On the subject of tea.

I have a confession to make.  I was not born in Arkansas.  However, that’s a matter of my parent’s location at the time I chose to arrive in the world, not a matter of preferred geography.

Both sides of my family are from a little town in southwest Arkansas by the name of Gurdon.  Paternally of the Bear family and maternally a Waldon, my pedigree runs back some distance here in this state.

However, I have lived here in Arkansas since before I was cognizant of the places and people around me.  I grew up in Little Rock but spent weekends in far more rural locales, mostly along US Highway 67 south of the metropolis.  My college years were spent in Russellville, a town I fell in love with.  My first years in television, I lived in Jonesboro at the north end of the Arkansas Delta.

My earliest restaurant recollections are a mishmash – of special occasions at Brown’s Country Store and Restaurant in Benton, of vacation time trips to McClard’s Barbecue in Hot Springs, of smoked meats from Coursey’s in St. Joe and the birthdays of friends celebrated at Casa Bonita at University and Asher in Little Rock.  I recall when getting a “coke” (a name for any soda) was more expensive than having a glass of tea or coffee, and I remember when refills weren’t free.

And I clearly recall, even from my earliest days, that tea did not come sweetened!

At my Nana and Papaw’s house south of Gurdon, I always drank the tea because the well water had a hint of sulfur.  I can recall an adult I dined with in Little Rock having to ask for a sweetener for tea.   I can still remember the white bottle with the girl on it that my cousins played with one afternoon, seeing if it really made the tea sweet.  It did.  It was nasty.

Yes, when I was a child, I could add a packet (or two, what a scandal!) to my drink and mix it up.  I remember being told only kids did that, and that you didn’t drink your tea sweet when you grew up.  I can even remember being small and getting in trouble for dumping a sugar shaker into my beverage.

But sweet tea was not a part of growing up in Arkansas in the 1970s, or even the 1980s.  You wanted something sweet to drink, you got Kool-Aid.  Or a coke.  And those were special things.  They weren’t what was put on the table.

I don’t think it would even have occurred to anyone in my family to make tea sweet before my generation – not a whole pitcher!   My parents were Boomers, but their parents were Traditionalists, and they remember how expensive sugar was, especially during the second World War. Save sugar for cakes and pies. 

Which is why I’m bothered by the hard statement given again and again when referring to Arkansas cuisine as a fragment of Southern cookery.  I’m kinda put off by the statement that all Southerners drink sweet iced tea.  I don’t.  I might add honey to my hot tea when my throat is sore, but overall tea is meant to be tea – the specific infusion of leaves into water, served over ice.

Which brings me to my pet peeve – and that’s on ordering in a restaurant.  If I order tea, I should get tea – just the tea, no sugar.  However, this culture shift of the past couple of decades has convinced restauranteurs that sweet tea is the default.  Usually when I ask for tea and I get “sweet or un?”  I don’t get irritated.  But sometimes it gets me.  No, I don’t want UN-TEA.  I want tea, freshly brewed, forget that lemon (but I’ll take a fresh bit of mint if you have it and I’m in the mood).  I don’t want to give a lengthy explanation as to why I want my tea without additives and I sure as heck don’t need that little box of sweetener dropped off with the long spoon and straw.  I figure the restaurant probably washes its glasses, too – which means I don’t need that straw either – but thanks for the offer.

(deep breath)

I used to think this was just something I needed to be quiet about.  After all, sweet tea’s a popular thing.  McDonald’s offers it for a buck for a large sweet tea – oh, and by the way, there’s no guarantee they have any unsweetened tea available.  Have you tried that stuff?  It’s like upturning a sugarbowl into your mouth!  I know, I wrote a book about pies, I shouldn’t have a problem with sweet.  But you try it.  Egads.

