Think on Good Things exists to simply share positive, funny, and uplifting stories and information of people, places, and things. Thinking on Good Things can provide a boost for any day! I hope you enjoy!
Let’s all be kind to each other today…. because you know what? We all carry silent, invisible weights. Even though our days are full of blessings – we also all have pains. Sometimes, a person will drop what they are doing and just freeze, stopped dead in their tracks by a sudden wave of emotion, and the people standing right next to them won’t have a single clue why.
I used to have a friend whose favorite catchphrase was, “That’s so weird,” whenever she encountered a person or emotional reaction or a situation she didn’t quite understand. I loved her dearly, but I always winced inside when she said that phrase. Just because a person’s behavior or feelings are unfamiliar to our own lived experience doesn’t make them “weird.” It usually just means we don’t know the story behind it…we don’t understand. We don’t always know what hurts, what fears, what pains a person is carrying behind their smiles.
A Quiet Moment of Reflection
Take last night, for instance. If you had walked into my kitchen, you would have seen a grown woman standing by the cabinets, holding an empty cardboard tube with tears in her eyes. To a stranger, it would probably look weird, but to me, it was a quiet moment of unexpected reflection.
When my parents passed away, I made the decision to move into their house in Green Forest. Even though I had never lived in this house before, it felt like I had… because in many ways, it is the house I grew up in.
When I was a little girl, Mother and Daddy sat down together and carefully drew a house plan that Daddy then built between Hattieville and Old Hickory, Arkansas. Since that house and this house are basically identical, this home has always felt to me like the house I grew up in.
After Mother passed away—she was my last surviving parent—I found joy in the little daily reminders left behind in her space. After moving in, I definitely worked to make the house feel like mine, but I also loved seeing the things that she had left, that she had used. They were precious connections to her, and I treasured each one of them.
But… she’s been gone for almost four years now—and slowly, inevitably, those daily physical reminders, those physical connections are getting fewer and farther between….and I miss them.
The End of the Supply
Last night, I was getting ready to bake some Sister Schubert cinnamon rolls. I was excited to try them! I turned on the oven and started eagerly reading through the instructions. They said to cover the pan loosely with aluminum foil…
…so I walked over to this really cool, custom dispenser that Mother had built into her kitchen cabinets for wax paper, plastic wrap, and aluminum foil. I reached up, grabbed the edge of the foil, and pulled.
As it unrolled, I pulled up a bit preparing to tear it off… but instead, it fell free. It was the end of the roll.
This was a roll of aluminum foil that my mother had bought, and taken out of the box, and placed on that holder when this was still her house. I had just used the very last of her physical supply.
It stopped me for a moment, and it made me remember. I stood in my kitchen holding that piece of aluminum foil thinking about how much she loved her house, how much she loved to cook, how much she loved to smile and laugh, how much she loved to give to others, and about how much she loved me…and I missed her. Tears came to my eyes, and I stood there in the quiet kitchen holding that empty roll for a minute, just treasuring the moment—the physical connection to the mother who birthed me, who loved me, and who worked so hard to build a happy life for me…
The Things That Never Run Out
…and that’s what’s really important. The love she and Daddy poured into me, the things they taught me, the deep joy they wanted for my life, the prayers they prayed for me, the examples they set for me. Those things never go away. They never run out.
So…while it could have definitely looked weird for me to tear up over a box of aluminum foil last night—it really wasn’t. It was just a daughter loving her mother and savoring the memories of the times they shared together.
You really never know what’s going on in a person’s mind and what fears and hurts and pain they carry… because we all have them. So let’s all just be kind today. We are all in this together. ❤️❤️❤️
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32
Have you ever had those moments where you realize the world is so much smaller, and that we are all so much more beautifully interconnected than we realize?
For as long as I can remember, I have been a collector of hidden connections… not things you can hold in your hand, but all the little moments, the little pieces of treasure that life routinely drops in our path.
I think it stems from how I was raised and the journeys life has taken me on so far. My parents and I moved to Carroll County, Arkansas, when I was a little girl… and I suddenly felt so far away from everyone and everything I’d ever known. Before our move, we had lived in a safe, cozy, loving cocoon of family—and suddenly, we knew absolutely no one. It made the world feel kinda big, exciting, scary, lonely, and unpredictable all at once.
Very quickly though….I began to find some connections…and as it turned out, our new county wasn’t such an unfamiliar place after all! Daddy told me that my great-uncle Ira had once worked in the Berryville Post Office building—not for the postal service, but in the county agent’s office. How neat! To this day, I still think of him almost every time I drive by that beautiful old building – and I enjoy the connection.
