do south magazine: four – september 2014

FOUR September 2014DoSouthMagazine.com

SOOOIE! Shut the front door! If you don’t, you won’t be able to see our chevron/burlap door hanging that we’re showing you how to make on page 10. It’s a simple project, and a great way to welcome another season of Razorback football.

If tOmORROw nEvER cOmESwriter Stoney Stamper, of the Daddy Diaries, usually makes us laugh with his tales of parenthood. But this month he’s sharing his heartfelt tribute to his ailing grandfather, who taught him what it means to be a man, a great husband, and a true friend.

thE faRmER’S namE IS DEllDell Eddins lives on a farm in Goshen with her beloved horses, ponies, and a goat named Orphan annie. this little piece of paradise is the perfect backdrop for this artist whose paintings of animals are gathering quite a following.

GaRlIc-Ranch chIckEn pIzzathere’s a secret to making the perfect pizza crust, and our food writer lauren allen has it for you on page 58. Once you have that conquered, you’re ready to make the best pizza this side of Rome. and that’s a promise!

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58 Subscribe to Do South! 12 issues per year for only

$20, within the contiguous United States. Subscribe

online at DoSouthMagazine.com, or mail check to

7030 Taylor Avenue, Suite 5, Fort Smith, AR 72916.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

catherine frederick

MANAGING EDITOR

marla cantrell

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Jeromy price

CONTRIBUTING

WRITERS / PHOTOGRAPHERS

lauren allen

Evelyn Brown

marla cantrell

thomas cochran

marcus coker

catherine frederick

Rusty henderson, D.v.m.

tonya mccoy

Jeromy price

Jessica Sowards

Stoney Stamper

PROOFREADER

charity chambers

PUBLISHER

Read chair publishing, llc

FOLLOW US

ADVERTISING INFORMATIONcatherine [email protected]

EDITORIAL INFORMATIONmarla [email protected]

©2014 Read Chair Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved. The opinions contained in Do South are exclusively those of the writers and do not represent those of Read Chair Publishing, LLC. as a whole or its affiliates. Any correspondence to Do South or Read Chair Publishing, LLC., including photography becomes the property of Read Chair Publishing, LLC. Do South reserves the right to edit content and images.

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inside58

CONTENTS

D O S O U t h m aG a z I n E

some of the greatest people we’ve ever met. And we are grateful.

Grateful for the chance to do this every single day. Grateful for

you, our loyal readers, our biggest cheerleaders – the Super Fans!

We’re also thankful for our advertisers. We know, without them,

there would be no us. Make sure to

shop with them when you can, show

them the same love you pour out on

us every month.

In this issue, we have some of those

great people we were just talking

about: from the artist who is living an

idyllic life, surrounded by the animals

she loves best, to the story of one

tough, old cowboy who taught the

lessons of a lifetime to his grandson

simply by being the great man he is.

We’re also cheering on the Hogs

with a DIY that shows your Razor-

back spirit and decorates your door.

We’re introducing you to a group of

women who are changing the world

by giving back. We’re stepping into

the shoes of two NICU nurses who

say their care of the tiniest patients

around is their ministry.

All this, plus a pizza recipe you’re going to love, drinks for your

tailgating party, and a trip to Bentonville from dawn to dusk that’s

filled with food, fun, and a whole lot of history.

So, sit back and enjoy. It’s an honor to bring you Do South every

month, and it’s a joy to tell your stories. Thanks for four great

years. We’re looking forward to many, many more.

To reserve this free space for your charitable non-profit organization, email: [email protected]

I sense it coming. Fall is almost here. Around my house, football

has been in full swing since early August, so all we need now is for

the weather to cool down and the leaves to start turning – then

we can officially declare summer over!

I’m so ready to get back into my

kitchen. Break out the crock pot.

Heat up the oven. There are so many

delicious recipes my family is craving,

but I just don’t cook them in the heat

of summer. You know the kinds of

dishes I’m talking about: pot roast,

chicken and dumplings, chili, home-

made pizzas. And the desserts, don’t

even get me started.

I could use some comfort food these

days. Our oldest daughter is now off

at college, our middle daughter start-

ed high school, and our son started

fourth grade. It’s said over and over

again, but you never get used to the

fact that time really does pass by so

quickly. In a blink our kids stop hold-

ing our hand in public, start to drive,

then move out of the house. It’s such

an exciting time for them, and we’re

excited too, but sad just the same.

Our bustling house of five has started to dwindle.

While the house is getting smaller, Do South Magazine is grow-

ing! We’re celebrating our four year anniversary this month. Can

you believe it? We can’t either. What a ride it’s been so far. We’ve

trekked all over this great state, discovering what’s best about

this place we call home. We’ve whipped up tons of great recipes,

adorable DIYs, and been blessed to meet and tell the stories of

letter from Catherine 05

“If you don’t like the weather here just wait a few minutes.

It’ll change.”

old meteorological saying

Last night the moon was ringed

by clouds, sure sign the man

on TV had calculated correctly,

if only for the moment,

the rain I am happy to say

did not fall from the blue sky today.

LINES thomas cochranArkansas Forecast

06


sUndAY MOndAY TUesdAY WednesdAY THURsdAY FRidAY sATURdAY 01 02 03 04 05 06

07 08 09 10 11 12 13

14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30

Hug your kids, and then read “Inside the NICU” - page 22.

See artist Dell Eddins’ great work - page 36.

Splendor in the Grass. Fort Smith Little Theatre.

Chefs in the Garden, Fayetteville.

Summer Concert with JMBand, 6:30PM. Botanical Gardens of NWA, Fayetteville.

10th Annual Professional Development Luncheon, Fort Smith.

Terra Studios’ 7th Annual Fall Music Festival, Fayetteville.

World Gratitude day.

Max Lucado, First Presbyterian, 10AM and 4PM, Fort Smith.

Fort Smith Friends of the Library Chocolate Fest, 2:30 - 4:30PM. Dallas Branch.

Make a Garlic-Ranch Chicken Pizza - page 58.

Time for a cocktail. See “Heavenly Hog” recipe - page 56.

Branson Titanic Museum Pays Tribute to the Musicians, Branson.

15th Annual Bikes, Blues, and BBQ Motorcycle Rally (9/24 – 9/27), Fayetteville.

Crawford County Fair begins, Mulberry.

UAFS Fall Faculty Concert. 7:30 - 9:30PM, Fort Smith.

Van Buren Chamber Golf Classic, Van Buren.

Plan a day trip. Read “It’s Hip to be Square” - page 51.

Need a laugh? Read “I’m Here to Open Up Your World” - page 62.

21st Annual Olde Miners Fall Festival (9/5 – 9/6), Huntington.

Guitar-B-Que, Greenwood.

Jazz in Riverfront Park, 6 - 8 PM, Little Rock.

Make our Sooie! door hangar - page 10.

Get your garden ready for fall - page 20.

Konsplostion 2014 (9/12 – 9/14), Fort Smith.

Vintage Market Days of NWA (9/12 – 9/14), Fayetteville.

78th Annual Arkansas-Oklahoma State Fair (9/19 – 9/27), Fort Smith.

Visit the Regional Art Museum. Fort Smith

Belle Grove Historic District Walking Tour, Fort Smith.

3rd Annual Lionlamb Christian Music Festival, Springdale.

5K & Walk to End Alzheimers, Fort Smith.

Razorbacks play Texas Tech. (televised)

Fort Smith Women’s Living Expo (9/20 – 9/21), Fort Smith.

Urban Raw Festival, Little Rock.

11th Annual Bluegrass in the Park, Ozark.

d O s O U T H : s e P T e M B e R 2 0 1 4

Submit your event toeditors @dosouthmagazine.com

TAilGATinG TiPs:Create a master checklist (food, drinks, utensils) and laminate it so you can reuse.

Freeze bottles of water for your ice chest instead of using ice. It won’t get your food soggy, and you can thaw a few to drink.

Tie a helium balloon to your car so your friends can find you.

Take a large plastic storage bin to take home all those dirty dishes.

07

2710 Massard RoadFort Smith, AR 72903479.452.1481www.myeastside.tv

Drew SuperLead Pastor atEast Side Baptist Church

photo by nick kyrouac

08


About Eastside Baptist ChurchAs a church, our goal is always the Gospel, bringing

people into a right relationship with Christ. Our

desire is to worship the Lord in spirit and in truth,

live life together through authentic community as

faith-centered families, and to celebrate our restored

lives together as individuals in Christ. At East Side,

we want to equip the family unit, whether blended,

nuclear, or single, with resources and opportunities

for discipleship inside and outside the home through

our parenting events, our small groups, our Family

Worship Devotionals, and our Home Point Resource

Center. Our goal is also to BE the church, not

just go to church, engaging with our unchurched

neighbors, co-workers, and the River Valley for the

cause of Christ.

What do you love most about fall in Arkansas? The color of the trees. That I can turn the AC off, and that I no longer sweat like the HOGS!

What’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever gotten? You have a beautiful family and your children are so well behaved.

Do you have a nickname and how did you get it? Cranberry. You’ll have to ask my wife!

What’s the most trouble you ever got into as a child? One day, during my elementary school days, my sister and I pretended to be sick so our mother would let us stay home. While we were home I thought I would pass the time by lighting my sister’s Kleenex on fire with a candle. Things got out of control quickly and before I knew what had happened the house caught on fire! I think I remember getting in trouble for that…. LOL. Everyone survived and so did the house!

Strangest place you’ve called the Hogs? My front porch. My children were pretending they were the Razorbacks so I would call the Hogs and they would take the field by running out the front door.

Most sentimental thing you own? My family. Nothing in this world compares to them.

Perfect meal? Lasagna, garlic cheese bread, Caesar salad and a nice tall glass of sweet tea as I stare into my wife’s eyes.

Hidden talent? Home remodeling, flying aircraft, and I can juggle three small objects.

Where did you grow up? Naperville, Illinois.

Favorite subject in school? Math.

Where did you go to college? Undergrad was at Embry Riddle Aeronautical University in Prescott, Arizona, and I have a Master’s from Southwestern Baptist Seminary in Fort Worth.

Nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you? Given me a car for free. Love that family dearly.

Favorite spot in Arkansas? Old Jenny Lind Country Café!

If you could go back in time, what year would it be? 1933-1946. I would live like John and Olivia Walton did in Nelson County, Virginia. I love The Waltons!

Favorite food as a child? Grandma’s lasagna.

Last road trip? Disney World with my wife and kids.

Most played song on your playlist? “Desert Song” by Hillsong.

Favorite scripture? I was redeemed by the Lord when I heard the Gospel message preached from Isaiah 40:31 for the first time in my life at age twenty-eight.

Favorite song from your teen years? Pink Floyd’s “Welcome To The Machine.”

Last book you read? Don’t Waste Your Life by John Piper.

Last movie you saw? God’s Not Dead.

Best part of being a pastor? Working for the only One who matters: the Lord Jesus.

First job? Mowing fairways at Spring Brook Golf Course in Naperville, Illinois.

If you could spend a year doing something entirely different, what would it be? I would make a reality TV show that depicts the REAL life of a Pastor, his wife, and their many kids. It would be HILARIOUS!

One life to live will soon be passed, only what’s done for Christ will last.

3 things Drew can’t live without:

My Bible InternationalDelight’s

Sweet CreamCoffee Creamer

iPhone

UPCLOSE&PERSONAL 09


Soooie!

wOO pIG! want a cute DIY that will let all of your neighbors know who you’re rooting for this football season? we’ve got you covered with this red and white chevron, burlap door hanger. not a sports fan? this DIY will work with almost any graphic, so make it all your own!

Words Catherine FredericeImage Jeromy Price

MATERIALSpig template (Google Images)

1 yard burlap

½ yard red & white chevron fabric

¼ yard black duck fabric

chipboard letters

wooden button

hot glue gun & glue sticks

plastic grocery bags

20 gauge tin copper wire

Red ribbon

Scissors

needle and black thread (optional)

METHODprint template to 8.5” X 11” paper. Enlarge template to desired sized. print second tem-plate, about 2” smaller overall for chevron fabric (mine was enlarged at Staples). cut out templates. fold burlap in half so you have a front and back. pin large template to burlap. trace around template, cut out. Remove pins. pin smaller template to chevron fabric, trace, cut out. Remove pins.