Still, I’ve noticed lately sitting down with friends my age (I turn 40 in October, imagine that), most of them turn to just plain old tea for dinner.  And that makes sense.  Without that film of sugar on your tongue, flavors come through naturally.  There’s just enough caffeine to exist, no buzz really, and enough of a diuretic property to the beverage to make you drink more… tea.  It’s a perfect cycle of tea and the other word that’s a letter of the alphabet.

The other day, my daughter ordered tea with her meal.  And I could tell the moment she tried it, she’d been given the sweet stuff.  She made a face.   Yes, this four and a half year old who usually goes for milk or Sprite didn’t care for pre-sweetened tea.  I don’t know if that means anything or not, but I thought I’d throw it in there.

So readers, especially those of you from without the borders of this excellent state, pay heed.  The South may claim sweet tea as its table wine, but here in Arkansas the tea pours freely… as it should… without the taint of sugar.

On the subject of catching birds.

My daughter, at the age of four and a half, is full of questions. They range from the normal “why is the sky blue? Why do cats scratch?” to the inane “why can’t you eat bees?” She also asks a lot of permissions… “Mama, may I play in the tent?” or “Mama, could I go climb that tree?” I think that’s normal at her age.

But there was one question she’s asked me that started a conversation I can relate to you. Hunter asked me when she got in the car from school…

“Mama, is it okay if I catch birds?”

Now, on the surface, it may not seem like something you’d want your child to do. Many parents might just think it’s not possible for their child to catch a bird… but I know better. See, I was a bird-catching child. And I know a thing or two about catching birds.

“Hunter, I want you to listen to me. I can’t give you an answer right away.”

“But can I?” she asked.

“Just hear me out,” I told her as we turned out on the street.

“Back when I was about your age, I asked the same question of several people around me. And the general answer was ‘no.’ Some of my more skeptical aunts and uncles flat out told me I had no business even trying – and what would I do with one if I did? I figure they all thought I’d never be able to do it.

“But one day I was out in my grandmother’s yard… it was hot, maybe August, and it had just rained. I saw a couple of mockingbirds fly down and start going to town in the grass… probably pulling up earthworms that had come to the surface with the wet. I decided I was going to try.

“Now, I wasn't going into this without a little research. See, there were a good number of cats in my life, all outdoor ones, and I’d been watching them. I noticed how still a cat would get when a bird came by, and how their eyes never left what they were after. And I noticed how they’d be motionless one moment, and then pounce and the bird would never know what hit them.”

Hunter was silent, considering this. At the next stoplight I looked back to see if she was listening. She was staring at me.

“Mama, do you know how to pounce like a cat?”

I laughed.

“It’s not about me pouncing like a cat. It was about me being still. I went out on that lawn. I just kinda slowly shuffled out towards the birds. When they’d look up, I’d freeze like a statue. And when they looked away I very slowly moved. When I was within 10 feet or so, I slid down to my knees and crawled a little closer.

“And when I was close enough to see the pupils in their eyes, I grabbed. And I’ll be darned but I got one.”

Hunter, by this time, was enthralled, and that moment she let loose with a series of excited questions. “Did you keep it? What did you do with it? Did it try to fly away? Was it pretty?”

“Hang on, love. And no, I didn’t keep it,” I told her. “I had grabbed it with both hands, and when I loosened my grip I could see this little bird’s head through my fingers. He was gray on top and orange on the belly and he was just frozen. I thought I might have hurt him. And while I was trying to think of what I was going to do next, he pooped on me.”

That elicited a roar of laughter from the girlchild, and I laughed right along with her. She giggled and repeated “he POOPED on you!” several times. Did I mention she’s four-and-a-half?

“Well, Hunter, I let him go. It surprised me! And I had to go get the water hose and wash down my hands and shorts. But now I’d caught one, I was going to try to catch another.

“And I did. Oh, how I did. I caught mockingbirds and sparrows and cardinals, and I’d look at them and they’d look at me and I’d let them fly off. I had friends my age, Hunter, who I got to see when my mom would take me over to their houses, and I’d catch a bird or I’d tell them about catching a bird, and they’d tell me how I wasn’t supposed to touch birds and how they might have cooties and how baby birds would never again fly with their mama birds. But did I listen? Well, no.

