What a Deal! Chicken Mart.

I offer this new segment of Tie Dye Travels for those who have asked me over the years, "where do you get all those great deals?" I hope it comes of good use to you.

When I first travelled to Russellville in the summer of 1990 (for band camp, in case you were wondering), I was told two things: I had to go to Feltner's Whatta-Burger, and if I could get to Chicken Mart I could get anywhere in town. It was a bit of a joke, but it also was a bit true.

Not that it's all that hard to get to Chicken Mart. You just take exit 81 off Interstate 40 and head south on Arkansas (also known as Scenic Highway Seven), go through the heart of town, and about 19 blocks further along. If you get to the lumberyards, you've gone too far -- though it's hard to miss the bright red and yellow signs announcing the place.

Chicken Mart has been there longer than I've known Russellville -- and almost longer than my husband (who grew up in Russellville) has known it. He can remember back when the building housed a grocery store, back when he was a kid. But long before he could drive, it was Chicken Mart. And it still is.

Other than being a fun name to say (with the accompanying licking of the knuckles and smacking of said knuckles against the ceiling of the vehicle you're riding in, if you're, say, 17), Chicken Mart is also a pretty cool deal... something to look for during these rough times. I make it a habit to stop in any time I am in the area -- which is usually around once a month, since Paul still has family in said parts.

Which brings to mind the old chicken commercial and "parts is parts" I remember from my youth -- but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway... it's a small store, with just the cases along three walls. And what you'll find in those cases changes from week to week, depending on what the proprietors have happened to pick up. With four different Tyson operations in the area (back in my pizza delivery years I used to deliver to all four, including TVDC, almost as much fun to say as Chicken Mart) and with the extraordinarily large ConAgra complex in town, Chicken Mart gets more than its share of good deals to distribute.

But what sort of deals? Well, I'll tell ya... they do change a lot. The right-hand case usually carries a variety of products that range from bready-things to potatoes of different sorts (JoJos and seasoned fries and shoestring potatoes and hashbrowns) to breaded squash and okra to sausage links to bacon. The left-hand case is usually variety after variety of flash frozen chicken -- buffalo wings, pecan-encrusted chicken breasts, chicken-Os, country style, fully cooked, Southern style, extra spicy, BBQ, you name it. The back case usually has a selection of less chicken-y things such as pork chops or lunchmeat. And there's a case in the back right hand corner that
carries things like five-pound bags of chicken breasts and chicken gizzards -- and my favorite, the shattered chicken.

Ah yes, shattered chicken -- chicken breasts that shattered upon flash-freezing, thereby rendering them un-perfect. Well, imperfect for cosmetic reasons -- and because smaller pieces cook at different times from the rest. So these shattered bits are bagged in five pound increments and sold for the fantastic price of $5.99 each. I personally use the little bits for stir-fry and the somewhat larger bits for curry -- but that's just me.

I don't do the whole pork thing for allergy reasons -- but I do notice the specials and have seen 15 pound boxes of bacon recently for $15.99 and Jimmy Dean sausage for $3.99 for a two pound chub. I'm currently curious to see how the eight-pack of cheese-garlic biscuits I just picked up for three bucks come out -- I'm wondering if they're similar to those Cheddar Bay Biscuits that keep people going back to places like Red Lobster.

And that's just the thing -- when something sells out at Chicken Mart -- it's gone. Which is why I check back in every time I come through town. Sometimes it's just a five pound bag of seasoned fries for five bucks. Other times I have wobbled out under significant chicken weight from a rather good deal or two I couldn't resist. And if I plan to cook for a crowd, I have to drop by first.

I could rhapsodize on for hours about the joys of a great place to pick up bargains like Chicken Mart, but I'll let you find out the rest for yourself. You'll find Chicken Mart at 1808 South Arkansas. I suppose you could call (479) 968-3185 for more information, but that would ruin the surprise of a good food bargain find. Chicken Mart is open 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday and 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Saturday. Don't go on Sunday -- it's closed then.

From the Brink of Extinction Comes a Flash of Hope.