Join outer edges of burlap together with hot glue, leave a small gap to insert plastic bags.

hand-stitch or hot glue button onto chevron for the eye. I hand-stitched around outer edge of the chevron in black thread (optional). hot glue chevron to burlap. Stuff burlap with plastic bags. hot glue gap closed.

cut two strips of red ribbon, tie two simple bows. hot glue bows together, then hot glue them to the upper end of burlap for the tail. place chipboard letters over black duck fabric, trace, cut out. hot glue letters to chevron. thread wire through back of the bur-lap. wrap ends of wire around a pencil to curl. hang on your door, sit back, and call thOSE hOGS!

10 lifestyle


where Rodney protected Tater when they were boys. Inevitably,

they are confronted by a group intent on doing them serious harm.

Rodney eventually faces his true attitude about race and is sur-

prised to find that he is less like his tolerant mother than his intol-

erant father. The issue comes to a head when Rodney and Tater

have an on-field confrontation about how far Tater and Angie

may have taken their relationship. Like Angie, Tater tends to re-

main calm regardless of circumstances. He shows only occasional

flashes of negative emotion, as when he sees the headline A STAR

IS BORN: BLACK QB EXCITES IN DEFEAT and wonders if a player

of Chinese or Native American ancestry would be so pointedly

designated. Tater would rather be called, he says, by his name.

True to form, he responds to Rodney’s angry concern not with a

verbal outburst but by simply throwing two passes at his lineman’s

head. Later he says, “I might not be good enough for your sister,

but it’s not because I’m black. I’m not good enough because she’s

Angie, do you hear me?”

Having struggled for two seasons, the team coalesces behind the

senior leadership of Rodney and Tater, whose outstanding play

draws the attention of college scouts from across the country.

Tater’s dream is to become the first black quarterback at LSU, and

Rodney helps him toward making this a reality by staking his own

dream of playing for the Fighting Tigers on a promise from the LSU

coach that his friend will sign as a QB, not as an “athlete.”

In the poignant final chapter of Call Me by My Name the mid-

dle-aged Rodney looks back at how things turned out. Prone to

brooding reflection as a teenager, he is now deeply haunted by

the events of his youth that shaped him. He is celebrated as a

good man who has achieved the pinnacle of success, but by his

own measure he is lacking, his ability to protect others limited.

We have come a certain distance in our dealings with each other

during the years since the integration of our public schools. Plainly

we have a good deal further to go, a good many problems left to

solve. So we take the next step and the one after that. John Ed

Bradley has given us a story that reminds us of where we’ve been

and inspires us to keep moving forward.

Integration came hard to the Deep South in the early 1970s,

the period John Ed Bradley examines in Call Me by My Name,

his seventh novel. The transition was particularly rough in

Louisiana, which provides the book’s rich setting. Rodney

Boulet and Tater Henry are outstanding athletes who form a close

friendship though they come from opposite sides of an un-named

town based on Opelousas, where Bradley grew up. As an offensive

lineman, Rodney is often responsible for his quarterback’s safety.

He is a protector, a role he assumes on Tater’s behalf the very

first time they meet when the youngster is attacked by a group of

Rodney’s friends after he shows up in the town’s all-white park to

play baseball.

Among those who favor strict segregation is Rodney’s father Pops,

a man so racist he claims to be able to tell whether a pecan was

picked by a white person or a black person. Naturally, he thinks that

the “white” pecan should fetch a higher price. This is a world where

black players are not quarterbacks, but Tater’s talent is such that his

coaches finally recognize that they have no choice in the matter.

The growing relationship between Tater and Rodney’s twin sister

Angie eventually forces Rodney into a reckoning with himself. A

superb swimmer with an artist’s eye, Angie is sweet and smart.

She is also “a person people automatically liked just because of

how she looked,” Rodney observes, noting sadly that Tater is a

person some people automatically despise for the same reason.

Tater and Angie begin to see each other regularly — at school, vis-

iting Tater’s mother in the facility where she lives (the result of a

violent confrontation with Tater’s father), and meeting in the park

By John Ed Bradley,Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 265 pages: $1799

Call Me by My Name

review thomas cochran

12 entertainment


review Marla Cantrell

Every year, just as the fall leaves become too majestic to ig-

nore, I take a road trip. Just me. Just my car. Just the music

I love. Always, always, I have James Taylor playing, and

David Gray, and Bonnie Raitt. This year I’m adding Jason Mraz,

particularly his latest album, Yes!

That’s what I was thinking as I listened to these songs, all but one

(Boys II Men’s “It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday”) writ-

ten with girl band, Raining Jane. This is such a victorious acoustic

compilation. Mraz said he wanted to go back to the beginning in

this album, back when the Grammy winner played coffee shops,

accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

Teaming up with Raining Jane, a band that’s been together for fif-

teen years, helped him find his footing. Mraz said his goal was to

create something meaningful, something that could heal wounds,

that could reflect love, to give back to the listeners who’ve made

him a success.

The music he’s come up with will make you want to sing along. It

is, for the most part, happy, toe-tapping fare, songs for celebra-

tion. If you’re in love or want to be, “Long Drive” is the perfect

track. It’s about a couple on a date, driving in a Chevy Nova, hold-

ing hands, not wanting to get home, wanting to go the long way,

through the city, out into the country, anywhere as long as they

can make the night last forever.

“Love Someone” is one of the best on the album. Mraz’s voice is

perfect: mellow, soft as a pillow, gorgeous. An older fan’s recent

post on the singer’s website called his sound a mix of Cat Stevens,

Don McClean and John Denver. It’s a good description, and these

lyrics are spot on. “When you love someone, your heart beats, beats

so loud. When you love someone, your feet can’t feel the ground.”

“Hello, You Beautiful Thing” celebrates life, the daily living that

most of us push through, or ignore, or get so busy we miss it.

Mraz seems to be comforting us. It’s going to be a good day, he

tells us, just believe it, just notice.

The lessons continue in “3 Things,” a song about what to do

when your life falls apart. First you cry, but then you should go

somewhere you know you’re loved. Finally, you need to let the

chapter end, and then try once again.

It’s a great pleasure to listen to music like this. Mraz said that

when he’s touring — he’s purposely playing smaller venues with

this album so that he can feel close to his fans — he sometimes

has a bad day. That ends, though, once he starts singing these

songs. It’s hard to feel sorrow in the presence of such happy mu-

sic, especially for the creator of it.

“Best Friend,” is where the cello stands out, where the acoustic

guitar shines. It’s a beautiful tribute to love. But the best is “Qui-

et,” a song contemplating our changing landscape, the rising cell

towers, the growing towns, and how madly the world spins, until

we find the right person to quiet everything down.

If you’re feeling down, this is the album that will lift you up. If

you’re already happy, Yes! will make you absolutely ecstatic.

Jason Mraz: $12Yes!

DO SOUTH RATING: 9-1/2 OUT OF 10

entertainment 13


words tonya mccoyimages courtesy mandy murray and karen Seeds

GirlfriendsWalking with God

One hundred miles away, in Vilo-

nia, Arkansas, sixty-three-year-old

Karen Seeds looks across the con-

crete slab that used to be her home.

On April 27 of this year, a tornado

tore through her house, leaving it in

shambles, and just a couple of miles

away, her church was destroyed.

“It sounded like if you were waiting

for a train to pass. You can hear it

coming from a distance and then

you can hear it getting closer and

closer,” says Karen.

Her husband Gary looked out the

window of their two-story log

cabin and knew they’d better take

cover in the basement. “He saw a

weird shade of gray, slammed the

door and tried to hold it. But the

door upstairs popped open and

there were leaves swirling around,

there were things swirling around

in the basement, and I kind of won-

dered if we were gonna get out of

that basement alive.

“While we were in the basement we

heard a ka-thud and basically that was

our upstairs sliding over and dropping

into the living room. So when we

came up, my sofa had a claw-foot

bathtub laying on it and my end table

had a toilet sitting on it.”

Thankfully, Karen and her husband

were safe. Their house, however,

was wrecked. Karen says her pas-

tor was one of the first people to

stop by to check on them before

heading to their church, the United

Methodist Church in Vilonia.

Meanwhile, in Vesta, Girlfriends

Walking with God went to work,

The ladies of the United Methodist Church in the small

community of Vesta, Arkansas, lean over rolls of tan bur-

lap placed across tables in the church’s dining hall. They’re

crafting crosses, the symbol of ultimate giving, in order to

raise money for charity. They call themselves “Girlfriends

Walking with God,” and this phrase is proudly displayed

on the bright green T-shirts they wear. Their small church with about fifty

members is located seven miles north of Charleston, in Franklin County.

Bales of hay dot the pastureland, and cows graze the fields in this rural farm-

ing area, which has an estimated population of 250. But these women prove

it doesn’t take a large number of people to make a big difference. They’re a

group of fifteen women whose ages range from eighteen to seventy.

14 people


crafting and selling burlap crosses as quickly as their hands could

labor. “We had planned to be a part of the Christmas bazaar in

Charleston at the community center in November… but then

when that tornado happened, that’s when we decided proceeds

from this particular project would go to tornado relief,” says thir-

ty-five-year-old Mandy Murray.

Their craft was simple enough to make quickly. They’d found

trendy cross hangers on Pinterest® and had originally just made

them for each other to have just for fun. But now they were on a

mission. They cut out a cross-shaped pattern, making copy after

copy in burlap. They glued two sides together, stuffing it with plas-

tic Walmart sacks in between. The patterned crosses were a hit, in

black chevron as well as multi-colored chevron. They attached fab-

ric rosettes and colored buttons and ribbons. They’ve even created

Razorback themed crosses. You can’t get more Southern, or more

specifically, Arkansan, than that. They didn’t have to buy many

materials since some crafters of their group already had buttons,

ribbons and even burlap. The ladies sold the crosses for $15 each,

first by word of mouth, and then via Facebook and the Charleston

Online Yard Sale website. Then they sent the money they earned

to the United Methodist Church so that 100 percent of their do-

nation would go to help Mayflower and Vilonia’s tornado relief.

About five months have passed since that disastrous storm, and

Karen’s insurance is covering most of her home damages. The

amount the church’s insurance will cover is still undetermined, but

Vilonia church members are hopeful. Thanks to the caring hearts

of people like Girlfriends Walking with God, Karen says an esti-

mated $130,000 was raised to help tornado victims recover from

the storm and to rebuild Vilonia’s church.

Karen says, “That’s probably the only thing that did get me through

this. If we didn’t have faith that this was going to get better, that

could get pretty depressing, and there are days when you just get

frustrated, but this too will end. Life goes on and we’ll just pick up

and carry on.”

Karen is resilient and she and her church are already soldiering on.

Amazingly, even though Karen’s house is gone, she’s spending

her time helping others in need. She is part of the organization

United Methodist Women, which happens to be similar to Girl-

friends Walking with God. In fact, her group is busy collecting

things for their annual rummage sale. Karen says she received lots

of help from neighbors and strangers alike after the storm, and

now she’s ready to pay it forward.

Girlfriends walking with God

people 15

The money the Vilonia group raised went towards backpacks full

of school supplies for back to school this year, as well as Con-

way Cradle Care, which helps teen moms earn their high school

diplomas, and an annual fundraising effort to buy books to be

presented to Vilonia Kindergarten graduates.

Meanwhile, Girlfriends Walking with God has raised money

through crafts, dinners, and collections to help our community,

too. Just this year they’ve raised funds for the Lavaca Food Bank,

the Ronald McDonald Room in Fort Smith, and the American Can-

cer Society.