When I started school in Green Forest, I found out that it wasn’t a place without ties either; my cousin Sarah had graduated from high school there in 1951. Ironically, two of her classmates from that graduating class were sisters, Eula and Ramona, who both ended up becoming our neighbors. Ramona has since passed away, but her sweet son and daughter-in-law are still my neighbors today, and Eula lives just across the fields from me. (Isn’t that cool?)
Those early experiences taught me a lesson I haven’t forgotten: There are always connections around for us to find… and they can help to comfort us and make anywhere feel like home.
I am forever grateful to my parents for diligently emphasizing to me that it’s important to be friendly, to respect others, to appreciate blessings, to strive to approach each day with joy… and to develop and maintain a curious mind that is always eager to learn. Because of that, I see life every day as an incredibly beautiful, varied tapestry that is never truly finished. We go through our days collecting tiny pieces of information, stories, memories, interactions, and moments…things to think about and then carefully tuck away to remember…always looking for new things to connect them to…
Sometimes, the connections come quickly and click right into place. Other times, it takes decades for a memory to find its match. But when the threads finally tie together, it is such fun!
Let me give you an example:
When I was a little girl, we listened to music a lot—either in the car on our fancy new 8-track player (lol) or in the living room on our big, wooden console stereo cabinet. (Google them if you don’t know—they were huge and very cool…at the time! 🙂 ) We spent a lot of time listening to southern gospel albums, comedy albums, classic country music (well… it wasn’t classic then, but it is now!), and more.
One of the many artists we enjoyed was Merle Haggard. His voice would drift out of that wooden console cabinet singing “Mama Tried,” “Okie from Muskogee,” “Silver Wings,” “Workin’ Man Blues,” and “If We Make it Through December.” Great singer—he had such a smooth, relaxed, rich voice…
Years later, I was in college and living with Mel and Judy Tillis, taking care of their sweet little daughter. One morning when I woke up and went sleepily upstairs for breakfast, I found Merle Haggard sitting in the living room visiting with Mel. I said hello and quickly left them to their conversation, but I was really excited to tell Mother and Daddy that I had met Mr. Haggard. It created a wonderful new connection—linking that real-life morning to those childhood days listening to his music with Daddy.
A few years ago, another unexpected tie surfaced on a road trip. A friend and I were driving on Highway 69 across Oklahoma. I glanced up at a road sign and at the last minute saw an exit for “Checotah.” I immediately flipped on my turn signal and tapped the brake to slow down and exit the highway. My friend looked at me curiously, wondering why we were detouring. I smiled and told her we had to take a minute to “drag main” through Checotah because it was Carrie Underwood’s hometown! She asked me how on earth I knew that, and I told her I had learned it from a song. I opened up Spotify and played “I Ain’t in Checotah Anymore” as we rolled through town. Such fun!
When we stopped to get a soda, we started digging into the history of Checotah (population 3,110) a little bit…and we found another small connection: Merle Haggard had ties there also. His parents, James Francis Haggard and Flossie Mae Harp, had lived and farmed in Checotah before moving out to California, where Merle was born. I tucked what we had learned away in my mind… another random bit of history collected.
Fast forward several years…and the connections really start to get more interesting. Working in and living near Harrison, I often drive over to Newton County, Arkansas. It’s a beautiful part of the state—and a great “day trip” destination. I love to eat at the Ozark Cafe or the Cliff House Restaurant. I love to drive through Lost Valley, Steel Creek, and Ponca just to soak in the calming beauty of nature and take a few pictures. I love to park and watch the elk. There is so much to see and do there…it’s good for the soul!
A few years ago, while I was in Ponca taking pictures one day, I walked over to explore an old historic cabin sitting near the intersection of Highways 43 and 74, not far from the Ponca low-water bridge.
It was fascinating! The National Park Service’s historical marker about the “Beaver Jim Villines Boyhood Home” explained how Abraham Villines and his children were among the earliest pioneer families to settle in the Buffalo River Valley, carving a home out of the wilderness back in the 1850s. I snapped a photo of the sign and took some pictures of the old cabin, admiring the hand-hewn logs, thinking about the hardships of the day-to-day lives of the family who built it, and feeling a deep appreciation for all the history preserved there. I tucked this new information back in my mind and went on enjoying the day.
Fast forward again! At Harrison Schools, I work with a friend named Matt Piper. Like me, Matt is greatly interested in history, family, and ancestry. One day, he mentioned a song to me that was written about a member of his family—his great-great-great aunt Martha Frances Arizona Belle “Zona” Villines Harp. (I absolutely LOVE her name! Stop and say it out loud to yourself. Isn’t it great?)
The song is titled simply “Grandma Harp,” and it was written and recorded back in 1971 by country music artist Merle Haggard as a tribute to his maternal grandmother. I loved learning this! (In case you’re now wondering—that makes Matt a second cousin, three times removed to Mr. Haggard. Very cool, Matt!!!)