The flash of white darting in among the trees was something I treasured from my youth. The rustle of leaves with that little plip-plop of blumbering grace would alert me to the presence of the creature, and I would scan the woods, looking for the round head somewhere between chest and waist level. Sometimes I’d catch the scent on the breeze, and I’d lean into it, hoping to hear the almost magical sing-song call. I’d grasp my hand a little tighter on the handle, and start to salivate.

Of course, we all grow older, and when I was of age I left home and went on to college. I didn’t hunt as much then, but I’d still try to make a yearly pilgrimage to the valley, my equipment primed and greased for action. And even in those lean years when I could barely scrape two pennies together, there were nights of great feasts.

But times changed, and the forests grew silent in the valley, up there in Northwest Arkansas. Well, if you don’t count the elk, bear, rabbit, deer, various forms of fowl and reptile, cars, motorcycles, tourists… but I digress. That musical call, those plip-plop steps? A thing of my past.

Until recently. After years of wondering what became of my favorite prey, I decided to take a journey up Highway Seven to see if I might be able to find some good eating. I hadn’t seen the creature on the endangered species list -- and who was going to know, anyway? I took everything I needed with me for a lengthy sojourn -- bug spray, knee socks, good walking shoes, cast iron pan, toothbrush. I didn’t know when I’d be back or if I would be able to feed myself out in the wild, but I was sure gonna give it a shot.

The first few days were fruitless. I got nothing more than bug bites and a nifty sunburn in the part on my head, and a bunch of cockleburs and other critters and hangers on. At night I’d roll into Jasper nearby, spend a few hours nursing a deep fried burger and a basket of zucchini fries at the Ozark Café, and either crash in the back of the vehicle or poke up a small tent in a dark restless little campground.

But then… one afternoon I was finding my way through the ruins of an old town along the way. All was quiet, save the birds squawking in the trees and the babble of a nearby brook. Oh, and the highway traffic from Scenic Seven. I was sure -- dead certain sure! -- that I had heard a sing-song cry on the wind. Ah! Alark! Is Alark a word? I don’t know -- haven’t a clue! -- but was that not the cry of the beast I was hunting? Surely it was, and not the rumble of one of the many motorcycles that had passed through that day.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my trusty sidearm. I wasn’t going to be caught without the essentials this time out. I craved that childhood favorite, and I was not going to be denied this time!

Further into the ghost town I stumbled, quietly padding along behind a row of shanties. There! I know that had to be what I was looking for! I heard that plip-plop scuttle grow faster, and for a moment it started to coast away from me.

I could stand it no longer. “Hey!” I cried. “Hey!” The drool ran down from the corner of my mouth, and I started to hyperventilate a little. This was the moment of truth.

I gazed hungrily in its direction, and brought up my frying pan.

At first, I thought maybe I’d been mistaken, maybe what I’d glimpsed was the white of a fading ad sign out in the weeds, the musical tinkle of long abandoned wind chimes. But then, they were upon me -- not one, not six, but something like 27 Shmoon, all flipping and

flopping excitedly like an overturned box of puppies. The first to reach me happily landed in the frying pan and quickly started to turn into steak. Others bounced off of him in their efforts, and I momentarily regretted not bringing a larger pan. But once the first rush had calmed down, a few popped out more vittles in the form of fresh eggs, butter, and Shmoo milk. They lapped at me and around me happily, an unlikely crowd of white softness that took the edge off the day.

I found I didn’t even need to heat the pan, the Shmoo that had immolated himself there was almost done and looking up at me with adoration in its shoe button eye. I pulled out the prerequisite oversized bib and tied it around my neck in anticipation of such fine dining.

And indeed, it was such. No sauce, no spice could ever tune up a steak finer than that I had that day on the rolling grounds of the former town of Dogpatch, now deserted. Creamy Shmoo milk and savory steak, and even a Shmoo souffle I managed to whip up on quick notice. Splendid eats, though I must admit it was odd being watched by my dinner’s fellows as I dined.