“My friend Jason, he wanted to catch a bird, but he couldn’t so I caught one for him. And he kept it in a shoebox. But you know, birds are meant to fly, and this one kept in a shoebox died.”

Hunter got quiet for a minute before saying “I’d never keep one in a shoebox.”

“Nor should you,” I answered. “A few birds, like parakeets and macaws and toucans, if they live here they have to be in a cage because they can’t make it out in the world here. The climate’s not right. They’re pets. But birds that fly in the sky every day? They’re free, and it’s okay to look but not to keep them.”

“But mama, can I catch a bird?” Hunter asked again.

“Can you? Well, maybe you can but that doesn’t mean you should. When I was maybe eight or ten, there was one day I caught a bird when my mom wasn’t home. I wanted Mom to see that bird and see how good I was at catching birds. And I thought, ‘I could put it in a box or a crate, just for a few minutes until Mom gets home, and it’ll be all right and I can let it go then.’ And so I took the bird inside.

“That was a bad choice. I just made inside, and when I went to shut the door I accidentally loosened my hands just enough for that bird to escape. It flew all over the house, through every open doorway, trying to get out. And the problem is with a bird in the house like that, is that they know someone’s trying to catch them so they don’t settle down, not unless they can hide up high somewhere. And after I tried getting that bird back in my hands a while it roosted atop a curtain rod and just stayed there. And then Mom came home.”

“Did you get in trouble?” Hunter asked.

“Well, not right away,” I answered. “That bird was quiet, and I thought to myself ‘if it stays still tonight, I can get it down tomorrow.’ So I didn’t say anything to my mom.

“But about time dinner came around, that bird wasn’t as scared any more and it came down, swooping down through the dining room just as dinner was done. My mom hollered and shouted. She went and got a broom and went after it, opening up the doors and finally shooing it out. And then I got spanked.”

“You got in trouble,” Hunter answered.

“I did. But even that didn’t keep me from catching birds.”

“Do you still catch birds, Mama?”

“Well, funny thing about that. When I got older, I got interested in other things. There was school, and in the summer there were friends to hang out with and music to listen to and stories to write. I stopped catching birds for fun and just went about my life.”

“Aw.”

“But it came in useful. There was one day when I was working at Today’s THV, back in the early aughts when I did the morning show. And we had this weather garden, and there was a sliding door that separated it from the studio. And one day this bird just soared straight in through the door, in through the studio and straight on to the newsroom. And the newsroom there had very, very high ceilings – so when someone would try to shoo it out, it’d just fly up high and back again.

“Well, the show started, and I was the only one in the newsroom. And I noticed the bird swooping down again. I watched it, and I saw it go up under Tom’s desk. That was back when his desk was right next to the studio doors. I went over there, pulled back the chair slowly, slid down to my knees and pounced… and got that bird. And I walked it out the door and through the studio out to the weather garden, where I let it go.”

“Did it ever come back, Mama?” Hunter asked. We were nearly home by this point.

“Well, I don’t know. It was just a little gray and white bird and I couldn’t tell any difference between it and any other birds.”

“I hope it came back,” Hunter told me.

“Thing is, Hunter, it’s all right to catch birds. It’s all right to try. I wouldn’t do it at school, where there’s not a lot of room to run on the playground and there are things to fall over. But I won’t say no. Just remember… if it was free in the firsthand, it was probably meant to be free.”

When we got out of the car, Hunter asked “could you catch a bird for me?”

“No, love, I can’t,” I told her. “It’s your turn to catch the birds.”

Hilltop Travel Center's Hefty Fried Pies.

