Northeast Arkansas - grace grits and gardening

Violet Cemetery, Osceola, Arkansas

March 19, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Violet Cemetery, Osceola, Ar

I want to be buried here. Someday. Just plant my dead body in the midst of the gorgeous tulips, and I would be happy for all eternity.

Is this not the most beautiful cemetery?

Violet Cemetery is the final resting place for early settlers, war veterans and founding fathers of Osceola, Arkansas. Obviously I won’t be allowed in. The first grave marker dated 1831 pre-dates the founding of Mississippi County and Arkansas Statehood. It’s truly a peaceful patch of heaven, smack in the center of downtown Osceola, across from the tired little post office and fire station.

tulips grow like ground cover

Growing up, downtown Osceola was vibrant. It was a treat to shop at Sterlings, buying goldfish which unfortunately didn’t live long in our household. I purchased my first 45 record down at the end of Main Street. Although the record shop is long gone and forgotten by most, that 1970’s vinyl still lives deep within our quiet bedroom closet with dusty board games and old prom dresses.

Years ago, a group of dedicated citizens formed an association to beautify the neglected cemetery. Raising funds, they re-set and repaired markers and planted violets at each grave, hence the name. Although the violets were not blooming when I visited, the tulips were absolutely brilliant. Multiplying and spreading across the cemetery, they were nearly choking out the grave markers, pushing up through the cracks of the stepping stones, clearly thriving in this spot. Gene Robinson, an energetic resident who was devoted to Osceola, worked tirelessly to insure Violet Cemetery was added to the National Register of Historic Places. She died recently, but I bet she is smiling over these happy tulips.

Although activity has migrated toward the interstate and the new Wal-Mart, in the center of Osceola, Violet Cemetery still shines.

talya

“The true meaning of life is to plant trees under which you never expect to sit.” Nelson Henderson

“Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things: enter into the joy of your lord.” (King James, Matthew 25:23)

Works of art…

Osceola history
died Nov 23 1884

Musical Beds

March 17, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Has anyone tried the new McDonald’s Fish McBites? They have been heavily advertised everywhere lately. Who buys these things? I couldn’t even bribe my 11-year-old niece and nephew to test them out during one of our four McDonald’s stops Saturday. Yes, we made four McDonald’s pit stops driving from Dallas to our childhood home in Osceola, Arkansas. The fresh brewed iced tea and generally clean bathrooms make it often the best, safest stop along the way. This 8 hour drive marked the beginning of our exciting spring break kick-off. No exhilarating snow skiing trips to Vail or warm, sunny Caribbean cruises with tropical coconut umbrella drinks. No lazy walks on sugary Destin beaches for us. Our family spring break trips include Arkansas, complete with tornado warnings, horse races and trips to That Bookstore in Blytheville. Always. That’s just how we are.

As soon as we walked into our house in Arkansas, an immediate argument ensued involving who would sleep where. Tired, numb and irritable, this issue was suddenly escalated to our number one hot topic, ahead of dinner plans. There are 4 bedrooms in this sprawling house if you include the cave-like, tornado-shelter, doll tomb room. I was NOT going to sleep in there. The house rambles around almost in a horseshoe shape, with one bedroom facing each direction which makes for better storm viewing. Rooms were added every few years when Daddy had an especially good crop and Momma was particularly bored.

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The big bedroom in the back of the house is the room Staci and I shared growing up. It’s still our room. The man from Memphis who installed our orange shag carpet in the early 1970s told us he installed the exact carpet in Graceland for Elvis! Wow. And now with one flip of her long straight hair, my niece decided she would sleep in our room? NotGonnaHappen. Our stuff is still in there. Our handprints from Vacation Bible School still mark the space.

A slight meltdown followed as we ignored her. And there was pouting. She shot us the stink eye. With one quick glance to my sister, we silently formed an allegiance like old times, completely pulling rank, taking back what was rightfully ours. We could do that hair flip too, summoning the ghost of our 1970s long mousy brown ironing board straight hair. (insert eye roll here) My niece, Taylor, clearly had no idea we were once cool. Sorta. We haven’t always had this old short brittle hair.

That night, Staci and I settled into our big king sized bed giggling and gossiping until we drifted off to sleep, with visions of an earlier time dancing in our head. There is something about being home that makes you revert to being a teenager…All was calm, until we woke up frozen half to death. It was cold and windy in the back of the house, in our bedroom, even piled under quilts and blankets. We tossed and turned, too cold to escape long enough to turn up the heat. That next morning my back was stiff and my neck hurt. I didn’t feel like a teenager. Was Staci alive? She wasn’t moving. The bed was hard and the pillow was a stone. It didn’t seem the same.

As we crawled into the kitchen for coffee, Momma confessed that our comfy bed had been switched out with another ancient bed from Papa Creecy’s house. What?? Ick! Suddenly our room didn’t seem so attractive. With our sister alliance still firmly in place at breakfast we announced to Taylor, “You can have our bedroom tonight. So you can watch the tv.”

Hollow victory.

talya

Beatles, “I’m so Tired”

The Chordettes, “Mr. Sandman”

Frog Legs? Yes, please.

March 9, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Had any good frog legs lately? Deep fried with white cream gravy?

When I was in high school, the Wilson Tavern in Wilson, Arkansas had the best all-you-can-eat frog leg buffet on Friday nights. They were slap yo’ momma good.

Frog legs are a true southern delicacy, and my boyfriend, Steve, could make an impressive dent in that buffet. Sadly, The Wilson Tavern closed, but maybe someone in Wilson still has that recipe?

The Wilson Tavern

During the hot steamy Arkansas summers, hours after sunset, Steve taught me to frog gig. We spent many a hot date trolling ditch banks in a john boat looking for frogs. Romantic, no?

Steve wore a flashlight strapped around his head like a coal miner. It takes two hands to properly gig a frog. The victims were thrown into a burlap sack in the belly of the boat where they jumped and twitched sporadically. With my feet holding down the bag-o-frogs, I watched for water moccasins in the low, overhanging tree branches. Mississippi County ditches were tangled with brush and twisty vines, the perfect hiding place for snakes, and each came with an intricately crafted beaver dam.

Frog gigging was not a sport for the faint hearted.

Recently at my neighborhood Dallas grocery store, I asked one of the workers to point me in the direction of the frog legs. She responded with a blank stare on her young tree-hugger face, as if I hailed from a far away galaxy.

After a pause she replied, “We have organic fruit from Frog Hollow Farm.”

I returned her stare knowing she wasn’t yet born when Yoda trained Luke Skywalker in that frog pond. Then she added, “And we sell organic wine from Frog Pond Winery.”

OhNeverYouMindHippieGirl.

Apparently this particular grocery store was a big annual supporter of Save the Frogs Day. I didn’t have the heart to explain to the young grocery clerk that the cute little bright green and yellow tree frogs disappearing from the rain forests in Belize, with zero leg meat, aren’t the same ones we gigged in the swampy ditches of Keiser, Arkansas or ate at The Wilson Tavern. I kept this information to myself, paid for a bag of organic asparagus and politely left.

Soon I’ll be back in Arkansas for a visit. Maybe while I’m there, I will eat a platter of frog legs. They taste just like chicken. Only better.