No matter. They even washed my skillet in the creek before I left. And two of them happily hopped into my cooler, ready for me to take them home to bake or grill or whatever I liked. I can really dig game that likes a ride in the car.

It's a wonderful life...

A lot of people have asked me recently what I've been up to. And while it's not a journey of miles (for the most part), it is a journey of life. And I don't mind sharing a bit.

I recently traveled to Jasper, to collect some information for an upcoming travelogue for Let's Go magazine and a review of the Boardwalk Cafe for a future Tie Dye Travels article. It was absolutely gorgeous up there at the birth of spring... but also a little disturbing down the road a bit, where the trees are stripped and splintered from the ice storm this spring.


I also went to the 1st Ever Sixth Annual World's Shortest St. Patrick's Day Parade and Pub Crawl in Hot Springs, where thousands turned out to catch a glimpse of former Cheers star John Ratzenberger and, more importantly, the San Diego Chicken.
I was quite delighted by the attitude of these paradegoers, who waited patiently for hours to catch a glimpse of the 98' route's worth of fun. And Elvis gave me a Ding Dong, but I'll explain more about that later.

I was also lucky enough to attend Empty Bowls, a big fundraiser for the Arkansas Foodbank Network. Each year, artists create bowls and other artworks which are auctioned off to benefit this worthy cause.
It was also a great chance to catch up with some of my former Today's THV co-workers and find out how things are going at the station.


And... well, it's been life. I just returned from MidSouthCon, a venerable sci-fi convention that now also hosts a writer's convention as well. I've knocked out a few reviews for the Arkansas Times' Eat Arkansas blog, and picked up more information for Tie Dye Travels. Most of all, I've been spending time with my husband and my daughter Hunter... who has recently learned how to giggle.



And she's beginning to teethe -- I guess I can handle that, too.

Life is good. The journey continues.

How 'Bout Them Apples?

The sign has been passed year after year on Highway 65... the sign that reads "Arkansas Black Apples."

For many years, I didn't give it much thought. Of course, those were childhood years and not those of later times. These past cycles of fall to winter to spring, I've passed the sign and started wondering... just what are Arkansas Black Apples? And why am I only seeing them here?

On a lazy March morning with traveling companion in tow, I stopped at this roadside space near Leslie. There was much evidence of the recent ice storm -- with trees split around and piles of sawdust here and there where felled timber had crossed the road. But the day was perfect, sunny, and in the sixties.

The little nondescript building was quiet when we drove up. A gentleman was out in the yard of the place, but he came up to greet me when I stepped out of the van. We walked inside and I had a look around.

Yes, there were baskets of Arkansas Black Apples here -- dark maroon-colored fruit that shone darkly in their baskets. There were also Galas, Fujis, Granny Smiths, and more. I asked about the apples, and was told they came from Alabama.

Alabama?

Well, most of the apples. The Arkansas Blacks were grown nearby, just outside of Leslie. Without further ado, I ordered up a basket to take home. Baskets, by the way, are $7 for any type of apple.

The little shop also had Amish-style jams (from London, TN) and locally dug quartz crystals.

When I got home, I checked out more about Arkansas Black Apples. Turns out, they were once incredibly popular here, a native-grown species that's a variety of the Winesap. It's harvested in the winter months. You can learn a lot more about it here.

The apples had fragranced-up the van, and I couldn't wait to try onr. I discovered it's a sweet, starchy fruit, untart, with a hint of a red wine taste. As a former colleague of mine would have said, "mighty fne, mighty fine."

You'll fine the stand about a mile south of Leslie on US 65.

Chain of (Fancy) Foods, Mexicanesque-Style.

I know it's a chain. I know, I am not much on chain food. Really, I'm not. I'd much rather experience local eateries and support local restauranteurs.

But I can't help but liking Cantina Laredo. Even with the prices.

Our location here is pretty new. It opened in Midtown Mall last fall and, well, I pretty much ignored it. In fact, I was pretty determined not to go because of a review from a friend who said it was pricey to the extreme.

