Greenwood is a small town with a growing food scene. Find out why food trucks are gravitating to this spot, and why the locals are loving it.
CHICKIE NEEDS A COOP
When is a chicken coop more than a chicken coop? When it’s built by a man whose mission was to make his chicken-loving wife happy.
SAVORY SOUTHERN SLAWS
Picnics, cookouts, and family dinners. Those are the staples of summertime. Looking for a slaw recipe that will make you famous(ish)? We can help!
HOOP DREAMS
This Arkansas AAU basketball coach is shaping the future of some extraordinary kids by teaching them impressive skills on the court, and how to be the best they can be in the game of life.
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF / OWNER
Catherine Frederick
CHIEF OPERATING OFFICER
Scott Frederick
MANAGING EDITOR
Marla Cantrell
CONTRIBUTING
WRITERS / PHOTOGRAPHERS
Marla Cantrell
Marcus Coker
Catherine Frederick
Dwain Hebda
Saidee Holmes
Jade Graves
Megan Lankford
Chad Rogers
Tom Wing
Jessica Sowards
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
Artifex 323 - Jessica Mays
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Charity Chambers
PUBLISHER
Read Chair Publishing, LLC
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EDITORIAL INFORMATION
Marla Cantrell - 479.831.9116
Marla@DoSouthMagazine.com
Image: IgorAleks
Annual subscriptions are $36 (12 months), within the contiguous United States. Subscribe at DoSouthMagazine.com or mail check to 4300 Rogers Avenue, Suite 20-110, Fort Smith, AR, 72903. Single issues are available upon request. Inquiries or address changes, call 479.782.1500.
JJuly. Can you believe it? It seems like it was just hours ago when the last school bell rang out, signaling the end of the day and the beginning of summer. Since then, my family has been on the go. Pool parties. Movie nights. Barbeques. Road trips to watch our son play basketball.
I don’t remember my childhood summers being quite so full. I would spend an afternoon playing in a creek, or in the kitchen with Memaw, or riding my bike, the wind in my hair.
I have to remind myself that the kids growing up today will probably feel just as sentimental when they look back. They’ll probably think their kids’ childhoods are moving faster than theirs did. The only way I know to remedy any of it is to stay in the moment. To not only snap photo after photo, but to stop for a minute and cherish my family. Those memories are as bright as photographs and just as long-lasting. I should know, I have gathered thousands of them.
In this edition of Do South®, we’re hearing from guest writer Chad Rogers, whose memory of his family’s get-together will leave you in stitches and make you look at hot dogs in a whole new way. Jessica Sowards takes us with her to a coffee shop where she regroups when the pressures of life get a little too heavy.
From there, we’re heading to Greenwood to meet a few people behind the food truck craze that’s bringing variety and, surprisingly, a lot of new friendships to the town. A big plus? The dishes we tried were delicious.
Next, we’re heading to Figure Five to talk about a chicken coop! You heard right, a chicken coop. We were so impressed when long-time reader David Wallace sent us the photos of this mobile chicken coop his neighbor, Mark Burton, built, we knew we had to share the story behind it.
Dwain Hebda shares the story of the AAU basketball team, Arkansas Rising Stars, and their coach, Jay Barnett, who is molding the lives of so many young men. I know this first-hand since my son is fortunate enough to play on his team.
If you’re looking for your next vacation destination, consider Memphis. Marcus Coker took a whirlwind trip there recently and has so many great suggestions for you. Plus, Memphis is an easy drive from Fort Smith and the surrounding areas.
If you’re staying home in July, check out our Top Ten Things to Do. Check out the fireworks shows, Art on the Border, the Peacemakers Festival, and the Johnson County Peach Festival, just to name a few.
Finally, you must check out our Locally Owned Guide. You’ll meet some new people, find out more about businesses that make our community unique and wonderful, and get some great shopping ideas.
Happy Fourth of July! Happy summer! Grab hold of those memories. They are the most precious things of all.
The Field of Dreams lights up with fireworks and fun beginning at 7pm. Concessions available. No alcohol or pets allowed.
The fun starts at noon, at Harry E. Kelley Riverpark, with a car show. At 7pm, live music by The Boss Tweeds, the River Valley Community Band, and Mr. Cabbagehead & the Screamin' Radishes. Fireworks start at 9pm. Reserve your spot now for an evening kayak adventure at Lake Fort Smith State Park. Space is limited.
THE TOP TEN THE TOP TEN
More than 40 great artists will have their fine art, pottery, glassware, baskets, jewelry, woodwork, ceramics, and sculptures for sale at the Blue Lion and the Riverfront Pavilion in downtown Fort Smith.
Peaches, homemade crafts, a terrapin race, a bicycle obstacle course, a peachpit spitting contest, a peach eating contest, a fishing derby, parade, a horseshoe pitching tournament and more.
19-22 AUGUST 1ST
Bring your kids, ages 5-12, to build cardboard "forts" in conjunction with Fort Smith's bicentennial celebration. There will be prizes, live entertainment, and free hot dogs.
Grace Potter, Anderson East, Rival Sons, The Cadillac Three, Funky Meters, Paul Thorn, and Ray Wylie Hubbard. It’s enough to make your heart beat faster. Hear these great musicians in downtown Fort Smith at this epic festival.
Country music star Luke Bryan will be performing at the Walmart AMP in Rogers. Get your tickets early! This is sure to be a popular show.