Here's a great unexpected find.  Traveling over the July 4th holiday, we stopped in at the Hilltop Travel Center north of I-40 on I-540 to catch a drink and a snack for the road.  These big nine inch long fried pies were on a rack right by the register.  Turns out the girl who works in the little deli there gets up and makes them each morning.  The peach pie was full of fresh, stringy peaches... and was gone before we could photograph it out of the package.

Herb's Creamland: The Heart of Ashdown.

For Ashdown residents, there's nothing quite like grabbing a shake and a burger at Herb's. Learn more about the man who started the famed restaurant near US Highway 71 and some of its more popular dishes.

A Blueberry Fried Pie at Country Village Bakery in Star City.

There are too many items to confuse the mind at the bakery at Country Village near Star City.  Between the cakes, the pies, the doughnuts, the loaves of bread and cookies and jams and jellies and canned goods and such, there are so many things to make the mouth water.

Yet it's a very good idea to keep your sense of purpose, to walk in and order a blueberry fried pie or three.  Made from blueberry preserves created on-site, wrapped in doughnut dough and deep-fried, this is a pie with heft and moxie, and it deserves your full attention.

Country Village Bakery

158 Knight Haven Circle

Star City, AR 71667

(870) 628-3333

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Explore El Dorado From Above It All at Union Square Guest Quarters.

Can a place to stay spark interest in the revitalization of a downtown? In the case of Union Square Guest Quarters, the answer is a hearty YES. Let's take a look at the unique lodging that’s transformed downtown El Dorado into a great place to stay, play and dine in Lower Arkansas.

Williams Tavern: 181 Year Heritage Continues.

Dine in one of the state's oldest restaurant buildings when you head to Historic Washington State Park near Hope. Let's take a look inside William's Tavern Restaurant.

18 Amusing Images of Johnny Cash.

And if you need a good laugh, check this out.

Let's Go Back to The Old South in Russellville.

The last of a great restaurant chain that began in 1947, Russellville's venerable Old South Restaurant still offers a steady, sturdy diner experience today.

AQ Chicken House means Arkansas Quality.

For nearly 70 years, the venerable AQ Chicken House has served the masses. Find out how this Arkansas institution came to offer some of the best fried chicken in the Ozarks along US Highway 71 in Springdale.

Russellville: Taco Villa is Consistanty There.

When it comes to dining like a local, and being a RussVegas local, that local Tex-Mex joint you visit is Taco Villa. And for those of us who have ever spent time at the little brown shack on 4th Street, the flavors at this place will always bring back memories.

A Somewhat Short Guide to Attending Wakarusa.

Main Stage concert lovers. (Grav Weldon)

So, you’re headed to Wakarusa. Is it your first time? You may be surprised at what you find. Far more than just a bunch of music acts playing before a crowd of campers, the Wakarusa Music and Camping Festival has its own vibe, its own culture, even its own cuisine. Here’s a bit of information that you might find helpful when you go.

Weather and what to wear
This is, after all, Arkansas. We have all four seasons here. However, the season-to-season ratio changes from year to year. For instance, we just came out of one of the longest winters we've ever experienced – with snowfall at Mulberry Mountain on MAY 4TH. Unusual to say the least. Last year’s Wakarusa ranged from rather chilly on Thursday night to downright balmy Saturday afternoon and strongly stormy in the wee hours of Sunday morning.

I wonder if the leg warmers are hot.

Be prepared – for anything. Shorts are a good bet, especially paired with sunscreen. There are few limits to what you can wear, as long as you’re covering the important bits. Sarongs, halter tops, bikini tops, mesh shirts are common in the heat. Last year’s cold snap had many scrambling for something to cover the bare arms – with a lot of sheets twisted into improvised togas making an appearance. For good measure, it might be worthwhile to throw a jacket into your bag.

Shoes? Choose some you can walk in – and that you don’t mind getting dirty. Mulberry Mountain is, after all, located in the great outdoors, which means grass and mud and stones are common. Pack an extra pair or two, and plenty of socks.