But on a Wednesday afternoon in March my traveling companion and I found ourselves with a limited time to grab a bite and right in the area. And rather than try the old standby of Pei Wei again (which I like, don't get me wrong, but you can have too much of it) we decided to pop in to Cantina Laredo.

And first thing that struck me was the fact that this just doesn't look like a Mexican restaurant. More American Lodge meets IKEA. Which isn't bad, but it's the sort of decor that 30 years from now will be considered the "decor of the oughts." Still, it's all right.

We were shown to a cozy corner table and presented with menus of utter urban delights -- the sort of menu that would make one exclaim with delight and hope over and over again, things like Mexico City Chile Relleno (Picadillo filling with ground beef, pork, almonds, and raisins topped with ranchera sauce for 13.29) and Camarones Escondidos (Grilled chicken breast stuffed with shrimp, topped with sauteed spinach and chipotle-wine sauce for 18.99). Many of the items sounded way too incredible to be true.

Our waiter came by and delivered the standard bowl of tortilla chips (apparently prepackaged) and two very different salsas. One was a fresh tomato salsa, very chunky, very sweet, served cold. The other -- a tomatillo salsa with tons of cumin
and pepper and a hint of something reminiscent of garam masala, served hot. He also suggested the "house special" guacamole made fresh at the table. I passed, since my traveling companion loathes guacamole... found out later on it would have cost us $9.49.

We placed our orders and made pleasant conversation -- and were startled when our entrees arrived at what felt like a very rushed speed. The plates were hot -- in that "yeah, you're at a Mexican restaurant" sort of way, but hotter -- and the servings large. And very, very pretty.

My companion had gone for the Enchilades de Camarones ($16.99), enchiladas packed with shrimp, Monteray Jack, and peppers on a bed of spinach and veggies topped with a sour cream poblano sauce. I have to say, I wasn't really thrilled with the semi-cooked red onion in the dish -- but that's the only thing I can say about it. It was very, very rich and served with this perfect soft Spanish rice to go with it. My companion told me the cheese made everything just feel "melty soft" in his mouth.

I went for the Camaron Poblano Asada ($21.49), an overwhelming dish reminiscent of Medieval dishes where one thing is stuffed inside another inside another (or Turducken, one or the other). The 10 ounce carne asada flatiron steak was wrapped around a poblano pepper stuffed with shrimp, mushrooms, sauteed onions, and Monteray Jack on a puddle of Chimichurri sauce. The waiter had asked how I'd like the steak, and while it wasn't quite the medium rare I had hoped for,
it was still lovely nonetheless. It too came with Spanish rice and with a melange of lovely roasted veggies -- green beans, zucchini, mushrooms, carrots, skin-on red potatoes -- lovely and not soaked with butter or any strange substance, just sprinkled with almonds. I quite enjoyed it but had to take some home with me.

Of course, what is dinner without dessert? We decided to give the crepes a test drive. The piping hot apple filled crepes came out draped in caramel and flecked with almond slivers, with two round lumps of vanilla ice cream on the side. For $5.99, it was pretty darn good.

But of course, there is the check. Before the tip, it still came out to nearly $55 -- a bit much for two folks on a budget. And that's without touching the margaritas -- which were inviting and tempting.

So, the verdict? Decent and good for a restaurant, but yes indeed a bit pricier than just about every other Mexican restaurant in Little Rock. And that might kill it here. But if you have a couple extra bucks and want to go for something extravagant, knock yourself out.

You'll find Cantina Laredo at Midtowne (the shopping center at the northeast corner of Markham and University). They have a website or you can call (501) 280-0407.

A Preference for a Favorite - Little Rock's Casa Manana Restaurants.

This article has been updated.

Over the past couple of decades, Greater Little Rock has been inundated with lots of new Mexican offerings. But there’s one restaurant I keep coming back to.

It is human nature to choose favorites… and while I have endeavored to keep a clear mind about the places I have been over this journey, there are places that when I am home I return to, like a homing pigeon to its coop.

And when it comes to Mexican fare, I tend to return to Casa Mañana.