After work that day, I was excited to hear the song, so I pulled up “Grandma Harp” on Spotify and listened to it a few times on my drive home. It was a B-side recording – but it’s actually been covered by a few other artists…and I can see why. It’s a simple, sweet, and incredibly loving tribute. In the spoken-word prologue, Mr. Haggard reflects on how his grandmother lived through an era of great historical and social change—from horse-and-buggy days to the very first automobiles, to seeing a man walk on the moon and living through two world wars…all while “rearing a decent family out of poverty and loving the same old Grandpa for seventy years”.
The lyrics made me thoughtful about life, our heritage, and the lasting impact we leave on others… As I drove home listening to the song, all of these separate stories suddenly clicked.
The voice coming through my car speakers was the same voice I used to hear on my parents’ record player as a little girl in Hattieville, Arkansas. It was the same man I had met briefly as a college student in Branson. And the “Grandma Harp” he was singing about carried the maiden name Villines—relatives of the pioneer family whose historic log cabin I had explored and photographed in Ponca… and the same family with connections to the little town of Checotah, Oklahoma, and to my coworker Matt in Harrison.
There really are beautiful connections all around us every day.
It was a beautiful reminder to keep our eyes wide open and our hearts curious. We are never truly strangers in a new place, because if you dig just an inch below the surface, you’ll find that the stories of our lives are all quietly walking down the exact same paths. What a beautiful reminder that we are all a little more connected than we think.
Listen Along: If you like, you can listen to Merle Haggard’s “Grandma Harp” on YouTube. Take a moment to listen to the spoken-word prologue at the beginning—it is just lovely.
Have you ever discovered a surprising connection to a piece of history, a place, or someone from your past right in your own backyard? I would absolutely love to hear your story!
If you enjoyed this reflection, please consider following my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/lisa.carlon.5 where I share photos, porch updates, travel stories, reflections, and quiet moments from our beautiful Ozarks.
This past Sunday, I made the familiar drive home to Conway County, and I am so very glad I did….
The first Sunday in May is always Decoration Day at Old Hickory Cemetery. For me, it’s more than just a cemetery – It is a landscape of my history as well as many blessed memories.
When I was a little girl, graves were built up for Decoration Days. Daddy would haul in dirt to put on top of his father’s (my grandfather’s) grave and use a shovel to carefully mound it up, then a rake to make it smooth and neat before we placed the flowers to decorate the grave. Today, the modern convenience of riding mowers requires flat surfaces, so the mounds are gone—but the love that shaped them remains. That kind of love never really dies; it just waits for us to come back and remember it. That’s part of what Decoration Days are about…..remembering.
It’s a beautiful, time-honored pattern. Family members and friends arrive on Saturday or early Sunday to clean and tend the graves. Then, on Sunday afternoon, everyone returns to walk the grounds, admire the colorful silk arrangements, and share stories. Eventually, we all gather under the shade trees to talk and laugh and connect and catch up. Decoration Days are also about building and maintaining connections.
This past weekend, the weather was a rare gift—temperatures were pleasant and a cool breeze was blowing instead of the May heat and humidity that is typical. It was a wonderful weekend for the event….but as I looked around, I noticed there were fewer in attendance than ever before. There were two children walking through the cemetery with their grandmother and listening eagerly as she pointed out names and shared her memories of long ago. I was glad to see it – and thankful that my family had walked me through this same cemetery so many times sharing our stories and history as well. They gave me a gift.
I feel sad to see these traditions wane, because I believe these ties to our past are so important. It’s our history. Our history gives us some of our “why.” When we know and understand the grit and the joy of those who came before us – we find a compass for our own lives…..and it can change our trajectory.
In a way, it is a privilege—one I don’t take for granted—to have so many direct ancestors in one spot. One of my friends recently told me that she doesn’t know who her ancestors were, much less where they are buried. Over 30 of mine are within a 25-mile radius of where I grew up. To have 14 direct ancestors buried within 50 yards of where I will one day lie, many many years from now… it is a priceless kind of heritage. I am grateful to my parents and family for sharing the stories with me and blessing me with the memories.
On the drive home, I turned off to head down the winding little dirt road toward the little community of Lost Corner, Arkansas to decorate the graves of my great-grandparents, Mama and Papa Scroggins, and my great-great-grandmother, Ida.
The first thing you see as you wind down the road is a neat little old building (now used as a church) that stands quiet in front of the cemetery. It serves as a church building now, but a long time ago it was a school. I have a picture of my Mam-ma, my great aunt Sylvia, and my great aunt Ethel – along with their classmates standing outside the school as children. When I’m there, I love to imagine the sights and sounds of them running and playing and wondering and growing up here.