Mandy, who’s proud to be a part of Girlfriends Walking with God,

says it’s just their way of bringing the good of the church in Vesta

to the outside world. “A lot of churches have become so involved

with what’s inside the church and not taking their mission out in

the communities, and so I think that’s why it’s important because

we want to set an example. We’re not confined between these

walls. We’re out and helping everyone else.”

You can hear the belief in charity in Mandy’s voice. She says the

ladies are inspired to help the needy through the direction of Bible

passages, such as those in Proverbs.

She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the

needy. — Proverbs 31: 20

Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works

bring her praise at the city gate. — Proverbs 31: 31

Mandy adds, “The Bible tells us we are supposed to fellowship

with one another, and so that’s one of the things we get out of it

when we come together. We have each other’s friendship and we

know we can always count on each other. Because who’s to say?

Tomorrow it might be one of us in need.

“We may not even know how the people we are helping are be-

ing blessed. We may never know that, but we know the reason

that we’re doing it is the right reason, so that’s the blessing we

get out of it.”

And though they may never know, they are certain what they’re

doing matters, that it honors the Lord, and that those who receive

help from Girlfriends Walking with God are sure to be uplifted by

the help they receive. That is enough for these women from Vesta,

whose faith means the world to them.

If you’d like to order a burlap cross, or gift basket, or if

you’d like any other information about Girlfriends Walking

with God, contact Myra Keith at 479.461.3488. If you’d

like to donate to help the Vilonia church’s rebuilding ef-

forts, you can send a check to the Vilonia United Method-

ist Church, PO Box 460, Vilonia AR, 72173, or to the Vilonia

Disaster Relief Alliance at PO Box 628, Vilonia AR, 72173.

16 people


June Bug

Princess

scotty

Tuff

Piper

Zuzu

M M

MF F

F F

All you need is love... and a dog.A knack for playing fetch helps, too.

ahImSa’s mission is to place needy animals in responsible homes, provide humane education,and encourage spaying and neutering because there are not enough homes.

Each month, Do South donates this page to local and regional non-profit animal shelters. If you work with a shelter and would like to reserve this space, please email [email protected].

Ahimsa Rescue Foundation is an all-volunteer team, founded in 2004, specializing in the rescue and placement of abused, unwanted and abandoned companion animals from eastern Oklahoma and western Arkansas. All pets are spayed or neutered, micro-chipped and vet-checked before being adopted to carefully screened homes. Ahimsa’s mission is to place needy animals in responsible homes, provide humane education, and encourage spaying and neutering because not enough homes are available. Contact: [email protected]

Ahimsa Rescue Foundation, Muldrow, OKFacebook.com/[email protected]

Images Tessa Freeman

AhimsaRescueFoundation.org

18


Ready for an astounding fact?According to the American Veterinary Medical Association, at three years of age, eighty percent of dogs and seventy percent of cats have some form of oral disease. Those are large numbers. If not treated, infection can set in to the teeth and gums, causing bacteria to spread into the blood stream, infecting other parts of their bodies.

When the concept of brushing my dog’s teeth was first intro-duced, I thought it was the dumbest thing I had ever heard. Some days it was a chore for me to maintain my own pearly whites, let alone tending to my dog’s teeth. It took some convincing, but after researching and fully understanding the importance of the task, I was completely on board. Truth is, there are many good reasons to maintain good dental hygiene for your pets.

WHY BRUSH?Aside from bad breath or pain from tooth and gum disease, the heart is at the heart of the matter. In short, there is bacteria that grow into colonies on the tooth’s surface. These colonies harden into tartar if left untouched. Tartar induces gum inflammation or gingivitis. Gingivitis is a portal for introducing the bacteria into the blood stream, where it sets up shop in the heart valves. This causes the heart valves to leak, leading to congestive heart failure. Heart disease is a very serious issue, and only one example.

You see, inflammation of the gums and potential infection are linked to a variety of life threatening issues for dogs and cats, including but not limited to:

Heart Disease, Kidney Disease, Osteoporosis, Loss of Jaw Bone, Liver Disease, Stroke, Nasal Infections, Diabetes, Oral Cancers, Emphysema.

Once you understand the importance of a regular dental hygiene, you need to know how to get started. Let’s begin with the brush itself.

TOOTHBRUSHESThere are a vast array of products that can be purchased to keep your pet’s choppers in tip top shape. Pet toothbrushes come in all shapes and sizes; however, an extra soft bristle toothbrush made for human babies works just fine, or even better, a piece of gauze wrapped around your finger. Like humans, all cats and dogs muz-zles are not created equal. Because of this, I find that the “finger brush” is better suited for the short muzzle pet, while more con-ventional brushes are best for the longer muzzled variety.

TOOTHPASTEIMPORtANt: Toothpaste made for humans is unsuitable and po-tentially harmful for pets! There are many flavored toothpastes, made especially for pets, to make the task easier. And while there are many different methods, systems, and schedules for brushing, I find none superior to the other. The most important thing is that you brush your pet’s teeth on a regular basis.

Your veterinarian is the best source to inquire about starting a dental hygiene program. They can demonstrate how to brush and how to keep your pet’s mouth healthy. Most programs have a few key ideas in common:

1. Introduce the process at an early age.2. Proceed slowly.3. Maintain consistency in how you conduct the process.4. Have your veterinarian preform an oral examination at

least annually.5. If your pet becomes aggressive, defensive, or aggravated,

stop the brushing and contact your veterinarian, as the brushing could be causing pain.

Good dental hygiene goes a long way in keeping your pet healthy and happy for years to come. See your veterinarian and brush up on techniques for good dental health!

Have a question you’d like to see answered here?Email it to [email protected].

Information contained in this article should not be construed as specific medical advice for your

pet. If you have a concern about your pet, contact

your veterinarian.

Brush upDEntal hEalth fOR YOUR pEt

Words Dr. Rusty henderson, D.v.m. Eastside animal health center, fort Smith

19


Gardening with Jerrywords catherine frederick and Jerry Johnston with farmers co-op

Q: What vegetables can we plant in September?

A: It’s time to transition to a fall garden. You can now plant:

Transplants SeedBroccoli Mustard Greens

Cabbage Kale

Cauliflower Turnips

Brussel Sprouts Radishes

Collard Greens Swiss Chard

Carrot

Beets

Spinach

Onion sets

Multiplying onions (lasts all winter)

English peas

Q: When will fall vegetables be ready to harvest?

A: Transplants are generally ready for harvest in about six weeks. Since these are all cold crops, frost won’t hurt them; some people have broccoli all winter long. There is no need to cover these crops. Planted seeds will start to show in about a week, and can generally be harvested between forty-five and seventy days.

Q: If we had a summer garden, is there anything we should do for the soil before we plant the fall crops?

A: Make sure to remove any dead plant matter, replace any lost soil, mix well with existing, add lime as our area is lime-poor, and fertilize.

Q: Is there anything we need to do for our flowers or bushes?

A: You won’t prune roses until March, but you can fertilize all plants in September. Be sure to check for bugs. We’ve had a lot of rain and this has caused some aphid infestations. We have a garden safe spray we recommend called Eight®, which eliminates several garden pests.

Q: Is there anything we can do to extend the growing season for our summer crops?

A: You can build a covering for your existing garden — this works best for raised beds — with PVC pipe and plastic. Basically you place sturdy pipes in each corner of your raised beds, driving them into the ground. Curve the PVC and place the ends into the pipe, it will look like a half hoop. Place plastic over the PVC, creating a mini-greenhouse.

Q: Is it time to plant fall bulbs?

A: Yes! Our fall bulbs are in at Farmers Co-op. It’s time to plant tulips, daffodils, lilies, and more, which will be up in the spring.

Q: What’s your favorite fall crop?

A: Oh, I just love broccoli and cauliflower!

20 garden


Inside the NICUwords marla cantrellImages catherine frederick and courtesy mercy fort Smith

Each year, the Lily Award is given to a person or persons whose work has impacted those who stay in the Ronald McDonald Family Room at Mercy Fort Smith. This year’s honorees are the nurses of the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) at Mercy. They will be recognized at the Red Shoe Shin-dig on Friday, October 2, at the EpiCenter by MovieLounge in Fort Smith.

The Lily Award is named in memory of Lillian Paige Pruitt, infant daugh-ter of Susan and Clay Pruitt.

It’s a Monday morning in Fort Smith, Arkansas, one of those brittle, white hot days of summer. The air is still, not even the leaves on the trees are moving.

But none of the nurses inside the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Mercy Women’s Cen-

ter notices. In this room, on this day, they aren’t aware of anything outside these walls.

What matters are the ten babies, ten sweet little babies who are fighting to get well

enough to go home.

For RNs Davonna Whittenburg and Sharon

Nyugen, this day brings hope and promise.

They’ve seen hundreds of babies through

tough times, and they’ve later had dozens of

encounters — sometimes at Walmart, some-

times at the grocery store — with parents

who will come up to them, will hug their

necks, will nudge their healthy children to-

ward them. “You helped save her when she

was just a tiny baby,” they’ll say. Or, “Re-

member when he was just a tiny little baby?

Remember how afraid I was?”

Both Sharon and Davonna are smiling as

they talk about these meetings, how they are

the best surprise you could ask for. And then

Sharon says one of the truest things you’ll

ever hear. “When you take care of some-

one’s baby and you make that baby better,

you’re their friend for life.”

22 people


Davonna, who’s been a nurse for eighteen years, is nodding in agree-

ment. “We’ve seen these families at the worst time in their life.”

Sharon add, “Ideally, parents have a picture of what’s going to

happen when they have their baby. It’s always a good picture.

They’re going to go in, life is going to be grand. They’re going to

deliver this precious baby and they’re going to go home in two

days. When they see us that means something went wrong. It

could be ten days of antibiotics, or it could be something more

severe. We have to support them through that, and it’s a day-by-

day, hour-by-hour thing.

“Because we see so much, we see the ten days of antibiotics as

routine, but it’s devastating to the family. Their ideal picture of

what’s supposed to happen has been torn down. The family’s not

been able to gather the way they normally would. They’ve not

gotten the pictures they wanted, they’ve not been able to intro-

duce their baby, and we have to be their support, interpret what’s

going on, be with them if there’s a step back, and when there’s a

step forward, and calm the situation when we need to. There’s a

lot of emotion there. Sometimes when there’s a situation where

things are not good, where there’s not a good prognosis, that’s

even more complicated.”

During those times, when things go awry, when even the best

medical care can’t save a baby, these nurses’ hearts break. They

shed tears, they grieve, they hurt for the families.

But for Sharon and Davonna, even the worst outcome isn’t the

end of the story. They share a deep faith, a certainty that the ba-

bies who don’t make it are in Heaven, and that their families will

one day see them again.

As these two continue to talk, they begin to finish each other’s

sentences. They work so well together, and they are great friends

besides. Each talks about faith and how that is the foundation for

everything they are and everything they accomplish.

Sharon dreamed of being a nurse long before she got the chance.

She worked in radiology for fifteen years, a job where she had no

interaction with patients. But she is a nurturer, and her heart told

her she needed to change paths. At forty, she took the leap.

“I love everything about nursing,” Sharon says. Yes, she says, the

stress is hard but she’s never had a job where she felt so needed,

and where she felt she did so much good. “But if you’re not called

to do it, you shouldn’t try.”

Davonna explains why they both feel that way. “It is a compli-

cated job that requires specific skills and a tender heart. “These

babies can’t talk so you have to be up on your assessment skills to

know what’s going on with them. You do get a lot of communica-

tion with the family. You do have to make sure they’re okay. The

mother’s either just had surgery or just gone through delivery and

you have to tend to her even though she’s not your patient.

“My first day on the job I thought, What have I done. I’m seri-

ous. There’s not a lot in the adult world of critical care I had not

seen. Here, it’s just so different. I was drained after the first shift,

I can’t do this, I thought. But I came back, and every day I learn

something new.

“In the NICU, Sharon and I and the rest of the nurses are a team.”