Home Cooking, Capitol View at Madea's Delicious Home Cookin'.

This restaurant has closed.

The Arkansas Legislature is in session. Lawmakers are coming in from all over the place to make the policies and decisions that will continue to affect us for years to come. Certainly not the sort of thing you want to tackle on an empty stomach.

Dig That Diner - The Pancake Shop in Hot Springs.

Nearly 69 years old, The Pancake Shop is still flappin’ jacks and offering a great traditional Southern breakfast cheap and with a smile.

I grew up with an idea of diners that came from prime-time TV. Diners were a world where waitresses wore matching uniforms, where chrome barstools and Formica-topped tables were the norm, where the coffee was always hot and the eggs always cooked to order.

Yes, I thought all diners were like Mel’s Diner on Alice.

When I got older, I didn’t see that when I went out for breakfast. Oh, sure, Waffle House has uniforms and coffee, but it’s not the same. Waffle House doesn’t evoke thoughts of a community, or warm feelings about the past. It wasn’t until years later that I’d find the place that met my mental image of a diner.

When I think of a place like Mel’s Diner, I think of The Pancake Shop.

No, I’ve never heard a waitress there tell a customer to kiss her grits, and there’s no grumpy cook hollering at folks. But the food is good, it’s decently priced, there are regulars that come through on a schedule, and you won’t find a better cuppa joe in Hot Springs National Park.

This isn’t some fly-by-night Johnny-come-lately trendy joint trying to take advantage of nostalgic tourists. The Pancake Shop has been a Bathhouse Row fixture since 1940. It had been located at 133 Central Avenue (where the Downtown Hotel & Spa is located today) for many years, as Mason’s Pancake Shop. Later it was bought by the Conway family of Chicago and moved across the street to its present location. Tom Ardman and his wife Ruth ran the place from the sixties onward, until Tom passed away in 1980. Ruth kept up the fantastic service and drew in even more customers. She died in 2004, but her daughter Keeley DeSalvo and Keeley’s husband Stephen still maintain the business and its great record of good food at decent prices.

I’ve had lots of chances to become acquainted with the eatery. I’ve visited many times over the years, and during my TV days even had the opportunity to bring in the morning show I worked on for a morning. The staff was splendid, opening up at an ungodly hour to allow all of Hot Springs to come in and meet our anchors and enjoy a good breakfast.

And that’s the thing -- TV news anchors are just regular folks here. So are just about every sort of celebrity you might imagine. Lots of folks have darkened the doorstep -- including generations of horseracing’s finest, musicians of the like of Liberace, and who knows who else. No matter the magnitude of your own shining stardom, you’ll always get the same warm welcome.

On my most recent visit, I arrived after the morning rush. I ordered my usual, iced tea, which was served up strong with a handful of Sweet & Low packets and a chunk of lemon in a bowl. I looked up and saw the smiling countenances of my former anchors on the wall, right alongside Barney the Dinosaur. Well, you never know what sort of company you’ll end up keeping when your face is peering down from a wall.

The Pancake Shop’s big thing is breakfast, and that’s what you come to order. The choices are simple -- pancakes, French toast, breakfast meats, eggs, and omelets, drinks and fruit. Almost everything is served with toast, and toast is served with grape jelly and apple butter in individual services. Apple butter is so extraordinarily Arkansan, and it’s so fitting here.
.

It's very easy to over-order here. But that's okay, there's no hurry. The furnishings are straight out of the early 60s -- Naugahyde beige benches, green cushioned wooden chairs and melamine topped tables. Locals and celebrities also have eaten here look down. Pictures obscured by large flourishes of autographs and thanks. Lots of horse racing memorabilia, too.

It’s just one more item that’s normal here, where it might not be normal elsewhere. You can have any meat you want, as long as it’s pork -- but there’s also lots of fruit and juice choices. Where else can you get bananas and blueberries, stewed prunes, or grapefruit? Oatmeal, cream of wheat,

or cereal? Your choice of five types of toast? Buckwheat pancakes? Buttermilk or chocolate milk? These are the staples of a good Southern breakfast buffet, yet here they’re all available and for a reasonable price. And yes, there are grits.

