When driving through the Ozarks, I marvel at the boundless beauty spread before me. Rolling hills that seem to march into infinity. Verdant green slopes that whisper to me as I pass by. So often I long to stop and walk among those majestic forests, take a game trail just to see where it will lead me. Yet, life slips by all too quickly and there are places I must be.
But at rare times, I do stop and walk the leaf strewn forest floors, taking my time and drinking in the grandeur spread before me. I stop in a glade to listen to the mockingbird as he serenades simply for the pure delight in being alive. The rustling of the leaves whisper to me to continue for over the next gently hilltop, I may find what I am looking for.
And over that rise, I find a soothing stream trickling along its banks, waiting for me to take off my shoes and dip my toes in the cool water. Frogs scurry to find a hiding place away from this strange creature that has invaded their space. Under my feet are the tracks of other animals who have gone before me, instinctively knowing in their hearts what I strive to attain. A deep, abiding peace so hard to find in this modern day and age with its automated machines that can do everything, steals over me. The computer so many sit in front of day after day, nor any of our so-called convenieces can fill your soul and leave you feeling you have just visited a small piece of heaven.
There is something about the Ozarks that call me. Something I can almost reach out and touch, but cannot quite reach. It is a feeling that washes over me, pulls me in, and then enchants me with tiny, delicate wildflowers peeking through the fallen leaves. There is an aura about the Ozarks that overwhelms the senses, for there is much to see, touch and smell. The wild blue bonnets that raise their bell shaped heads toward the sun, the tiny purple violets underfoot that cries for me to step carefully and not damage the fraility of their petals. The sun stippled rock rising above my head, the bluffs that fall away into nothingness; all call me to come and see, come and see.
The dusty back roads have an allure all their own. Winding down hills and around curves, the wind in my face, it all calls me home. Home to a simpler time and an innocence that has been lost in the vastness of time. It summons me back to honesty and honor, where a handshake was the most important asset a man had. Where hard work was a just reward for existence. It cries out at me to slow down. to enjoy nature in its purest form, to stop occasionally and tread lightly among the meadowlands while I bask in the warm, spring sunshine.
The Ozarks. I often wonder if it's the people that make this corner of the world unique, or is it the lush landscape and all it offers that soothes the soul. Driving down those back roads, I come across a man sitting on his front porch, fiddle under his chin, making hauntingly beautiful music even though he has no audience. I pull the car to the side of the road, unwilling to disturb this craftsman at his work. The notes of the song cascades over me and I close my eyes and travel with the music maker back in time. He see me, but did not stop playing, for which I am thankful. How much closer to God can I ever be than at this moment in time? Too quickly the music stops, the man gives me an embarrassed wave and disappears into a run down house. This man and his music will follow me the rest of my life and the sweet strains, so gently and lovingly played will hover in my conscience until I am laid to rest in these hills that I love. Reluctantly, I start the car and pull away.
Further down the road, I slow when I see children at play in a front yard. They stop the game they are playing to follow my progress with large, trusting eyes. I wave. One little girl, her red dress dirty and stained, tentatively waves back. Instantly, a thumb pops into the mouth and she ducks her head, not sure she's done the right thing. When they realize I am not a threat, their game resumes, but the little girl in the red dress stands still, watching me until I am out of sight.
Good, honest people live in this small corner of the world. Their ancestors taught the next generation how life should be lived. Work hard, be honest, be forthright, and above all, be true to your word. Some have fallen away from those teachings, but the lessons are still there, poised just around the edges for all to learn.
I have rented a cabin set far back in the hills of the Ozarks. A small place, not on any map, but that's what I am looking for. A peaceful, tranquil place where I can regain a part of myself lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday living. It's an all day trip to this out-of-the-way place, but the drive time is worth it.
Sitting on the front porch of that little cabin at sundown, I hear the whippoorwills calling from nearby trees. Once one gets started it seems the entire forest echo their song. An owl in the large oak beside the cabin demands to know who has taken up residence in his domain, who dares enter these woods? Somewhere, in the far off distance, a dog barked, but both the birds and I ignore the discordant sound.
A cool breeze wraps itself around me and I dream of what my life could be if I stay here where solitude shrouds the night with ethereal beauty. Fog at ground level curls around the steps of the porch and I watch in fascination s rabbits, mice and oppossums use the mist to scurry safely home.
What is it about the Ozarks? What strange, mystical sensation murmurs in my ears to make me want to return home; to be cloaked with a love long gone, but one that still remains on the edges of my mind? What soul-stirring presence brings me back time after time to a place I once called home? What makes these hills and hollows endure through all time?
Whatever it is, I never want to lose it. Sitting on the porch, I come to a realization that I don't have to worry. Once I gave my heart to the verdant hills, to the people that abide in these little glades and passes, to the translucent streams, to the back roads winding and twisting, to the music in the trees and on the wind, I will never truly leave. The Ozarks will go with me no matter how far away I may roam and they will always call me back to refresh me and remind me that home is waiting--waiting just for me.