The one where Sara broke her arm

A grand time was had at Grand Gulf . . .

. . . well, until it wasn't.

What a difference an hour makes!

We be with the kids in Arkansas at a pre-planned week-long vacation meeting spot.  The long and short of it is that we got through nearly our whole hike before Sara's feet went out from under her and a broken bone was the result.  There was a good deal of pain involved as we laid her down in the dirt with her head on Chris' feet (only the best for our girl!).  At her request, we poured cold water on her head, fanned away the flies and waited . . . for who knows what.  Finally, we gathered our wits enough to get her upright and walked back to the truck, which mercifully was not overly distant from the point of impact.  Not nearly as mercifully, the nearest emergency department was not near at all, but she braved the bumps and thumps as best she could (there was a choice?) while the truck traversed the thumps and bumps.

There are emergency rooms and there are emergency rooms . . . fortune smiled on us with the one we entered.  The kindest nicest most efficient folks you could ever hope to encounter took care of us there.  In record time, Sara was xrayed, blessed (yes, the xray technician did offer a welcome "Bless you"), told her the right distal radius was broken, splinted, given a prescription and an appointment was made with an orthopedic surgeon.  Two days later, she was scheduled for surgery and will get repaired bionically on Friday morning.

In the meantime . . .

Not to be deterred, we soldiered on with our explorations of the Arkansas countryside (truthfully, it was fairly easy for the rest of us to soldier on; Sara had a bit more of a challenge, but she displayed true grit).  

Grand Gulf, where Sara was stricken by bebe-like pebbles on the downslope, was quite an awesome 130-foot-deep canyon winding for a mile or so through a wonderful hardwood forest.  It was created by a cavern collapse.

Likening it to Arizona's Grand Canyon as they do here is quite a stretch, evidently Madison-Avenue-speak by and for humans who have not experienced the granddaddy of all chasms, but still it has its own interesting and beautiful features.  Also, the hike was . . . well, we've already covered that.

We climbed over the railing with difficulty to get to the bottom where a turquoise pool awaits the next rain to activate the waterfall.  Had we not been waylaid, we would have been able to walk under the natural bridge.

Our temporary residence is in a place called Cherokee Village near the tiny historic town of Hardy, Arkansas.  We and the kids have rented a lovely home on a lake with our own little dock.  The plans were in place prior to Darren's death.  Between his subsequent catastrophic hospitalization and then Sara's broken arm during our vacay, pre-conceived plans were out the window and the week transformed itself as weeks are wont to do.

First thing on arrival here, we had a small memorial ritual for our boy.  Certainly we needed to acknowledge our horrible loss in a formal way.  It has been a comfort to have Darren along in our hearts and being able to freely share memories and talk about how much he would have enjoyed this sojourn, yet a part of me does not want to feel comfort; I want to rail against the horror and injustice of it, and I do.

In our daily phone talks after Darren's accident, he often expressed concern for us - his aging parents - and wished that he could help us.  When he first fell and was lying paralyzed on the ground before the ambulance came, he continually asked to have his work partner call me.  That didn't happen, so when a paramedic arrived, he asked him to call me, which he did.  Darren was a strong independent man, but then and in other times of distress, he turned to Mom.  How I wish I could have somehow changed his course for him; I would have taken his place in a minute if it could have saved him from the suffering he endured. 

Throughout this week, we have felt his presnce; he has even given us clear signs that he is aware and with us.  As I savor the sights and sounds of our natural environment trooping through the woods or being awed by a slight humid breeze as I come upon a bubbling spring far back in the forest, it seems that he is enjoying it through my eyes and my senses.

I had thought I could write about many of the individual doin's of this week, but find that I am overwhelmed and will just blob it all into one big mishmash.  It's being hard to care or to be my usual picky self.  This is our last day here and Sara is in surgery to repair the break, so I will write a bit about some of our activities, at least the ones in addition to lawn games, board games and lounging on floaties in the lake.

If I had to summarize this region of the Ozarks, I would say it's all about water -  huge rivers, picturesque creeks and streams, fantastic springs - and fishing, swimming, rafting/tubing (yes, we had one of those scheduled until an arm in a cast made it impossible) and boating.

We've explored along the Spring River, the Black River, the White River and many of the multitude of tributaries.  One back-woods kind of hike in a wildlife management area took us to Bubbling Spring, awesome in the way it bubbles (duh!) up creating an inverted bowl look and pours out into the stream.  After all that wandering to get there, it was necessary to cross what I thought was an uncrossable creek but not wanting to miss the actual site, I waded through with my shoes on.

We marveled at the plethora of vegetation understorying the fabulous hardwood trees, and fully enjoyed the animals and birds.  We've spotted deer, squirrels, chipmunks, muskrats, coyotes, aquatic turtles, box turtles and cottontails.  In a bit of casual birding, we've added to the trip list: Carolina chickadee, American crow, wood duck, great egret, greylag goose, common grackle, eastern kingbird, purple martin, Baltimore oriole, tufted titmouse, red-headed woodpecker, northern cardinal and Bewick's wren.

On a far more gargantuan scale, the aptly named Mammoth Spring pours out nine million gallons of crystal water every hour to form the also aptly named Spring River.  Its ten-acre lake is surrounded by a serene grassy park and the remains of a historic mill and hydroelectric plant.

Lots and lots of history in these parts.  We found a piano in old town Hardy that was barely adequate for the one tune Chris played. 

We're in Civil War country and have read some about battles that were fought in these parts.  In the 1830s and through the war, my Owen ancestors were resident south of where we have landed.  My four- and three- great grandparents Major Ezra Owen with his wife Lydia Vance and James Monroe Owen with his wife Karen Travis Daniel had come from Virginia, Georgia and Tennessee to pioneer here.  Ezra and James were instrumental in laying out the towns of Collegeville and Owensville.

In the interest of expediency or just not feeling up to organizing or writing, I'm throwing in photos in whatever random order the computer decided to place them.