Mama and Papa and their girls had a hard life – but also good. They worked hard – picking cotton to make a living. My Mam-ma and her sisters ran and played with the other children while their parents picked – until they were about seven years old…then they joined their parents in fields. It’s hard work. Pickers slung a cotton bag over their shoulder to drag behind them and fill with cotton as they moved down the row. My great-aunt Verna said that when she was a little girl she would pick and drag that bag until it was too heavy for her to move. Then, she would leave that row for Mama or Papa to finish while she started on a new one.
Even with all the hard work, Mama Scroggins found time for art and beauty. She was naturally clever and artistic, often cleverly repurposing things instead of throwing them away. I have two small candleholders on the piano in my living room that she made from used metal cans. She even created her own wedding ring out of a solid silver quarter. Pretty talented!
My great-aunt Verna told me that Mama Scroggins would save scraps of paper all year long. Every spring, neighbors would come asking her to make paper flowers to decorate family graves – and she would work to get them made for everyone. Think of that—in a time of such hard manual labor, she found time to be an artist. After the day’s work was done, she spent her evenings folding, twisting, and cutting “scraps” into flowers to decorate the graves at the little cemetery where she now lies. The flowers I had bought to place on her grave were silk—but maybe next year I will learn to make paper flowers just for her. I would like that. She left a legacy that I want to remember and carry with me.
We are always moving forward in this life – and that’s good – but taking the time to look back—to learn and remember and honor the people who came before us—is how we realize whose shoulders we are standing on. We didn’t get here on our own. The progress, every comfort, and the joys we enjoy today was provided to us, to some degree, by the hard work of those who picked the sharp bolls of cotton until their fingers bled, by the resourcefulness of silver-quarter rings, and the quiet beauty of paper-flower bouquets of yesterday. When we remember them, we ensure that their contributions continue to live through us.
Does your family have a “Decoration Day” tradition? Or perhaps you have a “Mama Scroggins” in your history who made something beautiful out of nothing? I would love to hear about the shoulders you stand on in the comments today.
That is the tagline at Neighbor’s Mill Bakery & Cafe in Harrison, Arkansas, and this morning, I saw them live up to it (as they always do). As I stood in line to place my breakfast order, I watched the gentleman at the counter take his time—true, unhurried time—visiting amicably with an out-of-town couple. When he told them, “Thanks for coming in!”, he truly sounded as if he meant it. In our world of “hurry up and go,” that extra minute of connection didn’t just make their day; it set the tone for mine.
But the real lesson came after I sat down.
I had just settled into my booth when I felt it: Clump. Clump-Clump.
My entire booth was shaking. I turned around to find the source and saw a beautiful little blonde girl with cute, messy curls, maybe three years old, sitting back-to-back with me while eating breakfast with her daddy. She was happily munching away, swinging her legs with pure toddler energy, her little feet rhythmically hitting the back of my seat.
I had a choice in that moment. I could have easily let it frustrate me. I could have let it ruin my quiet breakfast.
But instead, I chose to hear the sound of joy.
Every time I took a bite of my sandwich: Clump, clump-clump. Every time I took a sip of my iced tea: Clump-clump.
Instead of an irritation, those little kicks became a reminder of how wonderful it is to be small, happy, and out for breakfast with your daddy. That rhythmic “shaking” of my booth didn’t ruin my morning—in fact, it made it better.
It turns out that “breaking bread with neighbors” isn’t just about the person across the table; sometimes, it’s about the tiny little neighbor kicking the back of your seat and reminding you that life is meant to be swung with both feet.
Since I was a child, I have loved to read stories about people. I can clearly see in my mind where the biographies section was shelved in the Berryville Elementary library back when I was in school. I couldn’t wait to read them all. There were stories about Booker T. Washington, Babe Didrickson, Chief Joseph, Betsy Ross, Dolley Madison, John F. Kennedy, John Paul Jones, the Wright Brothers, and so many more….
My Mother encouraged my love of reading by buying me books that I was interested in — books such as the Laura Ingalls Wilder series that I love dearly to this day. We couldn’t afford to buy the entire series at once — so Mother would get me one at a time…. buying most of them at the Bible bookstore that used to be on the northwest side of the Ozark Mall in Harrison. When she bought the last book in the series, she asked the store owner about the little cardboard box holder—the kind usually only available when you bought the entire set at once. Lo and behold, they had an extra for some reason, and my collection was finally complete. I still have that very well-worn treasured set today.
I was about 10 years old when I finished those “Little House” books, and the next time I went back to the Bible bookstore with Mother I searched for something new to read. It was always exciting to me to browse the books and anticipate the stories to be found in each one. That particular afternoon, I left the children’s books and wandered through the adult section where I spotted a book about our (then) First Lady, Mrs. Rosalynn Carter.
