I’ve been visiting Northeast Arkansas for the past week and a half. Northeast Arkansas replenishes my soul with peace and quiet, soil and wide open spaces, memories. Northeast Arkansas is a great place to write.

While here I’m staying at my mother’s house, our childhood home, known as the Bat Cave.  We nicknamed the house after my mother, Barbara Ann Tate whose initials spell BAT.

The name is fitting for both the cave and my mother…

Our old farmhouse rambles and meanders much like the nearby mighty Mississippi River. Every seven years or so, when Daddy had a particularly good crop, rooms were added on here and there by local construction workers, who may or may not have been qualified, resulting in oddly placed windows and rooms with no windows at all. Although I’ve not yet noticed a stalactite or a real, live bat, I would not be surprised.

Growling and moaning deep underneath the Bat Cave lies one of the largest seismic zones on the planet. The New Madrid Fault cuts through the middle of the carport, zigzagging under Mississippi County and into Missouri and Illinois. Like a beast, it burps and sighs as everyone in Northeast Arkansas waits for The Big One. 

I’m pretty sure I felt a tremor a few night’s ago. 

The constant earth movement has resulted in wall cracks allowing easy access for mice and squirrels and frogs and giant bull snakes (plural) that slither on the fireplace mantle…

Despite all this, the Bat Cave provides good sleeping with a extra helping of adventure.

The Spanish tile in the back game room is riddled with bullet holes from the hostage shootout. There is an entire wall of cheesy pictures marking the Yellow Corvette Days. And, like Elvis’ Graceland, we have our own jungle room.

Papa Creecy’s wild boar

I’ll be here a bit longer. Stop by if you would like a free tour.

I Feel the Earth Move, Carole King