The first day in residence looked in on Mossy Bluff National Nature Trail,
which found local holly berries, soft blue monkshood, bright red buckeye,
and a multitude of dogwoods all glowing brightly from the forest floor and
the understory, a recurring theme on all of the trails. However, water
flow seemed minimal, considering the time of year. The tenant
cascade splashed along with less enthusiasm than usual.
A trek around the Sugar Loaf showcased much of the same, to include bright
yellow cowpea and purple phlox fringing clear views of the mountain from the
waterfowl pond. Likely the most interesting point on this visit proved
to be a sublime new stone map and accompanying trailhead markers.
The day ended with a bit of bingo up in Mountain View. It was not the most interesting experience for me. Usually, the ladies go have their fun with all that and I go find something more intriguing for myself, like wandering the woods.
After wandering about woods again on Sunday morning, a trip down to Little Rock to take in the Symphony ensued. Some in the party were a little disappointed that there were no visuals, in spite of the fact that plenty appeared on the backside of my eyelids.
The following day brought the eclipse, and the lack of turnout for the event in our little neck of the woods. The highway patrol and Department of Transportation were ready for it, as well as many other organizations. The crowds never materialized, but I did get a few good shots. There is this one of the moment of totality, and another of the diamond ring. More wandering about the woods completed the evening, along with some tasty treats prepared by one of our hosts.
The journey home on the following date offered little time for distraction. The beautifully warm, clear day had a few agenda items and the rare timetable. Arriving in Warsaw on scheduled, a pause to look in on some land in Warsaw proved enlightening, though a rare opportunity to reconnect with a long-lost friend failed completely. A little further up the road, a few amusements in Clinton posed for their close-up while we surfed around for a bit of sustenance.
None could be found, worth having, until we began to edge out of town. The realization hit us that we had yet to try Mallard's Roadhouse though and, after a quick search for their hours, we discovered we were lucky ducks. What had been Graffiti's for untold years, then Mallard's for the last 10, we were pleasantly surprised to have found a new roadside haunt for our non-franchise appetite that proved itself worth every cent. Satisfied, the remainder of the journey included nothing but music, sunshine and relatively empty roads.
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