The picture on the cover was just beautiful. Mrs. Carter was wearing a stylish navy blue dress and looked so pretty with a lovely, warm smile on her face. When I told Mother that this was the book I wanted, she never hesitated. She didn’t tell me that this particular book was probably above my reading level or that it was a book intended for adults — she just bought me the book — and for that, I am grateful. I always thought I could do whatever I set out to do because my parents believed in me and encouraged me in my pursuits.
I have read so many books through the years. Some of them I have kept, some I haven’t…. but I still have that biography of Mrs. Carter.
Now let’s fast forward about…..50 years. (Goodness — that went by quickly! 🙂)
This week, I was fortunate to attend the 2026 Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival in Marshfield, Missouri. This festival is such a rich and intricate tapestry of history and community that it’s honestly hard to find the right words to do it justice. In fact, that’s a task for other posts soon to come!
In this story, I want to focus on one particular festival event — a cooking class.
For me, it was one of the highlights of the week — because I absolutely love to cook and I dearly love collecting great recipes with connections. Yes, on today’s internet you can search and find pretty much any recipe you like… but in my opinion, this is a loss instead of a gain. Recipes that are passed down throughout families, recipes that you get from friends and neighbors — are recipes with connections…. and those connections make not only the preparations but the meals so much more meaningful and enjoyable.
This was the second year I attended the Cherry Blossom cooking class, hosted by Andrew Och. Andrew is known as the “First Ladies’ Man” because he spent years traveling across the country, visiting the homes and hometowns of every single American First Lady to document their unique stories. This cooking class is a special event — and I wish you could have been there! Let me tell you about it and hopefully take you there with me through the story…
Conducted by Mrs. Allethea Wall (the sister of former First Lady Rosalynn Carter), her daughter, Julie Wall-Smith, and her daughter-in-law, Courtney Wall, it was a reminder of true Southern hospitality.
These ladies worked so hard to make every guest feel at home. At each table, we found a wonderful collection of “connections” to the place they still hold so dear—Plains, Georgia:
A flyer for “Butterfly Daze 2026“ — an annual celebration in Plains that honors the butterfly trail Mrs. Carter championed to protect the monarch butterfly.
A brochure for “Mother Allie’s House“ — Mrs Carter and Mrs. Wall’s childhood home that has been beautifully restored and is now available as a charming vacation rental. Wouldn’t that be memorable and fun?
A copy of Sumter County Living magazine, featuring a lovely article about Mrs. Wall (page 66! 🙂 )
Small packages of “Plains Peanuts“ (so delicious and completely addictive!)
The class was a beautiful picture of a family working together. Julie took the lead on demonstrating and preparing the dishes while Courtney assisted her, making sure everything was ready for each step. Mrs. Wall sat with them, the steady heart of the demonstration, providing her wisdom and a beautiful, welcoming smile.
This year, the stars of the show were three classic recipes: Cheese Straws, Rosalynn Carter’s Famous Cheese Ring, and a simple and delicious Peanut Butter Pie.
They shared their secrets while they worked — like how much grating your own extra-sharp cheese (not buying pre-grated!) makes recipes better and the importance of using only Duke’s mayonnaise. (I’m never without a jar of Duke’s in my own refrigerator — it truly is a staple! If you’ve never tried it, you are missing out!)
The real highlight came at the end, when we all sat down to enjoy the delicious cheese ring and cheese straws and peanut butter pies together.
After I left that day, I thought back to my 10-year-old self in the Bible bookstore holding the biography of Mrs. Carter. I realized that the real blessing of this class wasn’t just the food (though it was wonderful!) It was the connections.
We live in a world that can sometimes feel so divided, but in that room, surrounded by a recipe, a conversation, and the beautiful smiles of new friends, I was reminded that we really do all have so much in common. Sometimes, a simple recipe and a kind conversation can bridge the gap, can encourage us, and can remind us that things are still so good.
The best recipes aren’t just lists of ingredients… they are the ones that connect our past to our present, and our hearts to new friends.
Good day! If you’ve been reading here for a while, you know how much I love a good story—especially when it happens in real life.
A couple of years ago, a friend and I took a completely unexpected detour on our way home from Savannah. It turned out to be one of my favorite travel memories!
I’ve started writing about this adventure, the history we uncovered, and the charm of this little town over on my Facebook page. I’m telling the story in a few parts (for quick reads), and I’ve included some pictures to go along with it.
I hope you’ll “go” for a visit to this little “off the beaten path” town with me through my stories. It’s such a charming little place! I invite you to click the link below and join the fun. I so hope you enjoy it! More to come!
I liked wearing footie socks today. I know – that’s a strange opening line… Let me go back a bit and explain…..