If you have that covered, then perhaps you should consider costumes. Yes, costumes. There are actually themed days at Wakarusa, which can be a great chance to have some fun.

The hippies and the hipsters
When I was assigned the opportunity to attend my first Wakarusa, I was given the idea that it was a modern Woodstock. I went expecting hippies… and the images of ‘70s style earth mammas and back to the wilderness folks came to mind.

That’s not quite what I found. While yes, there were some individuals who wore tie dye and had flowers in their hair, there was an overwhelming number of individuals who could best be described as hipsters… irony-free early-adapters, trendy sorts and geeky sorts and overall mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings with cash to spend.

Dancing with abandon is common.

The juxtaposition was interesting. Seeing young men in fedoras and ties interspersed with girls dressed as Japanese animation look-alikes, guys in Utilikilts and backpacks and girls in bikinis and furry hats, and just about anyone in any sort of brightly colored clothing – a cacophony of unusuality. Everyone in the crowd wants to stand out and be different – something that seems to be a hallmark of this strongly Millenial crowd.

Tribes of Wakarusa
One distinguishing factor from traditional concert festivals – that’s strongly developed thanks to the camping element – is the culture of tribes. Sure, we've all at one point or another joined a road trip with friends to some sort of destination. This group camping experience has evolved into a way to demarcate a new social delineation.

A totem.  There's a Mario & Luigi nearby.

The tribe is a unit of three or more individuals, camping and attending together. They may have a camp flag – especially if they’re on the Main Camping plain where tents stretch out as far as the eye can see – to show them where they’re crashing. They may have a totem as well – which is best designed as anything on a stick to be carried throughout the festival by a member of the tribe. Practically, it’s a way for these groups to keep track of each other in an area with questionable cell phone service. But creatively, it’s something more – something to identify the group to others. It may be a cutout of a popular (or even better, a subculture) cartoon icon, a stuffed animal, a flag, a kite, anything. Some even change them out by day and theme, and even from day to night (night totems tend to include things that glow).

Tribes also often dress and play together – wearing everything from like fashions to thematic costumes. In many ways, this is a spill-over of the comic and science fiction convention cosplay culture. And yes, furries have been spotted, but don’t let that worry you too much.

Suit of bears.  Had to be hot.

It’s not necessary for one to be part of a tribe to enjoy the costume play. Some of the more, um, unique costumes I spotted at the 2012 event included a Native American-style get-up with three-feet feathers; ancient Celts; a guy dressed as a pink bunny, complete with knee-high pink socks and a pink sundress; adult lady “fairies” in tie dye leotards and multi-color tutus; and the man who I could best describe as wearing a “suit of bears.”

It’s a performance art festival, too
Which brings me to the Astral Gypsies. Take the costumes of the event and bump it up a notch. These are expert, master puppeteers. They’re advertised as “”Dedicated to opening minds through interactive visionary art, the Astral Gypsies' Giant Puppet Troupe presents a truly "Larger Than Life" experience!” Yeah. That starts to cover it.

Grav Weldon's shot of the Astral Gypsy's octopus.

Mantis and... fish?

What you get is a bit more than what’s on the tin. They have a tent they set up near the main stage where many of their puppets are put on display and yes, yes you can touch them. But the puppets show up everywhere… in line waiting for a grilled cheese sandwich as a mushroom, clamoring down the road as a giant praying mantis, swaying at a concert as a giant bulbous fish. Impressive during the day, at night they’re even more fantastic… take for instance the illuminated octopus animated in the crowd at the main stage, swirling and undulating over the heads of the crowd in an ever-active show bonus.

The octopus puppet serves as sunscreen during the day.

There are others. Last year’s set included a light show erected on Saturday inside a giant white globe. Painters work on canvases, on silk, on even bodies. Everyone’s part of the art.