Sharon then picks up the story. “We all are on the same playing

field and we have to be able to pick each other up and be in tune

with each other. We can tell what the other is thinking without

saying a word. And when we lose a baby it’s a hard, hard loss.

We’re moms, and aunts and I’m a mimi, and we know how much

you love your baby from the instant you see them.”

“There was a time recently when there wasn’t a staff member in

the room who wasn’t crying,” Davonna says, and when she does,

tears come to the surface once again.

“Being a nurse is a hard job, emotionally, physically,” Sharon adds.

“Sometimes when we leave we’re on emotional overload. Many

nights you may not sleep because you’re running it through your

mind, if one of the babies has gotten worse. ..There are things

that happen that are beyond our control but we never take it light-

ly. It goes with us past our twelve-hour shift.”

The talk turns then to whether what Sharon and Davonna do is a

job. Neither thinks so. They call their careers a ministry, speaking

for these little patients who depend on them to be their voice, to

comfort the parents in their time of great need.

“I don’t believe I could do this job without God,” Davonna says.

“He’s my hands, He’s my brain, He’s my heart. I know Sharon feels

the same way. Without Him I don’t think I could do this job.”

people 23

Even with the stresses. Even with the days when one of their dear

little patients doesn’t improve, they believe they’re doing the work

that they’ve been put on Earth to do.

“Thank God we have such a great team,” Sharon says. She thinks

Mercy is a great place to work, in part because she feels as if her

faith is in action: when she hugs a worried mom, or prays for her

little patients, or calls in a member of the clergy when things get

really tough.

What they bring to these exhausted parents is comfort, knowing

they can take a quick nap, or go check on their other children,

because the nurses are watching over their littlest ones. That’s

often the hardest part for parents, who feel torn between stay-

ing every minute they can in the NICU nursery, and taking care

of themselves. What Sharon and Davonna, and the other NICU

nurses do is let them know they’ve got their back, that they’ll call

if they need to, that their babies are in good hands.

It is a blessing, these nurses say, that the Ronald McDonald Room,

which looks like a high-rise, luxury apartment, is available for fami-

lies who need it the most. It is in the same building as the NICU so

parents who stay there are only seconds away if they’re needed.

Meals are taken care of, there’s a washer and dryer – everything

the parents need has been brought in so that they can concentrate

on helping their baby get better.

Some babies have been in the nursery for as long as four months.

Davonna and Sharon get attached. They’re thrilled when the ba-

bies go home but they also miss them.

Working here makes them appreciate every day, and everyone they

hold dear. “There have been many times when I’ve gone home and

hugged my kids and said, ‘Thank you, God.’” Davonna says. “I think

many people take life for granted, and working here, you know that

in one day your entire life can be turned upside down.”

Just then, Sharon says, “I may be speaking out of turn,” and then

she stops for a second and looks at her friend, “but Davonna is

a cancer survivor, and she’s definitely a blessing, and she knows

how quickly life can be taken away.”

Davonna touches the headband that holds back her dark hair,

touches her throat, and finally smiles. “I had my last treatment

three years ago for breast cancer.”

“She loved her patients and took care of them the whole time,”

Sharon says.

“I had two small children, and a wonderful support system. God

gets all the credit. I wasn’t in the NICU then. I’d lost all my hair.

Everyone was so kind.”

That brush with mortality only strengthened Davonna’s faith and

her belief that being a nurse is her true calling.

Davonna and Sharon are quick to point out that their story is not

unique. The rest of the nurses are just as devoted, just as meticu-

lous in their care of these little ones. “I wish you could talk to all

the nurses,” Davonna says. “You’d see.”

It is time to leave the break room then. There is much work left to

do in their twelve-hour day, and there are ten precious babies just

down the hallway, getting better under their care, getting stron-

ger each day. They are eager to get back to them.

One day they may see them again, at the mall, at a local restaurant, in

line at the movies. Their parents will recognize Sharon and Davonna,

they will call them out, they will show them their strong, beautiful

children and thank them again for their loving kindness.

Former recipients of the Lily Award:

2011 — (the inaugural award) Dr. Victor Coloso, the

neonatologist at Mercy who was one of the driving forc-

es behind bringing the Family Room to Mercy.

2012 — Evan’s Project Photographers. Evan’s Project

photographers come to the NICU once a month or at

special request and take portrait quality photos of the

babies in the NICU at no charge to the families.

2013 — Michael and Michelle Hadley. Michael serves on

the RMHC of Arkoma Board of Directors, and chairs the

Family Room Advisory Council. Michelle participates in

the share-a-meal program and is instrumental in putting

together the annual Red Shoe Shindig.

24 people


Since it opened in December 2010, there have been nearly 30,000 visits tothe Ronald mcDonald family Room at mercy fort Smith.

103overnight stays

per month

394newbornsadmitted

The Ronald McDonaldFamily Room

is averaging:

Mercy NICUJuly 2013 to July 2014

1,263visits per month

average dailycensus of

13.5patients

95volunteer hours

per month

people 25

All I really need to know I learned at Woolworth’s.

At age seventeen, I applied for my first job at Woolworth’s, one of

the two five-and-dimes in Sand Springs, Oklahoma. The other was

TG&Y, which lost a bunch of its customers to Woolworth’s when

it started staying open on Sunday afternoon, a no-no in that Bap-

tist-dominated community. The Baptists also would not condone

school dances, so I didn’t learn to dance unti…well, really never.

Which gets me back to my point — how I learned more working

at Woolworth’s than I did in thirteen years of public education,

including kindergarten — a point I made so many times to my

children that they thought I had worked at Woolworth’s for most

of my life before they came along.

My Woolworth’s education was delivered by Lillian Stottlemyre,

who had been assistant manager of the Sand Springs store since

it opened in 1959. I supposed she had worked at Woolworth’s all

her life, but actually I knew nothing about Lillian Stottlemyre’s life.

When she “interviewed” me in January 1963 — “Fill out this ap-

plication. I’ll call you if we need you.” — she seemed to loom over

me as I sat at the table in the employee lounge, looking down at

me with gray-green eyes, smooth plump cheeks, curly steel-blue

hair framing her flushed face. She was heavyset, we called it then,

grandmotherly looking in a scowling sort of way. Did she have

grandchildren? I don’t know. I never heard about grandchildren

or children or husband or home. Lillian Stottlemyre did not discuss

her private life with me. As far as I knew, she lived at Woolworth’s.

All I Really Need to Know{ R E A D E R S t o R y }

words Evelyn Brown

26 people


Anytime I was there, she was there.

I started learning from Lil, as her name tag stated, from

the moment I started to work, which as it turned out

was the same day I applied. When I got home, she had

already telephoned my mother to have me report back

at six o’clock that very Saturday night. I would keep on

learning from her for fifteen hours a week, more or less

— all day Saturday and a couple of nights during the

week — for the next year and a half.

When I went in, Lil looked me over head to foot. “You

can’t wear those crew socks. You need nylons. Go back

and get some off the shelf, and some garters to hold them up. We’ll charge

them to your first pay envelope.” I never got a check from Woolworth’s.

As with most places in those days, we were paid in cash, with deductions

printed on the front of the envelope.

She handed me my smock, blue-green nylon trimmed with darker blue bias

tape that lengthened into ties on each side, one size fits all. I practically had

to double wrap the apron around my skinny torso; Lil’s was stretched to

the limit around hers. “Woolworth’s” was embroidered in red script on the

right side. Lil gave me my name tag with “Evelyn” printed on cardboard

inserted into a plastic sleeve. I would eventually print those name tags for all

the new hires and for those, including myself, who would wear them when

they took their smocks home to wash — another requirement of employ-

ment — and forget to pin the name tag back on the left shoulder.

Lil taught me to run the printer. It’s funny to think about what we called

a printer then. It consisted of a frame in which I would put wood or metal

type — blocks with raised backward letters and numbers — ranging in size

from maybe a quarter inch to three inches tall, depending on whether I was

printing name tags, signs, or posters. I would roll ink which was the texture

and consistency of heavy grease over the type, lay the paper over that and

run another roller that would press the ink onto the card or poster. Yes, just

like the way Benjamin Franklin printed Poor Richard’s Almanac, and, my kids

believed, just about the same time.

I actually enjoyed doing that printing, after I got over my disappointment

that I would not be a cashier like Judy Whittenberg, a cheerleader who was

a year ahead of me in school and whom I dreamed of emulating. Lil tried to

teach me to run the register, but I, who was in advanced math, could not

make change. I counted money back to Lil just fine in our practice sessions,

but in the heat of the moment, with the customer standing there complain-

ing about having to pay four cents tax on the dollar, which I had to figure in

my head because the registers of those days did not help even a little bit, I

would invariably panic. The day I came up ten dollars short when I counted

out my drawer was my last day of using the cash register.

Lil was optimistic in her way. “There are plenty of things you can do around

here. We can always hire a cashier, but we need someone who can handle

the other jobs.”

Lil’s way of teaching was to do a job as she explained it, and then have

me do the job while she critiqued it. After that, I was on my own. So, as

I told my children many years later, I learned to print signs, run the candy

counter, make keys, cut shades, engrave jewelry, measure cloth, catch fish,

set up displays, tag merchandise, do inventory, watch sidewalk sales, dust,

people 27


straighten, fill out orders, unpack stock, handle layaways. Then I

learned to redo all that when Lil found mistakes.

Lil probably thought she was the one who made the mistake when

she decided to have me try to get customers to buy a potato peel-

er which was being stocked by the store for the first time. Her

plan was for me to stand at a table near the front of the store and

— you guessed it — peel potatoes to demonstrate what a marvel-

ous job the device would do. That worked pretty well, once I got

the hang of it, and a couple of people actually picked one up to

buy. As I enthusiastically peeled, some of the skin shavings made

their way to the floor. An elderly lady slipped on a potato peel and

almost fell. “You’d better watch what you’re doing, young lady!”

she huffed. Lil quickly closed down the demonstration and taught

me how to clean the floor.

I remember advice Lil gave me: “Call me Lil,” she said when she

hired me, but I was to call the manager Mr. Nelson — because

he was the manager or because he was a man? — mostly be-

cause that’s what Lil told me to call him. “Always show your boss

enough respect to call him ‘Mr.’” And I always have, although I

have more recently had to alter that to “Ms.” or — in most educa-

tion settings these days — “Dr.”

Marketing, according to Lil: “If someone asks you where some-

thing is, don’t lead them to it. Tell them where it is located. As

they are going to it, they may look around and find something else

to buy.” I spent quite a bit of time interpreting that advice to my

own kids, applying it to staying focused and not getting distracted

from their goals yada yada yada.

Lil’s attitude toward the girls from the local home for unwed moth-

ers may have influenced my reluctance to risk the consequences

of “messing around” in those pre-Pill days. Those temporary resi-

dents apparently were allowed to go shopping once a week or so,

and they came in groups to Woolworth’s. “Watch those girls,” Lil

would admonish me. “They can’t be trusted.” Why can’t they be

trusted? I wondered — to myself — I would never argue with Lil.

It looked as if maybe they trusted somebody else too much.

“Never stand still,” Lil said. “You aren’t working if you’re standing

still.” Lil did allow me to sit still once, however, when I pin-tagged

myself instead of the shirt I was pricing. I hit the switch on the

machine too soon, so the pin grazed the end of my finger as it

stamped the price on my fingernail. I would have fainted if Lil had

not been close by. She sat me down and told me to lean over and

put my head on my knees. I have used that method ever since

to ease sudden lightheadedness. And I have always been able to

return and face whatever threw me for a loop because of what Lil

said as she applied a Band Aid to my finger: “Feeling better? Okay,

get back to work.”

The only time Lil advised me not to work was the Saturday I asked

off to go to the senior class picnic. Lil said to come in when I got

back to town, and I did, sporting the worst sunburn I ever got. I

could barely walk through the door of Woolworth’s, but I was

determined to finish out my shift. When Lil saw me, she said, “Go

home and take care of that! And don’t ever let yourself sunburn

like that again!” I haven’t.