My Mother and I used to trade clothes and shoes a lot. She would borrow from me, and I would borrow from her. We enjoyed it. It was something she had done with her mother (my Mam-ma) through the years and so we continued the tradition. It was fun! We “shopped” each other’s closets whenever we wanted something new or different to borrow for a bit. It worked pretty well…..well, mostly it did….except maybe sometimes when it came to shoes.
You see – I don’t like wearing socks….ever. I do wear them in the winter – because you’re supposed to….but I think they are bunchy and uncomfortable and hot….and I much prefer bare feet in my shoes whenever I can get away with it. BUT, Mother never wore shoes (except sandals of course) without socks because she believed it was better for the shoe (and she was right). SO, when I borrowed any of her shoes she had one request – I had to wear a pair of “footies”. (UGH!!!) To make it easy, she bought me footie socks to keep on hand so that I could wear them when needed….and I always complied. I might have tried to talk her out of it a time or two….but she stood firm and I finally accepted that it was a thing and I respectfully followed her request. But….I still didn’t like wearing them.
Mother even kept footies at her house for me – just in case I ever needed shoes while I was there and didn’t have the little footies with me…..in other words, she had the situation thoroughly covered! 🙂
Shoes were kind of a big thing for my Mother – she loved them and had several pairs of unique, pretty, colorful, blingy, and fun shoes. When she passed away, it was hard parting with them. They were so “her”…so, I kept a special pair – her red and gold tennis shoes – because they were some of her favorites and because every time I look at them they make me smile. I tucked them away as a remembrance – for the smiles and the sweet memories they bring when I see them.
I kept some of her other shoes as well – some of my favorites that we had traded back and forth, and some of her more everyday tennis shoes – to wear myself. One pair of gray Skechers has sat in my closet until today. I’m not really certain why I haven’t worn them until now – because Skechers are some of my absolute favorite shoes…..but for whatever reasons I had left them sitting there quietly undisturbed.
Getting ready for work this morning, I put on a soft gray pullover shirt with my jeans (It’s casual Friday!) and glanced over at that pair of gray Skechers. They’d be perfect with this outfit I thought…..so I took them off the shelf…..and then I paused. Can I be honest? I truthfully felt a tiny bit guilty for wearing the shoes without those required footie socks….. and I was wishing Mother were still here….I was thinking how completely happy I would be to wear those little socks for her today if only she were here to require it of me. I stopped and took a moment just to think and remember.
Then, as I bent down to put my shoes on I thought to myself, “Well Mother, I’m going to wear these shoes without the socks today.”
I stepped into the right shoe and pulled it onto my heel. When I put my toes into the left shoe – they hit something….something soft and familiar in the end of the shoe. I pulled my foot out, put my hand in….and pulled out a little pair of footie socks neatly tucked into the toe of the shoe. I almost laughed out loud. It almost felt like a little hug…a connection to what used to be…
Then what did I do??? I sat down with a smile on my face, took off my right shoe, pulled on the little socks and then my shoes and headed out the door for work.
Last night was the first time this season that we have experienced freezing temperatures here in the Arkansas Ozarks….so I should have been thinking about frost flowers this morning…..but I wasn’t. It was Monday, and I was hurriedly getting around for work and the start of the week…and so my thoughts were distracted. Fortunately, my friend Beverly texted me a picture she had taken this morning – and her reminder put me eagerly on the lookout! (Thank you, Beverly!!!) Here’s what I delightedly discovered!
On the coldest, clearest mornings of late autumn and early winter, nature sometimes offers a truly amazing gift: delicate, almost unbelievable sculptures of ice that look like they’re blooming right out of the soil. They aren’t true flowers of course – they are “frost flowers”, also known as ice ribbons….and they are as beautiful as they are unusual!
You may have driven by them on the sides of the road on a cold morning in late fall – and never even knew that they were there. Believe it or not, from a distance these beautiful little intricate ice flowers can sometimes almost look like pieces of littered trash – until you slow down and look closer and see their extraordinary, delicate, detailed beauty.
Several things have to line up perfectly for frost flowers to exist. They require a perfect, but almost contradictory, mix of conditions:
Air Temperature: The air absolutely has to be freezing.
Soil Condition: This is the crucial part! The ground must still be relatively warm and moist, which lets the plant’s root system keep drinking water.
The Plant Host: You’ll only spot this phenomenon on a few specific plant species whose stems can hang onto moisture and split nicely under stress.
The Science Behind the Magic: Water Pressure and Ice
The creation of a frost flower is a pretty cool demonstration of water pressure and physics in the botanical world of nature.
The unfrozen roots of the plant continually draw water up from the soil into the stem just like a straw sucking up a drink. When this water column hits the super-freezing air, it starts to turn to ice inside the plant’s little water tubes.
