and erosion had washed away the dirt around it.

We came upon an inlet, and while Grav darted down to shoot what was left of the base of the wall I walked back into the woods and found what I assume was once the fireplace for Missouri row. It and a few short staircases are all that remain of the row. You can tell by looking at it how the different mantles sat, all at different angles and all, I assume, with their own conduit through the chimney. This structure too has been tagged with spray paint, though not to the extent of the Oklahoma Row tower.

And next to this remnant in time? A boat ramp into the lake. There were another half-dozen people along the landing, fishing or talking to people who were fishing.

We’d discover later on that we missed one important sight -- that of the tomb of William Harvey and his son Robert, sitting on private land on the opposite side of the boat ramp. The tomb itself is cracked, apparently from being moved when the lake was created to avoid being inundated.

The problem with the location of the ruins is that it’s impossible to shoot them well from the land. Grav and I set off to see if we could find out way around to the other side of the inlet so he could get a better shot.

We doubled back along the highway until we came to a side road. It took us up a decently steep hill on a narrow band of asphalt. The first view through the trees came at a house hanging onto the land above the lake bank. Grav jumped out, went and knocked on the door and asked permission to shoot.

The light was starting to fade, and there were lots of branches in the way, so we looked for another spot to try our luck again. We drove further along and found a side road that ran close to the lakeside. But there still wasn’t a good shot.

Finally Grav asked me to stop -- he’d seen something unusual way out on what appeared to be a peninsula. I sat with the car, watching the neighborhood dogs smell at the wheels and give friendly barks while he jogged through a yard and down a good ways. I caught sight of him later almost a half-mile away right on the edge of the water.

Turns out the little peninsula he was on is usually an island, and if the water was lower you could actually see the top of what was the amphitheater. However, the Corps of Engineers rarely lets the lake get even as low as on that particular day, and there was not much for him to shoot in the fading light of the afternoon.

But what he was able to capture was the vision of the remaining tower, standing on its own in the pinkish glow of the sunset on the point, a final reminder of what Harvey tried to accomplish. It’s not a resort, but it is a remnant of a different time. Will it be saved? That’s a question only more time will answer.

***

Tip: The water levels for Beaver Lake on the day Grav photographed the ruins were at 1120 feet. The top of the amphitheater is clearly visible at 1113 feet. In December, the Army Corps of Engineers issued a notice of low water levels, and those levels fell to 1113 feet the week of Christmas. If you’re interested in viewing the amphitheater and would like to monitor the water levels, you can review a daily water level report here.

***

The Rogers Historical Museum has both an exhibit on Monte Ne at its facility and an on-line exhibit to peruse. Tour “Buried Dreams: ‘Coin Harvey’ and Monte Ne” at the museum, open 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Monday-Saturday at 301 W. Chestnut in Rogers. Call (479) 621-1117. You can find the online article here.

***

Read this story and much more, including The Birds, in the February 2011 issue of Arkansas Wild.