Shortly after that, when I graduated from high school, Lil offered

me a forty-hour a week job at Woolworth’s. I was tempted to take

it, but my mom’s advice trumped Lillian Stottlemyre: “Evelyn Ann

Stogsdill, I will not have you stay around and marry one of these

yahoos from Sand Springs. You’re going to college.”

In August, 1964, Lil handed me my last pay envelope. By then, I

was drawing a whopping $1.05 an hour, and I actually had man-

aged to save over $400. That, along with a couple of scholarships,

was enough to pay for my first year at Northeastern State College

in Tahlequah, Oklahoma.

All I really need to know about life — and a college education —

provided by Woolworth’s!

If you’re one of our faithful readers and you have

a story you’d like to share with us, email it to us at

[email protected]. We’d love to hear

from you.

28 people


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words & Images Stoney Stamper

claude and larry

Getting older is no problem.You just have to live

long enough.

Groucho Marx

32 people


Sometimes life is hard. That’s a very insightful

observation, I know. Real deep stuff, huh? What can I say, I’m a

radical revolutionary. This stuff just flows from my veins.

Yeah, I know saying life is hard is terribly cliché. But let’s be hon-

est, most clichés are clichés because they’re true. And I can think

of nothing more true than life is hard. That doesn’t mean that it’s

always hard. Quite the contrary, actually. Life is an ever-changing

landscape of peaks and valleys. Sometimes it feels so easy, when

it’s filled with happiness and colors and laughter and beauty.

These good things are what keep us going during the

hard times and during the sad times. It’s impor-

tant to remember these wonderful and happy

things when the going gets tough, or when

things aren’t so rosy. I’m having one of

those rough patches right now, and I am

having to constantly remind myself over

and over again of how blessed I am, and

how happy I am with my life.

Sometimes the hard times are tragic. It’s

heartbreaking to see others who have to

endure tragedy such as car accidents, or los-

ing loved ones to sickness and disease well before

their time. Other times life simply runs its course — nat-

urally. Every race has its finish line, I suppose. And from where

my family stands, my papa’s finish line isn’t so far away. His race

is nearly run.

I have been pretty fortunate in my life. I haven’t suffered any real

tragedies involving my family or close friends. I haven’t lost any im-

mediate family to sickness. Only twice in my thirty-five years have

I lost someone close to me. In 1992, I lost my granny Stamper to

Lou Gehrig’s Disease, and in 2001 my great-grandpa died just one

month shy of his 105th birthday. Yes, you heard me right, 105

years old. And he got married when he was 104. True story. So

this is fairly new territory for me. For all of us.

My papa, Claude Stamper was born and raised on my family’s ranch

in Murphy, Oklahoma. It’s right between Chouteau and Locust

Grove, four miles off of Highway 412. It’s the only place he’s ever

known. His mama and daddy lived there, and died there. He raised

his four boys there with my sweet granny. My dad and his brothers

raised all of us there. And now we’ve got the youngest generation

of Stampers on the ground. Some of them live on the ranch, some

off, but still in the same lifestyle that we were all accustomed to. The

lifestyle my papa and my great-grandad provided for us.

Sometimes, it didn’t seem so awesome, growing up that way.

When most of my friends went home from school to play video

games, or just do nothing at all, my brother, sister and cousins

were busy cleaning stalls, warming up and cooling down horses,

feeding and bathing horses, cattle, pigs and sheep. It was a lot of

work. It didn’t seem like a blessing at the time, but looking back

on it now, that’s exactly what it was.

We were taught a strong work ethic. But we

weren’t made to work while the adults sat in

the air conditioning. We were led by exam-

ple to work hard and do your best. My dad,

papa, and even great-granddad, would

work from the time the sun came up until

it went down.

When my great-granddad (we called him

Granhappy) had gotten too old to work

for our house moving company, he took up

carpentry. He spent his twilight years building

some of the most God-awful carpentry projects

you’ve ever seen in your life. But it didn’t matter to him.

He just needed to work. And besides, he couldn’t see well enough

to know it was crooked and ugly.

I get a bit misty-eyed, reminiscing about those times spent with

Granhappy, and with my Granny and Papa Stamper. Those times

feel like so long ago, but their voices are still so clear, as though

they’re in the other room. My granny calling my papa “Claudie.”

Granhappy and his wife Dorothy singing “Come and Dine” at

church on Sundays. The memories are fresh and vivid. My papa

patting granny’s knee, and saying to me, “Stone, ain’t she just

the purtyest thang you ever seen?” And the answer was, Yes, she

was just about the “purtyest thang” I had ever seen. She was so

kind and gentle. So meek and mild. But she could ask for anything

in her soft and sweet voice and he would move mountains to

make it happen. He loved her with all his heart.

After forty-four years of marriage, she succumbed to the com-

plications of ALS, on December 28, 1992. It was a hard blow for

our whole family. But even more so for my papa. He had lost his

best friend, his confidante, his “pardner.” His life was changed

people 33


forever. On the day she died, I spent the night with him at his house — it felt so big, so empty.

Then the next night, I stayed again. And then again the next night. I had inadvertently become

roommates with my papa. We were like a couple of lame college kids living together. He didn’t

know how to cook, and I didn’t either. We had coffee and toast every morning, until I learned

how to make eggs and bacon without catching anything on fire. My mom or my aunt or my

cousin came and did laundry for us, until we learned how to do that, too. Papa liked to bake

brownies, and he did so nearly every day. We developed an odd little routine. He was glad I was

there and I was glad to be with him. I watched him and listened to his wheeling and dealing on

the phone. He was selling, or buying something to sell, every time he talked to someone, and I

got my first sales lessons just sitting around and listening to him. These were lessons that would

serve me well, and mold me into the man I am today. As time passed, he needed me less and

less, but the bond we built in that year and a half is one that we still share today. I love him. I

know he’s not perfect. He’s funny, generous, and a great storyteller. But he can be strict and

very hard on people, which just so hap-

pens to be traits that I possess. Granny

was the perfect yin to his yang. She was

the perfect mellow to his hard edges.

He never remarried. Oh, he had some

girlfriends. But he never married again.

I guess he thought that he couldn’t do

any better than he had done with Cla-

rice June Plake. And I happen to agree.

These last few years have been hard

ones for him. A small, withered body

now stands where a once big, strong

man stood. His voice was loud and bois-

terous, but it’s now weak and muffled.

His old legs are bowed from too many

horses, and just a few weeks ago he fell

and broke his hip. He’s had surgery, and

has had some complications. He lost a

lot of blood, and not enough oxygen

made its way to his brain. His mind was

slipping before the accident. He’d call

me nearly every day, asking me to come

drink coffee with him, which I would’ve

gladly done — except for the fact that I

live in Texas now, about six hours away.

A fact that he forgets every time he

calls me. Now, since the accident, he’s

having difficulty speaking at all. When I

walked into the hospital to see him, my

dad said, “Stoney is here to see you!”

And Papa said, “Who?” I expected it

going in, but I still wasn’t prepared for

it. Will it improve? I don’t know. I hope

so. His old hips and knees are battered

and arthritic from years of riding horses

and then crawling under houses with

the house moving company. Will he

walk again? I don’t know that either.

Right now, we have more questions

than we have answers. The selfish side

of me prays that he will walk again, that

he will talk again, that he will remem-

ber again. I’m not ready to let him go.

papa and Granhappy

34 people


I want him to tell me a story, to laugh, to drink a cup of coffee.

None of us wants to let him go. He’s our last stronghold on the

great generation that raised us. The ones who taught us morals.

The ones who took us to church. The ones who taught us to help

our communities and our nation. Papa is the last one we have.

He’s lived long enough to see his wife, his brothers, his sisters and

his parents die. What a lonely feeling that must be.

When I put my selfish feelings aside for a moment, and remem-

ber how badly he misses my granny, how long he’s gone without

feeling her hand in his, or hearing her sweet, soft voice whisper

his name, then, and only then, do I feel a sense of joy wash over

me. Although I’m not always a good example of one, I am a Chris-

tian, and I do believe in heaven. My grandmother has been there

for nearly twenty-two years. Just waiting on him. And on the day

they are reunited, I’d give nearly anything to see their faces when

their eyes meet. Oh what a day of rejoicing that will be. It makes

me want to let him know it’s ok. “Papa, you can go now. You’ve

taught us all that you know. You’ve given all that you can give.

We’ll be ok. Go see Granny, and we’ll see you sometime soon.”

I wanted to tell him these things as I reached down over his hospi-

tal bed to hug him and kiss his head. But instead, I just said, “I love

you. SO much.” And with a sparkle of recognition in his eye, he

looked at me and he mumbled, “I love you, honey. You’re a doll,”

just like he had a million times before. To me and my siblings and

cousins and aunts and uncles, “I love you, honey. You’re a doll.”

I tell myself, Tomorrow, I’ll tell him that tomorrow.

Stoney Stamperis the author of the popular parenting blog, The Daddy Diaries. He and his wife April

have three daughters: Abby, Emma and Gracee. Originally from northeast Oklahoma,

the Stampers now live in Tyler, Texas. For your daily dose of The Daddy Diaries, visit

Stoney on Facebook or on his website, thedaddydiaries.net.

Stoney and Gracee Stamper

people 35


The directions Dell Eddins sends are written

as precisely as anything you’d find on MapQuest. Cut through Fay-

etteville, Arkansas, wind your way to the land of Goshen (popula-

tion 1,071), find a rocky road that appears to be a driveway but

is not, snake up the half-mile one-lane path. Along the way there

are subdivisions filled with the kind of extravagant houses that

often made my mama shake her head and say, “I couldn’t even

pay the light bill if I lived there.”

But those showplaces are just landmarks on the way to Dell’s. She

lives in an even better place, in a cottage so picture perfect it could

be an illustration in a storybook. It feels like a secret, high atop the

mountain, surrounded by 112 unfettered acres that are loud with

songbirds on this bright morning. Her place is the kind of beauti-

ful artists live for. And it just so happens that Dell is one of those

artists, a woman who paints magnificently, capturing the glory of

horses, the impish delight of goats, the majesty of housecats, the

sweet spirit of happy dogs.

Dell’s love of animals started early. In kindergarten she remembers

her tiny hand holding a chubby pencil. When she drew, it was

almost always horses. It wasn’t so very long before her teachers

in Pine Bluff began commenting on how real those horses looked.

But she wanted more than an image of a horse, and she thought

that drawing them was a way of making an actual horse show

up. Her dad, an insurance man, wasn’t as sold on the idea as she

was, but he finally gave in, when she was eleven, buying a horse

named Dusty.

The Farmer’s Nameis Dell

words marla cantrellImages courtesy Dell Eddins

36 people


Dell laughs when she tells the story. “I was just horse crazy and

Dusty was the love of my life. Some girls grow out of that phase,

move onto boys. But my life was all about horses. Even as a teen-

ager I spent my time riding with my girlfriends who also loved

horses. If I wasn’t riding, I was reading or drawing. I stayed pretty

naive through those years, which is not a bad thing.”

After high school, she headed to William Woods University in Mis-

souri to major in equestrian studies and minor in art. But she left

after her freshman year to attend Hendrix, where she planned to

focus solely on art. That is until she learned she’d have to have

a senior show. What she lacked then was self-confidence, and

the thought of that public display stopped her. She switched her

major to psychology, earned her degree and ended up moving to

Memphis where she did everything from cleaning houses to work-

ing in a French bakery.

Eventually, she ended up in grad school, getting her master’s in

counseling. She worked in the field but knew it wasn’t her life’s

calling. At the same time, she’d taken a side job managing a

Welsh pony farm while the owner traveled to Wales. “That tem-

porary job ended up lasting three years, and I just loved being with

the ponies.”

This is the point in Dell’s story where romance comes in. She fell in

love, got married, moved to a little town halfway between Jonesboro

and Memphis, in the land of cotton. She lived in the country, raised

colored Angora goats, sheared them, spun the yarn, and wove rugs,

many of them flat-weave tapestries with Navajo designs.