My favorite? Banana pancakes -- real bananas in the batter, too. Pancakes are thick, hearty, and the size of a dinner plate. One is enough for a side, two for a complete breakfast -- yet it’s not unusual to hear a neophyte order a stack of three and see the same customer give up halfway through his food. Gargantuan gobs of grub, indeed.

Another favorite -- because you never can just have one -- omelets, fluffy and fresh with a hearty offering of American cheese. Some folks want to add in things like ham or sausage or sautéed onions in theirs -- I like mine simple, and could dine on just omelets with glee.

It may sound like I’m in love with the restaurant. Perhaps I am. There’s just something about the simplicity of a place where the most expensive thing on the menu is Ham Steak and Eggs ($7.85). And where the wait staff still refers to customers as “sir” and “ma’am,” not in that smarmy way that teenagers sometimes manage but with the honest respect that good businesses try to foster.

The Pancake Shop is open every day from 6am to 12:45pm. You’ll find it across from the Arlington Hotel at 216 Central Avenue in Hot Springs. Check out the restaurant on-line at www.pancakeshop.com or call (501) 624-5720.

UPDATE: I've come back and written more about the Pancake Shop - once, when I did a cupping, once on the 75th anniversary, once on our epic Scenic Highway Seven adventure... actually, I've written a LOT about the Pancake Shop.

On The Journey...

When I started this blog, I had meant for it to be a clearinghouse of little articles I'd do about travel and food. But a lot has happened since then, and I'm wondering if it's time for Tie Dye Travels to evolve.

Perhaps a little history might provide perspective.

I was a television producer. I enjoyed the job, and thought it was all I was ever going to do. After all, how many people out there can claim they've achieved their dream job by age 25?

But things change, and through a variety of circumstances I decided to leave television in September 2007.

What I discovered about the world and myself in the months since then has changed my entire view of the world.

The blog started out just being about Arkansas. I worked on a project called "Where in Arkansas?" for Today's THV, and I rather enjoyed finding locations all around the state to write about, little bits of trivia to expound upon, odd things and unique things. It seemed a natural place to start.

I also picked up bits from the places around Arkansas' borders, too -- like Branson, MO with its shows and festivals. Like Shreveport, LA and the places you can reach from there -- burgs like Jefferson, TX and Natchitoches, LA.
Like Transylvania.

I started writing for other publications, too -- after all, you have to make money some way or another. And it was through one of those other publications that the idea of travelogues came up. And that's how I found myself on January 6th of 2008 sitting in a Memphis hotel room, trying to determine how I'd go about thing, how I needed to start researching and putting together said travelogues, the wonder of the possibilities staring me in the face.

Within six months I had doubled the number of states I had visited in my lifetime. I found myself slapped with the wonder of it all on a cold day in late January, standing on the railing at a harbor park in Boston with my husband and my friend Louis, realizing that this really was my job now -- scary as that might be.

The magnitude, the wonder of it all, struck me with such overwhelming force that I had to sit and take it in. Though not for too long -- it was bloody cold.

The writing took me in three weeks from the teens in the Northeast to the 70s in Phoenix.

By this point I was getting the routine down, learning how to budget my time, discovering what I needed to do to get all the photos and information I needed, learning how best to travel through an airport (and that wearing boots under tight jeans was a bad idea when going through security).

I sometimes felt overwhelmed, especially by the extremes of the job -- such as going from a night in a rather scary Super 8, by taxi, to the splendid and gorgeous Arizona Biltmore Hotel and being struck by the beauty and extravagance of the property. Such times I felt overwhelmingly blessed to do what I was doing.

I also discovered that maybe not every town in America was up my alley. My mom and I traveled a few weeks later across the United States to Las Vegas. The trip there was incredible. I had long wanted to retrace bits of Route 66, to travel the Mother Road and join on that highway of time.

I finally got to see things I knew about, like the Wigwam Motel in Holbrooke, AZ and the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, TX.

