Paducah? Yeah, well, it was on the way to our ultimate destination. We stayed at a fabulous Best Western there and had a hearty Southern dinner at O'Charley's. Oh, the cherry pie was divine. Tricia fell in love with the chicken pot pie soup.
Into the car this morning and headed toward Poplar Bluff, Missouri. OK, so this trip isn't making a lot of sense, is it? Well, it would make sense if you were SpringLea Henry and Tricia Martucci. Apparently, Poplar Bluff plays a prominent part in Days of our Lives. Yes, the soap opera. For me, it represents the home town of Sugarbaker's secretary Charlene Fraiser from Designing Women. No, we didn't drive across Kentucky to Missouri just to visit a hole like Poplar Bluff. Seriously, that is a plug-ugly little town. The decorative theme for the city seems to be "as much urban sprawl as we can get."
Soon we were out of Poplar Bluff and screaming down the highway. We were laughing about soap operas when I checked my rear view mirror and exclaimed, "Oh, fuck!" Yes, one of Missouri's fine state troopers was finding fault with my driving!
Actually, the guy was both nice and handsome. I was not wearing my seatbelt correctly (those of you who have driven with me know that I put the shoulder strap under my arm). So, he taught me how to adjust the strap to be more comfortable--and correct--and then returned to his car to write me a ticket. It seemed like forever before he came back to my window. But when he did, it was with good news--a $10 seatbelt ticket and only a warning on the speeding. Yay! Thank you, Trooper Vaughn!
Soon we were proceeding in a law-abiding fashion down the road. Our true destination was found in the Ozark Mountains outside the town of Mansfield, MO, in the Land of the Big Red Apple (well, that was its name in the 1890s, although no signs of orchards can be seen now). Believe me when I tell you, the Laura Ingalls Wilder Home and Museum was worth every mile driven and even my seatbelt ticket!
First, the Ozarks are gorgeous. Not mountains the way we think of them back in California in the Sierra Nevadas, but rolling green woodlands and meadows. As we came nearer to Rocky Ridge Farm, the home of Almanzo, Laura, and Rose Wilder, Tricia and I could understand just why Laura found the area so delightful.
We parked across the street from the house itself, then walked to the Museum just a hundred yards or so away. It's less than a year old, replacing a much smaller structure right next to the house itself. And the Museum does not disappoint. Objects familiar to readers of Laura's books are beautifully displayed--Pa's fiddle, Laura's bread plate, examples of Mary's beadwork, quilts and clothing made by Laura, and Rose's desk. All the stories came roaring to life when I looked at these things that are as familiar to me as things in my own parents' house.
Next was the tour of the house itself. OMG, we walked in the steps of Laura herself. It's exactly the way it was when Laura died there in the late 1950s, right down to the wax fruit in a bowl on the sideboard in the music room. When Almanzo died, Laura couldn't bear to part with his things. The house still includes the box with the medications Almanzo was taking at the time of his passing.
I wish we could have taken pictures in both the Museum and the house. Laura was far shorter than I realized, only 4'11". Almanzo was only 5'4". And the kitchen was made especially for them, so the counter tops were very low. There was an electric stove, a gift from Rose, but Laura kept her wood-burning stove in the kitchen because food tasted better when cooked on it.
The whole house was warm and comfortable. Remember in my last blog when I complained about having no "historical tingle" at Chickamauga? Well, the tingle was totally there in the farmhouse. Seeing rugs and pillows made by both Laura and Alamanzo (he did something like a latch-hook), their books on the shelves, and their everyday dishes in the cupboard--it was amazing. I'm getting a little verklempt just writing about it.
Perhaps most surprising in the house was the pieces of furniture made by Alamanzo. He made special wooden chairs with really wide arms for Laura to use when reading and/or writing. He also made lamps and carved himself various canes. He was really a talented craftsman.
Next stop was the Rock House, built in 1928 by Rose Wilder Lane for her parents. No tingle there. While the house was beautiful and had all the modern conveniences (well, as far as 1928 was concerned), there was a cold feeling in it. Laura and Alamanzo lived there for only eight years, moving back to the farmhouse as soon as Rose moved to Connecticut. The Rock House was a nice attempt by a daughter to care for aging parents, but it was way too fancy for a little girl from the prairie.
By the time we were done with our visit with the Wilders, we were hungry, having eaten nothing since our breakfast in Paducah. We looked around Mansfield a bit, but it had nothing to offer except a brightly painted Mexican place. Tricia has put a moritorium on Mexican food for this trip. She did not come to the South to eat food she could eat in California.
So we continued our trip heading east and south. Happily, we found a burger joint named Jack's in Mountain Grove--and damn, that was a good burger. Tricia had something called sidewinder potatoes, which she loved.
Some observations about this part of the country. Nearly every tiny town has the same components: three old-car graveyards, three churches, and a Dairy Queen. One special town had something like a half acre of old Coke vending machines in a dirt lot right off the highway! It's the churches that really stand out, though. They're everywhere! Church after church after church. These people are, as Maddie would say, full of "religiousness."
On the road and down into Arkansas, to the town of Truman where we are right now. Staying at a weird little Days Inn, we walked to the nearby McDonald's for ice cream (no other ice cream to be found in this Buttonwillow of a town). Do you think they were trying to tell us heathens a little something?
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