Better than your usual festival food fare
And then there is the food. Much to my surprise, Wakarusa didn't mirror the festival routine when it came to dinner. I’m a veteran of multiple state fairs, country festivals and community events – and I assumed the usual corn dog and funnel cake routine would be followed here. I was ever so wrong, and ever so glad. Wakarusa’s food is just as varied as its clientele. Crepes and quesadillas are popular, being great hand-held food. Pizza is also popular, with every sort of topping – and, in a different turn, lots of French bread pizza as well. Stir-fry dishes, noodles, one-pot dishes… all available.

Grilled cheese, any way you want it.

Then there’s the grilled cheese sandwich. Let’s face it – after you've spent a great deal on a ticket to the festival, bought a camping pass, paid for gas and got all your gear together, saving a few bucks is a good idea. Many of the vendors offer varying degrees of the classic grilled cheese sandwich – from the plain cheese and nothing else to gourmet cheeses, bacon, meats, vegetables and just about anything in-between the two slices of bread.

There are a good number of Wakarusa food photos located here.

Low on funds? You can always bring your own food to the festival – even bring your picnic right into the concert zone itself. It’s suggested to bring a camelbak and keep it filled (don’t worry – there are plenty of water stations all over Mulberry Mountain, and Arkansas water is pretty decent). All beverages seem to start at $3, so save yourself some money and bring your own (but do try the fantastic teas, hand-squeezed lemonades and other “exotic” beverages). Just don’t bring glass bottles. They’re not allowed anywhere at Mulberry Mountain – because broken glass sucks, especially when it gets into the grass and buried.

Oh golly, the music
The music. It goes on… and on… and on. If you have trouble falling asleep if it’s not quiet, bring the best dang earplugs money can buy – because the music goes on all night long.

It starts before it starts – that is, the first jam sessions happen Wednesday night, even before official activities start. There’s a Backwoods Stage performance to skuttle on down to, if you can draw yourself out of one of the spontaneous parties that pop up all over site. The official start is Thursday late in the morning – and the music goes on until full daylight the next day… and the next. There is a quieter time, from about 7 a.m. to noon each day, when you’ll hear bits of acoustic music from musicians in the camps, but pretty much expect to be listening from the get-go.

A daytime jam in the Revival Tent.

There’s almost always someone playing – and if the main stage is in the middle of a change-out there’s other performances in the woods. It’s a steady walk from one venue to another and there’s no possible way for a single individual to hear it all – but that’s all right.

There are lots of folks who will talk about nothing but the music – and that’s fine. That means I can move on and cover other things!

Such as what to bring. Honestly, being an outdoor festival, there’s no seating. Most folks stand and watch, dance, or bring their own items to sit on. A lightweight bag chair is not a bad idea… a sheet for the ground is always handy. For this and many other reasons, you’ll see people with all sorts of backpacks. These are fine, too – but expect to have them searched. It’s all in the name of safety.

If you’re wanting to catch all of a show, though, and you’re coming in from your camping area, leave early. Lines at the gates tend to back up 30 minutes before the biggest shows – and they can take an awful long time to clear. The same goes for coming in from off-site, but I’ll address that in a bit.

The Ferris Wheel offers great views.  I'm scared of heights.

Not just for the shows
Wakarusa is very much a participation event. Yes, you can just go for the concerts, but there’s far more to do. Each morning at 8 a.m. at the Satellite Stage, there’s yoga, open to all. There are disc golf competitions, music lessons – heck, even lessons on space and time. You can fish one of the several ponds on the Mulberry Mountain property. There’s a Ferris Wheel and a waterslide. You can catch the bus down to the Mulberry River for a swim, and there you can rent a canoe or a kayak or a raft and go for a float.

And the Hula hoops. They’re everywhere. Never Hula’d? You can learn. Folks will teach you. I swear, I have never seen so many Hula hoops in my life – and never have I seen so many that are lit at night. Amazing.

Yup, anything goes.