Here’s the kicker: when water turns solid, its volume increases by about 9% – in other words it gets bigger (that’s why frozen water bottles sometimes explode!). This internal pressure from the expanding ice puts immense stress on the plant’s hollow, vertical stem, forcing it to rupture and split open.
As more water gets pulled up, the pressure pushes the liquid right out through those new cracks. When it touches the freezing air, the water instantly freezes into thin, paper-like sheets. This continuous process of pushing out water and freezing it creates characteristicly thin, curly ribbons, forming flowers. It keeps going until the roots freeze solid or the morning sun ruins the party!
These specific requirements are what make finding a frost flower such a rare and delightful winter sighting!
Here Today, Gone by Noon: A Fleeting Work of Art
Because such precise conditions are needed for frost flowers to form and because they are so fragile, seeing a frost flower is rare and special. A brief touch or the first warm rays of the sun will make them vanish, often leaving behind just a trace of water on the cracked stem. Finding one is a moment of pure wonderment, a blessing from above, and a testament to the surprising and delicate artistry we are blessed with in the winter landscape.
So…be on the lookout the next time you step outside on a cold, still morning early in the changing of seasons. You might just catch nature in the act of painting with ice!
I’ve been researching my ancestry for the past several months and I have so enjoyed all of the family members I am “meeting” and all of their stories I am discovering. I’m so grateful to the people and organizations who have recorded history – whether it be census data, official records, written family accounts, cemetery information, and so on. They help to piece together the stories of the people that came before – the people who worked and sacrificed and tried and failed and tried again and created…..blazing trails for all the rest of us. I’ve said it many times, we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us…the people who pioneered the land, developed communities, organized our systems and structures, built the roads….those who invented, created, established, loved, learned, and grew….
I’ve posted about some of my relatives recently….but so far none have had a name so interesting, so unique, as that of my great-great grandmother……but I’ll get to that in a minute… 🙂
When I was a child attending first grade at Wonderview Public Schools, I rode the bus roughly 9 miles from Hattieville to Wonderview every morning….and 9 miles back every afternoon. Those familiar with this area will easily know that the school bus passed through the community of St. Vincent, Arkansas on the way. It’s interesting to me that I have ridden (and later driven) Arkansas highway 95 so many times through the years – and didn’t know that some of my ancestors were buried in a tiny family cemetery neatly fenced off in the middle of a little pasture beside the highway. The little cemetery has only five graves….my great-great grandfather, Thomas Jefferson McReynolds (a pretty interesting name in it’s own right, don’t you think?), my great-great grandmother (the one with the fun, interesting name), and three others.
Okay – back to the name! I hope you like it as well as I do. My great-great grandmother’s birth name is Tennessee Turnbow. Say that one out loud! C’mon – it’s fun! 🙂
According to some of the records, her family called her “Tennie”. So, as an adult her married name was Tennie McReynolds…. I like it – it’s also got a pretty nice ring to it – but I have to admit I like Tennessee Turnbow even better!
Though I’ve tried hard to learn about her, information is very limited. Diligent searches over time have put together the following very short biography:
“When Tennessee “Tennie” Turnbow was born on April 24, 1850, in Maury County, Tennessee, her father, John, was 41, and her mother, Cathryn, was 35. The entire family moved to Pope County, Arkansas when she was a young child and she grew up there. She married Thomas Jefferson McReynolds on December 22, 1869 and they set up their first home in Dover. Later they moved to Conway County, Arkansas. They had five children during their marriage. Tennessee died as a young mother on September 10, 1880, in Hattieville, Arkansas, at the age of 30. When she passed away, her children were ages 8, 7, 6, 4, and 1½. How hard this must have been. She was buried in St. Vincent, Arkansas – the first grave in the McReynolds Cemetery.”
Five years after her death, my great-great grandfather remarried a lady named Isabelle Templeton and soon more children joined the family.
The information leaves me curious – I can think of so many questions. Without Tennessee Turnbow, I would not be here. In fact, the first time I saw a young picture of her daughter – my great-grandmother Sarah Florence – I was surprised to see how much I look like her. I like that.
But…I know so little about my 2nd great-grandmother…. What was she like? What were her hopes and dreams? What color were her eyes? Her hair? Did she have a nice smile? Did she have a favorite recipe or recipes? Did she like to sing? Was she artistic? Was she practical and quiet? Was she fun loving? What caused her death at such a young age? Was the land she is buried on the family farm? How did my great-great grandfather manage alone for several years with five little children?
Driving home on U.S. highway 75 after a quick getaway to Dallas this past weekend, my friends and I spotted a billboard for “Reba’s Place”, a restaurant in Atoka, Oklahoma…. Our little group loves road trips and exploring and discovering new places….so by the time we passed a second billboard advertising the restaurant we were thinking….why not?