In 1998, when Dell was in her mid-forties, everything changed.

She and her husband, a man she still speaks kindly of, divorced,

and Dell was looking for a place to stay. A place where she could

take her trove of animals, including her horse.

It was as if all her stars aligned. She had friends in Fayetteville. She

had another friend who owned the place where she lives now,

and it was empty at the time. Dell remembers pulling up the road,

her goats in a trailer behind her, two Great Pyrenees dogs, a cou-

ple of rabbits, and thinking, this is it. This is home.

Today, the house is alive with art. In her studio, three paintings

are in various stages of completion. Outside, Dell’s goat, Orphan

Annie, lazes in the sun. She is not one of the original goats; this

little lady showed up on her own when she was only a few months

old, pushed her way through the fence and declared Dell’s place

her home. Beside Orphan Annie are eight ponies that Dell keeps

for Personal Ponies, a charity that teams ponies with special needs

kids and adults. She’s been a volunteer for years now, and served

for a time as the state president. Farther away are ten horses,

some Dell’s, some that she boards.

It is an idyllic life, but not always an easy one. She works hard. For

ten years she’s been doing barefoot trimming, which is sculpting

horses’ hooves in a way that allows them to forego horseshoes.

By the fall of 2011, the hard labor was catching up with her, and

then Dell got sick. Really, really sick, and her condition flummoxed

her doctors. Whatever was wrong, it had exhausted her. As she

slowly recovered she took inventory of her life and decided she

people 37


38 people


had to pull back, and so she whittled down her trimming business

significantly.

At the same time, she was itching to get back to painting. For

three months she was too sick to do much of anything, but she

remembers thinking that she was strong enough to hold a paint-

brush. She signed up for a class at The Art Location in Fayetteville,

something she says saved her life. “It was a Monday night class,

and I’d be so sick, but something happened there in the acrylics

class. It was like the floodgates opened and I knew this was what I

wanted to do with my life. A friend came in and saw my first paint-

ing, still on the easel, and asked if it was for sale.”

In the spring, Dell was confident enough to sign up for a fig-

ure painting class, working with models, at the University of Ar-

kansas. “It was the most challenging semester of my life,” Dell

says. “Stephanie Pierce is an incredible instructor, a demanding

teacher, and so intuitive. She opened my eyes in more ways than

I can tell you.”

During this time, Stephanie encouraged her students to go to UA-

Fort Smith for a session with a visiting artist, Catherine Kehoe,

who teaches at the Massachusetts College of Art and Design in

Boston. And it was in this workshop that everything became crys-

tal clear to Dell. “She said, ‘When you start painting horses, when

you start painting what you love, it’s going to be different. You’re

going to get it.’”

Before that session, Dell thinks she was pulling a D in Stephanie’s

class. After, her work skyrocketed. “I think the change in me had

been building during that whole semester. Suddenly, it was like

I had new eyes. The nude I was working on changed. My paint

handling, my understanding of form and structure, it all came to-

gether. I sometimes wonder if I learned to see differently then. It

was a life changing class for me, thanks to Stephanie.”

Since that class, Dell’s life has gotten better and better. Her art,

mostly of animals, has been selling well. She loves doing com-

missions, and she’s working part-time at Painting With a Twist in

Fayetteville, where she helps set up art classes. “It’s such a happy

place, such a great experience. The instructor stands on stage and

walks the class through a project. They have beer and wine and

soft drinks, so it’s like a great party filled with art.

“When I got sick I was so afraid. I didn’t know what was next. I

people 39


knew I didn’t want to return to counseling even though I could

have gone back and gotten my license. I loved horses and trim-

ming hooves, but I couldn’t continue to do that because my body

was just wearing down. When I went to college I remember some

wise adult saying, ‘Oh well, do your art but know that you’re never

going to make a living at it.’ It was disheartening and I believed it

for a long time.”

It took years to get past that comment. And it took a crisis that

caused Dell to reevaluate what she truly wanted. She went back to

the beginning where her purest intentions were: she loved horses,

she loved art.

Dell is telling this part of her story near one of her outbuildings

that was once used to house canned goods years and years ago.

Whoever built this had an artist’s heart. There are two angels in

the design, with two perfectly round stones for heads; long, trian-

gular rocks for bodies; chiseled stones for wings.

As Dell talks, her pony Robin ambles up, and she reaches down to

pet his sweet head. Inside, three unfinished paintings sit on easels.

Each is extraordinary, but Dell is suspicious of the one with three

kids on horseback. Something is off, she says, though it looks per-

fect to the untrained eye. There is talk of starting over, scrapping

the whole thing, but in a few days Dell will decide it’s worth saving.

Her whole life has been like that, finding what’s not working and

changing it into something that does, and then making what’s

working into something incredibly beautiful. She’ll tell you it’s not

her. She’ll tell you her life works because so many friends and

family have helped her along the way, and that may be true. But

there is also something in Dell, a way of living that sees nature as

the greatest thing, and animals as subjects for incredible paint-

ings, and living as a wonderful experiment, where you get to learn

anything you want, as long as you’re willing to try.

to see Dell’s work, visit her Facebook page or her

website, delleddins.com.

40 people


Lemonscontain more

sugar than

strawberries for the same massRalph lauren’s original name was

Ralph Lifshitz

the longest recordedflight of a chicken was

13 seconds

m&m’s chocolate stands forthe initials of its inventors

Mars and Murrie

In nearly every episode of Seinfeld,there is a reference to

SUPERMAN

an ostrich’s eye is

BIGGER THANits brain

cats have over

100 vocal chords

the lifespan of a squirrel is

8 years

More boysthan girls are born

during the day;

More girlsare born at night. TENNESSEE

is bordered by 8 states:

alabama, arkansas,Georgia, kentucky,

mississippi, missouri,north carolina and virginia

42


words and images Jessica Sowards

44 people


I’ve always been a big fan of Julia Child. After watching the mov-

ie Julie & Julia back in 2008, I felt so intrigued by her that I spent

hours researching her life. She became, in my mind, this para-

gon of womanhood: an adventurer, an adoring wife, the kind of

lady who followed her dreams even when they weren’t popular.

I think of her often in my kitchen. Her cookbooks, full of tasks way

over my head, sit untouched on my shelves, a romantic reminder

of her wisdom. “Never apologize,” she would say on her cooking

show when she made a mistake. And I remind myself of this when

I over-salt supper.

One of Julia’s bits of wisdom has embedded deeper in me than

the rest, though. I’ve carried it far from the kitchen and into every-

thing that I do. In an episode of The French Chef, as she prepared

to flip a pan of potato pancakes, she said in passing “You must

muster up the courage of your conviction.”

It seems almost silly when applied to flipping mash. But chew on

it for a moment.

You must muster up the courage of your conviction.

Have you been there? Have you ever believed in something so fully

that it forced you into a crossroads? The choice between what is

right and what is easy is usually much murkier than you would

expect. Especially when the other way holds promises of ease and

comfort and your conviction requires a divergence from what you

once may have even planned.

I’ve been there. It came in our marriage in the form of a vasectomy

that we just couldn’t go through with. The conviction came in the

form of God saying He didn’t want us to close the door on another

child. Our sixth child.

When you have a lot of kids, people feel at liberty to share their

lofty opinions on your family. Basic etiquette and the pre-school

rule, “If you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say anything

at all,” go out the window. Even for well-mannered me, it gets a

little old.

When seventy-year-old men stop me in the grocery store and ask,

“Don’t you know what causes that?” I’m incredibly tempted to

just say, “Well, I’ve narrowed it down to a couple of things,” and

then leave them to ponder it.the Sowards

people 45


But I don’t. Because I’m a good Christian woman, I forgive them

for their accidental rudeness and simply respond, “My children are

my greatest blessing.” If I’m feeling extra Southern, I might even

throw in, “Bless your heart.”

Even when I am sure in the belief of a big family, it’s hard to

diverge. When I hear a dozen comments every time I leave the

house that I have SO many kids, TOO many kids, I can’t help but

feel the crush of cultural expectations. People begin to translate

large family size as irresponsibility. People start using terms like

“more kids than she can handle” and “socially selfish”. They make

comments about finances and sex lives and all sorts of things that

don’t concern them.

When I took the pregnancy test a several weeks ago that told me

a tiny life was forming deep inside of me, I cried. I fell heavy into

my husband’s arms and devoured his reassurances that this was

exactly what God wanted for us. I believed him in my heart, but

my brain needed to catch up. I asked him not to share the news

until I could do what I needed to do. I had to muster up the cour-

age of my convictions.

I’m still afraid. I harbor the same fear all moms have. Will I be

enough for them? Even on the best day I am outweighed by the

pile of laundry next to the washing machine. There are miserable

moments when I just want to lie down with the two teething tod-

dlers and cry with them. The cycle of “cook and clean” in this

house would overwhelm anyone. And sometimes I get frustrated

that there isn’t more time for me to be just a woman. Because,

underneath all of these children, that’s all I am.

But I’m a woman standing on a solid foundation. I am a woman

with the voice of God in her ear saying, “This is what I made you

for.” I am a woman emboldened by the courage of her convictions.

I look at each of my four sons and my step-daughter and I feel

that courage grow. When I serve them dinner, hold a cool rag

to a fevered head, pray them back to sleep after a nightmare, I

hear God tell me that I am worthy of the task. When they play

and laugh and interact with each other, when they are passionate

about something, excited to learn, I see the opportunities God has

given me to influence the future. And when I mess up and fail

them, I am reminded of an amazing grace, and I thank Him even

more then for allowing me to be their mother.

Psalms 127:4-5 says “Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are

the children of one’s youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver

is full of them…”

I cannot tell you exactly why I feel so strongly about having a large

family. I just do. And even though I sometimes question myself,

and surely other people question me, I know this to be absolutely

true: I will never regret my kids. Each of my babies has changed

me and I feel confident that with their hearts and the foundation

they are being given, they will change the world.

So it is with the utmost courage and pride, I announce to you that

our family is growing again. This child will be exactly who he or

she is meant to be, and I am so blessed that it is meant to be mine.

We welcome you with open arms, wee one. We will see you soon.

46 people


on October 17 and 18, Saint Boniface Catholic School

in Fort Smith will host its 127th annual lawn social, an

event rooted in community, tradition, and faith. Much

like an old-time county fair, it will include a spaghetti dinner, a

silent auction, and a field full of games and entertainment for chil-

dren and adults.

Karen Hollenbeck, the principal and former student, says it’s one

of the city’s oldest running celebrations. “When I was a child, I

remember looking forward to the event for weeks. It was on the

parking lot. My parents would give me a dollar, and I could run

wild all night. I think tickets were ten cents apiece.”

This year’s lawn social will take place on Hilary Field, directly across

from the school at North 19th and B Streets. Admission is free.

Once inside, you can buy carnival tickets for fifty cents each, and

most games cost two tickets. There will be lots to do, including

paintball, an obstacle course, inflatables, and a basketball toss.

“Each year, we add new things,” says Karen, “but some stay the

same, just for the sake of tradition. That’s important because our

traditions run deep. My granddad and dad went here, I went here,

and my children went here. A lot of families have stories like mine.

And when children experience the same things their parents did, it

strengthens the family bond.”

An outgrowth of Saint Boniface Catholic Church, the school

opened its doors in 1887. At that time, it was a four-room build-

ing, with two rooms used as classrooms and two used as living

quarters for the Benedictine nuns who served as teachers.

Shortly after the school opened, some of the church parishioners

started the lawn social to raise money for the school. The first

year they brought ice cream, had a picnic on the lawn and raised

fifty dollars.

Over one hundred years later, the lawn social is still used as a fund-

raiser for the school, which is kindergarten through sixth grade, and

has approximately 175 students. This year’s goal is thirty to forty

thousand dollars. “Sometimes the money is earmarked for technol-

ogy, to improve our server and wireless, to add classroom com-

puters,” says Karen, “but sometimes it goes to the general fund…

What we charge for tuition is much less than what it actually cost to

educate a kiddo, so we have to make that up some way.”