I was surprised at other sights, like Weatherford, OK's windmill farms and the way Albuquerque, NM appears like a sudden vision of sequins in the night over a crest on I-40.

My breath was utterly taken away standing outside a tourist stop at the Continental Divide.

Vegas? Neat, I guess, but scary too. Don't get me wrong -- I liked a lot of the neat things I saw in Las Vegas... but having spent a lot of time in Branson over the past decade, it seemed in many ways to be unnecessarily extravagant. Then again, I'm not a gambler.

Not that I'm complaining. If the trip had been by plane instead, we would never have followed our curiosity to London Bridge, and I would never have spent about nine minutes in California. I certainly wouldn't have found myself snowed in twice in a week on the road

-- once in Gallup, NM -- once on the road itself in an unexpected snowstorm in Russellville, AR. Yeah, that second one surprised me more because I spent my college years in Russellville and had never, never experienced snow like that there.

The job took me other
places, too -- places I
missed and wanted badly to revisit. It's how I found myself back in New Orleans in March, a city I'd fallen in love with years ago. It was good to visit the old haunts that remained, but also sad to feel the change in attitudes that permeate the area. The timbre of the love affair had changed. Thank goodness the food hadn't.

It took me back to Branson in April, though every briefly. Along the way I picked up bits in Memphis, Shreveport, and Vicksburg. And it sent me exploring Highway Seven in Arkansas, a favorite from my childhood and my college days, driving through the Ozarks and through a not so distant past that I hope to eventually be able to relate better to people -- how the modest little winding road used to be the highway to fun, the enjoyable and lively path to Dogpatch.


By that point, I was already preparing for another journey... a life-changing journey to parenthood that I am still trying to figure out.

In June, as gas prices continued their accent towards the $4 mark and the heat began to rise, I found myself in St. Louis, a gorgeous town I fell for hard. Honestly, if I were to ever live outside of Arkansas, I believe St. Louis is where I would land. Once again I found myself overwhelmed -- this time by a thriving arts community, a whole city pushing itself towards going green, and a unique and well-varied cuisine. I still miss T-Ravs.

I also found myself in Dallas at the City Arts Festival, temperatures closing in on the century mark, pavement steaming and people mingling and my own limitations coming to light.

By this time I'd gotten my routine down into a three-day standard where I could schedule everything I needed to acquire pretty efficiently. Still, after a
couple of days in Arlington after my Dallas sojourn, I was ready to return to Arkansas and stay.

Not that my travels ended. I still found ways to get out and about... whether it was traveling up to War Eagle for lunch at the Bean Palace and to restock the
household supply of flour and oatmeal, or heading down to Camp Taloha to work on helping restore and better the once-proud Girl Scout camp for others to use, or traveling to Altus to learn more about Arkansas wine country, or visiting one of the state's great festivals.

The job even gave me a new perspective on another favorite place, Hot Springs, when I traveled with other members of the media and became a bit of a de facto native guide for the better part of a week in September. It was incredible, taking in the perspective of others who, for the most part, had never experienced a town
that was part of the fabric of my upbringing. Through that journey, I was able to look at the area in a new light and realize just how much it had to offer -- right up there with all the other big-name cities I'd visited this year.

The last few months of the year brought me home... in
fact, I went from being out of state more than in state the first six months of the year to not leaving Greater Little Rock for the last two months. It all culminated, of course, with the birth of our child -- an event that indeliably altered the lives of myself and my husband. Something that seems to have made the changeover in our lives so complete from where we were in September 2007.

A lot has changed in that time. I'd hope that my writing has improved... but who am I to tell? I'm pretty certain my photography has come a long way. Today I write a lot -- in between taking care of my daughter and my husband and dog and house. I am thankful for the journey, and I find myself wondering where the road of life is going to take me, take us all.

So perhaps, in the end, Tie Dye Travels isn't just about the places I've visited and the food I've consumed. Perhaps it's also about the journey of my life, which I am lucky enough to share with the people who'd like to read about it. Perhaps... perhaps...