The restaurant at 301 East Court Street sits only a few blocks off the main highway, and it is definitely a stop worth making…
The little town of Atoka (population 2,953) is the county seat of Atoka County. The town was founded in the 1850’s, and by 1858, the famous Butterfield stage line was carrying mail and passengers to the town. By 1868, an Atoka post office was established. Atoka thrived and grew….
Fast forward to the early 2000’s…. Atoka’s population was no longer steadily growing. In fact, it experienced periods of decline. Beautiful old downtown buildings were falling into disrepair.
Carol Ervin, the economic director for the town, decided a plan must be formulated to redevelop the area. Every year, eight million vehicles passed through the edge of the little town on U.S. highway 75….but unfortunately they were not stopping in Atoka. Carol and her team rolled up their sleeves and went to work….brainstorming, researching, and thinking of ways to revitalize Atoka…and in time, one idea in particular stood out.
They decided to call on one of Atoka County’s most well-known natives, country music singer and actress Reba McEntire, to pitch their idea…
Reba grew up in Atoka County. She was raised on her parents’ ranch in Chockie, an unincorporated community just north of Atoka. When her mother, Jackie, became ill with cancer, Reba came home to help with her care. Mrs. McEntire passed away in March of 2020 – and after that loss, Reba told her sister Susie that she was interested in a legacy project – something that would make their parents proud…..and shortly thereafter she received a call from Carol Ervin.
Carol and her team wanted to partner with Reba, on a big dream project….and Reba was interested. However, when she found out that the project was a restaurant she had some doubts. Knowing that restaurants are tough business and many fail, Reba expressed her concerns…but Carol and her team persisted – and Reba agreed to give it a try.
The building they had chosen, a 15,000 square foot 3-story former Masonic Lodge, was over 100 years old. Reba came to see the proposed building, and with fingers crossed the Atoka committee took her on a tour. Things didn’t go well however – in fact, while they were there a frighteningly dangerous situation occurred… The group explored the building – climbing the stairs from the first floor to the second, then the second to the third. While they were on the third floor, the old staircase they had just climbed suddenly collapsed, crashing down to the ground floor and leaving everyone trapped. Thankfully, the Atoka fire department arrived quickly, set up a very long ladder, and got everyone out safely. The crisis was averted – and the renovations began. (Check out this short video of the rescue!)
Reba’s place officially opened on January 27, 2023, a 50-50 collaboration between Reba herself and the Choctaw Nation. Just over two years later it is going strong – serving over 300,000 guests from all over the U.S. and other countries in its first two years. They are expecting this year to be their busiest yet. One Atoka resident, Donna Hardman, said that since Reba’s Place opened, other businesses have picked up in customers and more businesses have moved into town. Carol Ervin originally thought it would take 10 to 12 years to make downtown Atoka and the city more lively, but once Reba McEntire entered the picture, the plan then turned into a two year success.
Entering the restaurant is fun! There are costumes and personal items of Reba McEntire throughout the building. A chair copied from “The Voice” television show is there for photo ops. Inside the restaurant, giant video screens play clips from the Reba show, as well as fun interviews, video shoots, and more. A small stage features live music while you eat.
The service is great and the menus have lots of good options. All of the beef is supplied locally by the Choctaw Nation’s beef program. At the end of the meal, there is a special treat that’s REALLY good…..but I will leave that as a surprise in case you visit. 🙂
The first two floors are restaurant space. The third floor (which you can reach by climbing the sturdily repaired staircase or by elevator) is not a dining area, but it is incredibly special. First of all, there is a nice gift shop with lots of fun things to browse like t-shirts, caps, music, Lodge cookware, candies, soaps, housewares and books (including a book from Reba called “Not That Fancy: Simple Lessons on Living, Loving, Eating, and Dusting Off Your Boots”). There are also unique items like a fold-up portable “suitcase” barbecue grill, unique gift ideas, and these really cute metal lunch boxes. (I was tempted to buy one!)
In a large corner of the upstairs space, there are beautiful big windows, several comfy couches and chairs, and a huge library of books you can settle in to relax and read if you like. This area, called “Jac’s Library” is a tribute to Reba’s mother, Jacqueline, who was an avid reader. Reba and her sister Susie spent months going through their mother’s things after her passing and decided something special must be done with her massive book collection. Many of Mrs. McEntire’s books are now shelved in “Jac’s Library” for visitors to sit, relax, read, and enjoy. (Just be respectful, and put them back!)
Take the time to visit if you’re traveling highway 75! I think you’ll be really glad you did!
Want to learn more?
Click here for an interesting interview with Reba about the restaurant.
Click here for a wonderful article from the New York Times.
Click here to see a short clip of Reba’s mother, Jacqueline, when she had a cameo appearance on the Reba show back in 2002. <3 Don’t miss this one! 🙂