Typically, the lawn social takes place over the course of one eve-

ning, but this year’s event has been extended to two nights. A few

activities, like the spaghetti supper and silent auction, will be held

indoors. There will also be a dollar raffle, with prizes that include a

side of beef, a flat screen television, and cash.

Entertainment will include local school bands, as well as the Saint

Boniface Rhythm Band, a tradition that began in the 1940s and is

made up of kindergarteners armed with triangles and rhythm sticks.

“I think people show up because they connect to the tradition,”

Karen says. “They like to remember another time, a different way

of life when things were slower and maybe our focus was a little

more clear. I think it’s a way to almost move back in time a little

bit, to go back to our roots.”

Saint Boniface Lawn Social: October 17 and 18, from 5 to 10

PM at Hilary Field, at the corner of North 19 and B Streets

in Fort Smith. Spaghetti dinners are $6 for adults and $3.50

for children. the event will take place rain or shine.

For more information, visit stbonifaceschool.org or call

the school office at 479.783.6601.

words marcus cokerImage courtesy Saint Boniface catholic School

The Lawn Social, 127 years Later

48 entertainment


Bentonville, Arkansas sits in the northwest corner of the state. It’s as complex a city as you’re bound to find: part corporate America due

to the impact of Sam Walton’s Walmart (headquartered there); part small town

America, as evidenced in its town square where local musicians gather almost every

Friday for Pickin’ in the Park, an event that’s free to attend.

Also in this city of 41,000 is the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, which

is there because of the philanthropy of Sam and Helen Walton’s daughter Alice

Walton and the Walmart Foundation. The world-class museum brings in 220,000

visitors a year from across the globe.

To get the full effect of this great town, you’ll want to seek out some of its newest

offerings and visit some of its oldest sites.

Head directly downtown. It’s going to be busy, so scope out the public parking areas

and find your spot near the square. Tip: If you travel on a Saturday morning, you’ll

also get to enjoy the farmers’ market.

It’sHIpto be squareBentonville, arkansas

Emily mcarthur photography

words marla cantrellimages marla cantrell and courtesy Emily mcarthur photography,the pressroom, the walmart museum, the peel mansion and heritage Gardens, crystal Bridges museum of american art

50 travel


M O R N I N G

B r e A k fA s t

The Pressroom121 West Central Avenue

thepressroom.com

The Pressroom (great coffee, full bar, deli-

ciously fresh food) is a popular place, and

today diners are filling the tables and spill-

ing out onto the sidewalk where there’s

extra seating. Bea Apple, an electrical

engineer by training, who owns this eat-

ery, along with her husband, moved here

eight years ago, knowing that when Crys-

tal Bridges opened in 2011, opportunity

would come with it.

Start with a Vanilla Honey Latte ($3.40)

and the Avocado Breakfast Sandwich

($4.00): whole wheat bread, avocado,

fried egg, cheddar cheese and mayo. Not

in the mood for avocado? Try the French

Baguette ($5.00) with Prosciutto and but-

ter, drizzled with scallion oil.

M I D - M O R N I N G

The Walmart Museum105 North Main

walmartstores.com

FREE

An easy walk from The Pressroom leads

you to an old dime store, complete with

red and white awning. Step inside and

you’re in the Walton 5&10, a working

travel 51


store with reproductions of old toys for

sale, bins of taffy, a stack of aprons your

grandmother might have worn. Sam Wal-

ton opened this shop in 1950, well before

he launched his first Walmart store.

Wind your way through the dime store

and you’re in the self-guided museum

that walks you through Sam’s life using

displays, videos, and even the 1979 Ford

pickup he drove year after year. A must-

see is Sam’s office, just as it was when he

was building the Walmart empire.

Stop at the display that shows items re-

turned to Walmart stores. The policy that

the customer is always right is showcased

in the hand mixer one unhappy customer

claimed was possessed, a Stanley thermos

made in 1954 and returned to Walmart in

1983 because it leaked, and an outdoor

thermometer that was returned because

“it never had the correct time.”

Exit through The Spark Café, an old-fash-

ioned soda fountain.

Bonus: During the month of September,

there will be three concerts at the Walmart

Museum, with tickets selling for only $5

each, with proceeds benefitting local or-

ganizations. September 6, An Evening

With Sarah Hughes; September 13, Jazz

with 4Tet; and September 27, Memphis

blues artist Mark Stuart will be perform-

ing songs from his debut album. Details at

downtownbentonville.org.

s h o p p i n gYou have time before lunch, so you might

as well throw down a little cash. There are

great boutiques on the square.

The MustacheGoods and Wears113 West Central Avenue

facebook.com/mustachegw

T-shirts with Arkansas logos, jewelry

shaped like the state, dish towels and

glasses with Arkansas locations, even a lo-

cally made beer bottle opener fashioned

from a hand-finished piece of wood and

a really big bent nail. All this plus candles,

everything mustache, purses, and great

gift ideas.

Posh Alley Boutique112 West Central Avenue

facebook.com/posh-alley-boutique

Local art, hand-painted furniture, super-

cool women’s clothing, housewares with

major personality. (Check out the deer

wearing the hat!) Great selection of jew-

elry, accessories, tons of fun pillows.

Blue Moon Market113 North Main

facebook.com/blue-moon-market

This is the place where vintage meets

trendy and shabby meets chic. Lots of

great jewelry, accessories, and clothing for

the fashion conscious and those who want

something with a little extra pizzaz.

N O O N

Table Mesa Bistro108 East Central Avenue, Suite 10

tablemesabistro.com

Reservations recommended

Table Mesa Bistro’s menu is “modern

Latin,” featuring flavors from Central and

South America.

52 travel


A bestseller is the fish tacos ($12), made

with mahi-mahi, flown in from Seattle,

where the owners, Chris Garrett and his

wife, lived before moving to Bentonville,

again, in anticipation of Crystal Bridges.

Besides the fish tacos, the other favorites

are: Cheap Dates ($7): Medjoohl dates

stuffed with gorgonzola, cream cheese

and wrapped in hardwood smoked bacon;

Steak Madagascar ($25): ribeye steak with

a port cream reduction.

The Curry Chicken Burrito ($12), is what I

finally chose. It’s a Thai style yellow curry

burrito with slow roasted (fall-off-your-

fork tender) chicken, avocado, aged jack

cheese, roasted corn topped with gua-

jillo sauces. It’s served with Cuban black

beans and Latin rice, and could have easily

fed two. The spices were part sweet/part

spicy, and the dish was phenomenal. This

meal alone is worth the trip.

A F T E R N O O N

You’ve likely eaten too much, but you can

walk it off by going to these two nearby

places:

Museum ofNative American History

202 Southwest O Street

monah.us

FREE

Not far from downtown sits the Museum

of Native American History. You’ll know

you’re there when you see the Teepee

outside. Go into the building, nod to the

mammoth and the black bear that greet

you, and make your way to the gift shop.

That’s where you’ll pick up your audio de-

vice that’s used to explain the exhibits. The

museum is organized in chronological or-

der, starting with the Paleo period.

The Peel Mansion Museum & Heritage Gardens

400 South Walton Boulevard

peelcompton.org

$5 adults. $2 ages 6–12.

The Peel Mansion Museum & Heritage Gar-

dens sit near a Walmart store on a piece

of ground that’s steeped in history. And no

one knows the story of how this place came

to be better than Volunteer Coordinator

Carol Harris, who just happens to be one of

the best storytellers you’ll ever meet.

“The Peel Mansion Museum [built in

1875] was a gift of love from Colonel

Samuel West Peel to his wife, Mary Ema-

line,” Carol says. “He asked her to marry

him several times, but she was a Southern

belle. She was holding out for a gentle-

man who would build her a big old house

like she was accustomed to, being born in

the state of Alabama.

“He finally said he would, so they got mar-

ried, and a passel of children and a Civil

War later, he kept his promise.”

The Peel Mansion is 6,000 square feet,

built in the Italianate Villa style in 1875. In

its glory it was a working farm surrounded

by 180 acres of apple orchards.

On your tour you’ll hear the story of the

Peels and their nine children, and you’ll

see this beautifully restored piece of his-

tory, complete with furnishings and even

the original china the family used. The Peel

Mansion can be rented for special occa-

sions, such as weddings, as well.

Bonus: During the holidays, The Peel Man-

sion Museum and Heritage Gardens will

be decked out for Christmas and there will

be an open house.

Crystal BridgesMuseum of American Art

600 Museum Way

crystalbridges.org

FREE

travel 53


Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art

sits on 120 acres of forested land that is

home to urban bike and walking trails that

connect the site to downtown. The build-

ing itself, designed by world-renowned ar-

chitect Moshie Safdie, is a work of art. The

museum’s permanent collection spans five

centuries of American masterworks, includ-

ing Norman Rockwell’s Rosie the Riveter

and Andy Warhol’s Dolly Parton, and also

includes greats such as Winslow Homer,

Jackson Pollock, John Singer Sargent, and

Maxfield Parrish.

Find time to stop by the museum’s restau-

rant, Eleven, for coffee, wine, a light snack

or a full meal. They even have chicken and

waffles, shrimp and grits, and beans and

cornbread.

Remember, the museum is closed on Tues-

days.

E V E N I N G

Fred’s Hickory Inn1502 North Walton Boulevard

fredshickoryinn.net

Reservations recommended

Fred’s Hickory Inn, which was once a

youth camp with an 1890 log cabin on

site, changed hands in 1969 and opened

as a restaurant in 1970. The food here has

attracted celebrities like Paula Abdul and

Toby Keith. And Bill Clinton informally an-

nounced his run for the presidency at one

of the tables.

General Manager Greg Cockrum points

to a table in the back. “Sam Walton was

a real humble guy,” Greg says, “always

sat at that table. Had that F150 truck, al-

ways had trouble with the battery. He had

jumper cables hanging in the kitchen.”

Fred’s has not varied from their original

1970s menu, and one of the original

dishwashers from that era is now one of

the cooks.

The smoked sirloin served with Au Jus

($12.50 - 7 oz.) was perfect, fork-tender.

If you’re still hungry, order the no-bake

cheesecake. Nothing pretentious. Perfectly

delicious.

Fred’s Hickory Inn holds approximately

250 people but don’t let that stop you

from making reservations. You’ll likely

need them.

There you have it, one fun-filled

day in Bentonville. If you need

even more reasons to go, con-

sider this: Lawrence Park, just off

the square, hosts free First Friday

Flicks, which begin around eight

in the evening. On September 5,

you can see The Little Giants, and

on October 3, The Corpse Bride.

The Walmart Museum also hosts

Sidewalk Sundays from 2 – 5PM,

free family events that include ev-

erything from planting fall flowers

(September 7) to making pottery

(September 14) to a demonstra-

tion by IBM (September 21) on

how to make ice cream in minutes

using liquid nitrogen.

54 travel


MORNINGHog Master and orange juice

AfteRNOONHog Master, cola and splash of lime juice

NIGhtHog Master and an energy drink

add 1 shot of hog master heavenly liqueur to glass filled with ice. fill glass with orange juice (morning), cola and lime (afternoon), or an energy drink (night). Stir gently.

image Jeromy price

56 taste


words & Images lauren allen, tastesbetterfromscratch.com

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...Garlic-Ranch chicken pizza

58 taste


I’ve been making homemade pizzas with my mom ever since I was little. I loved

to help her stretch the dough, and she would always let us choose the toppings

we wanted. Pizza night was a fun activity for our whole family.

Once I got married, my husband requested homemade pizza just about every

weekend. But there was only one problem; I wasn’t in love with the pizza crust

recipe I’d always used. SO, I set out to find the best pizza crust recipe out there.

Now, for someone who makes homemade pizza on almost a weekly basis, I’ve

tried my fair share of pizza crust recipes. Many of them were close successes, and

many were utter failures. It’s taken me a long time to adapt and combine things

from recipes I’ve liked in order to make the perfect recipe — but now I can con-

fidently say THIS IS IT!