Dang dirty hipster
All those activities, you’re going to want a shower, right? Here’s the bad news. You can purchase a shower pass or pay $10 for a shower – or you can go without. Flushies also don’t exist for campers at this event. It’s Porta-Potty time, and you should be prepared.

Yes, you can bring a camp shower. There are a lot of ways you can prepare. But know in advance that you won’t be able to enjoy the pleasures of hot water unless you pay extra – or if you've brought your RV.

That also goes for electricity. While there were RV spots with electricity available (long gone at this point), it’s not readily available. You’re camping, for goodness sake. You’ll survive.

But what about those cell phones, cameras and other items you need to have charged? Well, you do get to camp right by your tent, so get a car charger. Small generators are allowed as well. I suggest a solar charger.

Solar power’s lovely, and free after the initial purchase of the solar item. Some camps utilize solar Christmas lights and garden lights on stakes to differentiate from the other tents and to direct exhausted concertgoers back to camp in the late night hours.

Oh, it's always smart to bring your own TP.

Speaking of camping…
If you’re not used to camping, you need to refresh yourself. Make sure your tent is ready to go. Bring an extra tarp, just in case. Remember your battery operated air pump if you’re on an air mattress. Remember your clothes, sunscreen, bug spray, chair, cooler, flashlight and whatnot.

Ground fires aren’t allowed, so if you plan to cook you’ll need to bring your own fire pit, stove or grill. Be smart about it – don’t dump live coals on the ground, don’t leave anything burning when you go run off to see that favorite musical act. Use your head.

When it comes to valuables – lock them in your car. That’s just smart. Yes, most concert-goers are good folks who wouldn’t dream of going through your stuff when you’re not around, but with 20,000+ individuals you’re bound to get a bad apple or two.

Getting to site
If you’ve purchased a pass for the whole shebang, you already know that you can’t get on-site until 4 p.m. Calm your jets. Don’t set your GPS or your Garmin or your Siri to get you there right at four – you’re going to find yourself sitting on the Pig Trail for a couple of hours as other folks who thought ahead get checked through the gate. It takes time to do a quick look-through of a vehicle to ensure there’s no glass bottles and whatnot within – to do that whole ticket and wristband thing and get directions to campsites. If you absolutely MUST NOT miss a moment, you need to get to Ozark or Fayetteville early and be prepared to head over long before the four o’clock hour.

The Pig Trail? That’s Highway 23. It runs through the beautiful Ozark Mountains and gets its name from the University of Arkansas mascot, the Razorback. Used to be, more adventurous Hog fans would take Highway 23 from Little Rock to Fayetteville to bypass the traffic that would always back up along Highway 71 (this is now averted with the construction of I-540).

Better gas up. Coming from the south, there’s a number of gas stations at Ozark (even one that serves good pie). Coming from the north, your last shots are Huntsville and Fayetteville. There’s just not much around in-between, and what you’re going to find is going to be more expensive.

Closest amenities? Well, there are camp stores at Wakarusa, but if you need more than that there’s tiny Ahart’s Grocery not too far up Highway 23. There’s a decently stocked CV’s in Ozark, a full sized grocery store – and the other way there’s a Harp’s on the outskirts of Fayetteville. There’s also a small Walmart (not a Supercenter) in Ozark.

Ozark is also home to a fantastic barbecue restaurant, Rivertowne Barbecue, half a block off the town square. Arkansas Wine Country is two exits east on I-40 at Altus – and all four wineries there offer tours and tastings. Altus is also home to a great little pub called Kelt’s.

If you’re sticking around after the event, check out Dickson Street in Fayetteville – packed with bars, restaurants, book stores and jam joints, right off the U of A campus. Go get a great burger at Feltner Brothers.

If you’re coming in from the west, Fort Smith is south on I-540 – but you’re better off going in through Van Buren (where you can take advantage of the trip and try Arkansas’s largest doughnut) to get to downtown. Alma’s also a good choice – I’d suggest grabbing a Dagwood and pie at the Red Rooster Bistro.