I’ve found that the key to making pizza from home is pre-baking your pizza

crust. It’s absolutely essential to pre-bake it for five or six minutes, then put your

toppings on, and return it to the oven to finish baking. This will result in a crust

that holds its own and is crispy on the outside, and soft and airy on the inside.

You also really need to take the time to let the dough rise. I’ve tried tons of “no-

rise” or “fifteen-minute” pizza crust recipes, and none of them tastes as good as

when you let the dough rise. That’s just how it has to be done — and you’ll be

so pleased with the results!

Now that you’ve got the perfect pizza dough recipe, you’ve got to make this

amazing Garlic-Ranch Chicken Pizza. I love the flavor and creaminess that this

homemade garlic-ranch sauce adds to the pizza. Top it with layers of tomato, ba-

con, chicken, and mozzarella cheese and you’ve got a real winner. Try it baked,

or grilled.

Lauren Allen is the creator of

TastesBetterFromScratch.com, an

exciting and beautiful food blog dedicated

to sharing her love of cooking and

creating new recipes from her family

home in St. Louis. Lauren truly believes

that everything tastes better homemade!

taste 59


Garlic-Ranch Chicken PizzaINGREDIENTSDough for 1 pizza2 cups mozzarella cheese, shredded1/2 cup bacon, cooked and crumbled1 cup chicken, cooked and shredded2 tomatoes, thinly sliced

Garlic-Ranch SauceINGREDIENTS2 Tablespoons sour cream3 Tablespoons mayonnaise2 1/2 Tablespoons milk1/2 teaspoon garlic salt1/8 teaspoon chopped, dried chives1/8 teaspoon dill1/8 teaspoon dried parsleyDash of onion powderSalt and pepper, to taste

METHODMix all ingredients together for the garlic-ranch sauce. Spread mixture over the top of the pizza dough. Sprinkle 1 cup of the mozzarella cheese over top, followed by the chicken, bacon, and tomatoes. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top. Bake at 450° for 9 – 12 minutes, or until crust is golden brown and cheese is bubbly.

*For grilled pizzas: Oil your grill and heat to medium-low. Shape dough into long, slipper-shaped pieces. Brush dough with olive oil and grill for 2 minutes on one side, with the grill closed. Flip to the other side and brush again with olive oil. Cook for 2 minutes, with the grill lid closed. Remove crust to a plate and add toppings. Return to grill and cook just until cheese is melted, 1-2 more minutes.

Pizza CrustINGREDIENTS2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast2 teaspoons sugar1 1/2 cups warm water3 Tablespoons olive oil1 1/2 teaspoons salt1 teaspoon white vinegar3 3/4 - 4 cups flour (bread flour works best, but all-purpose works fine)

METHODIn a large bowl of a stand mixer combine 1/2 cup of the warm water with the sugar and yeast. Stir to dissolve the yeast and let rest for 5 minutes. Add the remaining 1 cup of warm water, and the olive oil, salt and vinegar.

Mix on medium-low speed and gradually add flour. Knead for about 7 minutes, or until the dough is smooth and elastic (it should be sticky, but not so sticky that it sticks to your clean fingertips). Cover the bowl with a dry towel and allow to rest in a warm place until doubled in volume — about 1 hour.

Gently punch the dough down and place on a floured counter top. Divide the dough into 3 equal pieces (this can vary depending on how thick you want your crust and how big you want your pizza. I make three medium sized pizzas). Roll and stretch your dough to desired size and thickness. Allow to rest for 20 minutes. In the meantime, preheat your oven to 450° and brush dough lightly with olive oil.

Pre-bake the dough on a pizza stone or in pizza pan for 6 minutes. Remove from oven and add toppings. Return to oven and bake for 8-12 more minutes or until the crust is golden brown and cheese is bubbly.

60 taste


fiction Marla Cantrell

62 southern lit


I’m reading this book on how to get a man

to propose that Mama bought me because I’ve been seeing Holt

three years come October and he hasn’t once mentioned matri-

mony. So far, this is what I’ve tried:

1. Took him to a cemetery so he’d realize life is short. Standing

next to an ornate headstone, wearing heels and showing a

little cleavage makes you look (A) like a living breathing beauty

queen and (B) like somebody who’d be willing to birth a man

a few babies, guaranteeing him the only version of eternal life

a mortal girl has access to.

2. Bought panties three sizes too small and tossed them across

the handlebars of the stationary bike in my bedroom, hop-

ing he’d see them and believe I was one of those tiny women

whose behind would fit into a toddler’s car seat. Apparently, a

tiny behind makes a man weak in the knees. (I’d like to point

out that this tip collides with another in chapter twelve that

tells you big hips equate fertility, another thing men are sup-

posed to find irresistible.)

3. Went camping. Pretended to like it. Got up at three in the

morning to put on makeup so I’d look good when Holt woke

up. Saw what I believe was a bear (or a giant raccoon) and ran

like the dickens until I reached the bathroom that, let’s face it,

smelled worse than the city’s water supply when the lake turns

over every summer. Cursed the raccoon/bear, cursed society

for making me believe I am inferior without my lip gloss and

mascara, and then I sat on the toilet that looked like a glorified

trashcan and read the next chapter: “Make Him Make You His

Queen for Life”.

Which is why I sent myself flowers today. A big bouquet of cab-

bage roses and gardenias and white peonies that cost me two

days’ salary. The card read: Thinking of you and wanting you and

dreaming of you. Of course I didn’t sign it. Soon as the flowers ar-

rived I acted all surprised so the other girls in the office would see

and back me up if I needed them. Next, I texted Holt to thank him.

Then I took a picture of the card and I sent it to him. And then I

took a picture of the flowers and sent that.

I waited. Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty. And then my boss came

in and asked me real haughty like if I was working or just holding

down my chair, so I got back on the phone trying to sell burial

plots, which is not easy on any day — don’t get me started on

what cremation’s done to my weekly quota — but is even harder

when you’re waiting to see if your favorite chapter, “How to Make

Him Make You His Queen for Life,” is going to work.

I couldn’t even eat lunch, that’s how upset I was, so I stayed in

the break room where all the pictures on the paneled walls are of

headstones — one of them reads “Grandma’s Gone to the Super

Walmart in the Sky,” I kid you not — and I stared at my phone and

I reasoned with myself. Holt sets up people’s satellite dishes, so he

could have been up on a roof out in the country, getting some nice

family access to Pretty Little Liars and Duck Dynasty. But by three I

was sweating a little, I’ll admit that. So I told my boss I was having

lady problems and I grabbed my flowers and headed home.

There Holt was. Sitting on my porch, his big hands clasped to-

gether, his brow furrowed like a man who just learned he owed

back taxes. I took it as a good sign, since Holt never takes off

work early, not even when the Razorbacks play one of those bowl

games that I pretend to know all about.

So, I put on some lip gloss and I swung my legs out of the car like

I’ve seen actresses do — one high heel and then the other hitting

the red clay earth — and then I stood, one hand on my hip. Holt

had straightened up and was watching me, his fingers moving

through his blond hair. I walked to the passenger’s side and leaned

through the window, and I unbuckled my flowers from where I’d

secured them when I hightailed it out of work. Then I clutched

them to my chest — I had on my V-neck blouse that could sell

a dozen burial plots if those old geezers on the telephone could

see me when I called — and I held them like they were the most

cherished thing I’d ever gotten.

Holt had stepped off the porch, his arms crossed, a frown pulling

down his square jaw.

“I declare, Holt,” I said. “Aren’t you just full of surprises today?

First the flowers and now here you are at my house!”

“You’re home early,” he said, real flat and broody. “You expect-

ing somebody?”

“Lord, no,” I said. “I took off early so I could throw on some steaks

and then call you up and see if you’d come over and have dinner

with me. The flowers,” I said, and then stopped, like I might cry

if I went on. Just so you know, I did have two steaks thawing in

the fridge, like any good girl who’d read chapter five “Steak and

Make Out —- The Recipe for Matrimony,” which of course I had.

southern lit 63


“About that,” Holt said.

I interrupted. “I had no idea you knew my favorite flowers were

cabbage roses. And light pink. You know me so well.” Here I

touched one perfectly manicured fingertip to my cheek, wiping

away an imaginary tear. “I was telling Mama Sunday last how

amazing you are. I said, ‘Holt Abbott is better than a weekend in

the deer woods, followed by two nights of football and then a trip

to Talladega.’”

Holt smiled at me like he was seeing me for the first time.

“You said that?” he asked.

“I surely did.”

Holt shook his head. “I never met a girl like you,” he said. “You

wake up just as pretty as when you went to bed. You like camp-

ing and football and beer and racing. And you’re as innocent as a

newborn, Livvie, I want you to know that. Men look at you all the

time and you never even notice. I’ll bet you got guys telling you

they wish they were in my shoes all the time.”

“Oh you,” I said, and set my flowers on the ground beside me.

“Nobody pays me no never mind.” I looked off, like something

real important had just occurred to me. “Well, almost no one.

There’s this one guy. He owns the Bloomer’s Diner downtown.

Owns it,” I said, putting the emphasis on the word owns. “Why,

he’s no older than we are. Sometimes he delivers burgers to the

office and he’ll tell me I look nice, nothing personal mind you, just

being pleasant.” I tapped my lip and wait a second. “Well, some-

times he does throw in a strawberry malt even though I didn’t

order one. And that one time he asked me out I told him I was see-

ing someone. He asked if we were exclusive and I thought, Well, I

am. I don’t know about Holt. Are you exclusive, Holt?”

Holt had his keychain in his hands and he was swinging his keys

around his index finger. Fast. “Hell, Livvie,” he said, “of course

we’re exclusive. Why, we’re more than exclusive. You and me,

well I figure, you and me are headed for the altar sooner or later.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I asked.

“I believe I…” he said and then stopped. I looked down so he

could see my long lashes — the extensions Carla Jo put on down

at Hair and Back cost sixty-five dollars. Worth every penny. “I

reckon I am,” he said, and stopped again. I looked up at him and

pinched the bridge of my nose so I wouldn’t cry. Holt smiled.

And then he squatted right down on the ground, then hopped up

on one knee. I held out my left hand and he took it. “Livvie Rudell,

I love you so much it makes me crazy sometimes. Makes me con-

fused, if you want to know the truth, like I’ve had too much to

drink even when I haven’t touched a drop.” Holt seemed to be

veering off, so I patted his arm. He drew in his breath and then he

said. “I’ve been thinking we ought to get married.”

I fell into his arms. He picked me up and swung me around. He

kissed me. And let me tell you this, it felt even better than it looks

at the movies when the music starts to swell, filling the whole

dang sky, and everybody on camera starts to dance. I looked at

my front door. Inside, the book that made this moment possible

sat hidden in my lingerie drawer under my beige underpants, the

ones that actually fit me. I imagined it opening and shutting fast,

the pages clapping for me, like a magic book filled with spells.

Truth is, Holt cast his spell on me the first time he showed up at my

door to set me up with satellite. His smile near about blocked out

the sun. “I’m here to open up your world,” he said, which is this

corny thing his company makes him say to new customers. And I

thought right then and there, with my left hand shielding my eyes

against the bright day (so that he could see that I wasn’t wearing

a ring more than anything else), I thought to myself, I believe you

could, you handsome hunk of change. You could open my world

wide as a pocketbook, wider than the Gulf of Mexico. And that’s

when my heart split in two, and Holt stepped into the opening and

filled it clean up.

Just so you know, I plan to be the best wife you ever saw. I plan

to love me some football, tolerate beer, learn the names of those

slick-haired race car drivers that wear those awful coveralls. All of

this I plan to do, right after I send my sweet old mama the biggest

bouquet of roses you ever did see.

64 southern lit


Read chair publishing, llc7030 taylor avenue, Suite 5fort Smith, aR 72916

do south magazine: four – september 2014

Documents

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great way

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