If you’re planning your trip or need a recommendation, drop me a line at kat@tiedyetravels.com.

Burge's, Smoked Turkey That Took Over The World.

The original Burge's location in
Lewisville. (Kat Robinson)

Most restaurants begin with a concept or a family dream.  Burge's began with a backyard smoker -- and a whole lot of friends who loved what came out of it.  It took nearly 10 years to get to a restaurant, but what was created there has endured generations.

The Scent of Memory: Klappenbach Bakery.

Klappenbach Bakery in 2010. (Kat Robinson)

This is one in a series on historical restaurants in the state of Arkansas. For a look at the Arkansas restaurant timeline, click here.

Fordyce is known for three things – Paul “Bear” Bryant, the Redbugs and Klappenbach Bakery. They represent three ideals: determination, tenacity and community.

Well, the Redbugs are still playing, and Bear Bryant’s legacy is still held dear. But Klappenbach Bakery is now a delicious and fondly favored memory.

For 36 years, the red brick bakery stood sentinel along a stretch of pavement downtown, not far from the railroad tracks. It was a great spot for hot coffee, warm pastries and sweet conversations. Past the pastry cases in the foyer, one would enter a red-washed room decorated with gas station memorabilia and mismatched tables, often packed with the guys from down the street, or local farmers shooting the breeze, or the local civic club. There were lunches taken here, many – but it was breakfast where the place really shined, home to buttery Danish and tiny miniature doughnuts. And oh golly, the monkey bread.

The bakery’s story started 2000 miles away, in the burg of Walla Walla, WA. It began its Arkansas chapter in 1975, when Norman and Lee Klappenbach moved to Fordyce (Lee was originally from Dallas County). Their son Paul was still a kid, ten or eleven years old, when they started up the little bakery that grew a huge following. The family started baking up fresh pastries, bread and doughnuts in the area because fresh baked goods weren’t locally available. It didn’t take long for folks to find them… following the aroma of cinnamon rolls that would waft blocks away. By the time the Klappenbachs threw in the towel in 2011, they averaged 75 people each day for lunch – an impressive ratio for a town of just 5000 people.

Breakfast, lunch… a community can live on that. It can thrive on baked goods, though, and Klappenbach has plenty: miniature doughnuts for a quarter apiece, big fat fresh loaves of bread, the aforementioned monkey bread, fritters and cinnamon rolls, raisin bread, pies, brownies, cupcakes, pecan rolls, bear claws, cookies and cakes. In 1991 the bakery started doing mail-order, and the orders started rolling in from all over the country – first from ex-pats who wanted a taste of home, then from folks who were lucky enough to share in that bounty, then from people who’d never stepped foot in Arkansas but had read about the place in Southern Living.

It became tradition for travelers passing through town on Highway 167 to make it their pit shop – and for some, like myself, it became a culinary destination. I used to find reasons to divert up to an hour off my path just to pick up a moist cake or a box of brownies to take with me wherever I was going. Long before culinary tourism became a “thing,” there were so many practicing that art with their own paths through south central Arkansas.

When a fire shut down the bakery in 2009, we all feared the end had come and eulogized our happy spot in town. But we were treated to a coda, a little window of opportunity, when the place reopened a few months later. For one more year, there were tiny doughnuts and massive cinnamon rolls again.

And then it was over. Norman Klappenbach was 80, his wife Lee 77, and they were done. Son Paul was 47. He’d spent seven years working 65 hours a week to keep the bakery open, but it just wasn’t in him anymore. With no one else left to take up the reins of business, the bakery shut its doors October 1st of 2011.

There’s still no replacement for that heavenly scent that would sometimes waft as far as the bypass. But there are good memories… and I keep hoping one day I’ll see mention somewhere that I can order a box of bread (three loaves, or a loaf and a cake) through the mail. I sure miss that monkey bread.