Our Community Cares
words Do South® staff
3304 South M Street
Fort Smith, AR 72903
479.785.4677 kistlercenter.org
Next month, we’ll showcase another worthy charity in our area. If you have a non-profit you’d like to see recognized, email us at editors@dosouthmagazine.com.
The Kistler Center has been a premiere provider of occupational, physical, and speechlanguage therapy for children for over 39 years. What was born out of one family’s need has grown to become a respected outpatient treatment center known throughout Arkansas and Oklahoma.
In 2011, the Kistler Center was certified by the Department of Human Services, Developmental Disabilities Services as a Community Employment Support (CES) Waiver provider. The CES Waiver program serves children and adults with developmental disabilities.
In 2012, the Kistler Center became a provider of Autism Waiver services. This is a statewide intensive intervention program for young children between the ages of 18 months and 8 years with a confirmed diagnosis of autism. Both the CES Waiver and the Autism Waiver programs are a natural continuation of their services. Do South® spoke with Executive Director Jennifer Kistler to learn more.
DS: How did the Gregory Kistler Treatment Center, Inc. get its start?
Jennifer: My brother, Gregory, was injured in an automobile accident at the age of six, in 1962. Twelve years later, my daughter, Michelle, was born with spina bifida. As a result, our family became aware of the need for a center in Fort Smith that could provide therapy services, and at the same time, allow parents to see that they are not alone.
DS: Do you recall how many children were helped that first year?
Jennifer: I remember that 12 children were referred for physical therapy as soon as our doors opened and we continued to grow so much the first year that we had to expand our treatment area. We kept hand-written data in a large orange journal that we still have to this day. Last year, 501 children received therapy and about 40 families were served in our waiver programs.
DS: How can Do South® readers help?
Jennifer: If you know of someone needing therapy or waiver services, ask them to give us a call. We may be able to help. Readers can visit our Facebook page and learn more about giving opportunities, employment, and events. We typically have a wish list of items needed and most can be purchased at little cost while shopping.
DS: Is there anything else you’d like to share?
Jennifer: The Kistler Center is happy to be part of the Fort Smith community and is grateful for the continuing support that we receive.
The Perfect Mother
By Aimee Molloy
Harper | 317 pages | $28
review Marla Cantrell
If you’re a mom, you remember how mysterious the world of pregnancy is. How disarming motherhood can be, no matter how hard you prepare. Your body changes, your emotions are quicksilver, sharp and shifting. And worry shows up as your newest companion.
In The Perfect Mother , author Aimee Molloy captures these feelings perfectly. A group of pregnant women in Brooklyn form a group called the May Moms (each is due in May) and meet at Prospect Park twice a week to support each other. Of all the members, Winnie seems to be the one who’s unlike the rest. She’s reserved, for one thing. For another, she seems to grow more beautiful with each passing week. Plus, she’s single.
After the moms give birth, they continue to meet, bringing their babies along. Each is trying to master motherhood, and each feels she's not measuring up. Even the stubborn pregnancy weight seems like a failure. Surely, they think, they should look and be perfect.
As the Fourth of July nears, the group plans a night on the town without their babies. It’s an easy prospect for the married moms, but for Winnie, who doesn’t have a partner, the venture seems impossible. But then, one of the moms offers her new nanny to Winnie, who reluctantly accepts.
The moms meet at a local bar. A few drink too much. A few get rowdy. And then Winnie becomes the target of unwanted attention from a man with his sights set on her.
The night should end with the women walking each other home. With stories of a July night when they blew off a little steam. But before that can happen, the nanny calls to say Winnie’s baby has gone missing, taken from his bed as she dozed in the living room.
As the police investigate, the moms’ group comes under scrutiny. Photos from the bar surface, making the women look reckless and wild. Reporters park outside Winnie’s house, watching her every move, digging up anything they can find about her past.
It turns out she has a trove of secrets. So do the other moms. As detectives unearth new clues in the baby’s disappearance, each woman comes under scrutiny. And each has to face a past they thought they’d successfully buried.
The tension builds as weeks go by with no sighting of the baby. The moms keep meeting, without Winnie of course, and they do their own detective work, putting themselves in danger.
Before the inevitable twist is revealed, we’ve come to sympathize with the women. It makes the revelation of who’s behind this crime a little scarier, hitting closer to home now that we understand the pressures of perfection.
Already, Kerry Washington, the star of Scandal , has bought the movie rights to the book, so be watching for news of a release date. If you loved Girl on a Train or Gone Girl , this book is a great summer read for you.
THE DIRT:
July in the Garden
Here at the Botanical Garden of the Ozarks, it’s 10am and the garden is alive with sound. Beyond the call of birds and the chirp of crickets, children are running, playing, laughing, and learning. Little Sprouts and Garden Buds, two of our children’s programs, are in session. There are children ranging in age from those who are still toddling along, to those who have already completed their first or second year in elementary school. Although their lessons are varied, perhaps their most important lessons are those spent digging in the dirt.
Little hands rarely sow straight lines, but we’re not here to teach them how to stay in line. We’re here to teach them so much more. Gardening teaches young children an array of skills that are important as they grow and become adults. They gain an understanding of how a seed grows into a plant, and that plants need care to live and thrive. It can teach them selfconfidence by allowing them to care for the garden, and then reap the rewards by getting to eat what they grew. Their love and respect for nature grows as they see all the creatures that share the garden with us. Perhaps most importantly children will try foods that they would never try at home, if they grow the plants themselves. If you’ve never seen a child eat raw kale, then you’ve likely never gardened with them.
The next time a little hand grabs yours and asks to come to the vegetable garden with you, simply smile and say yes. The little extra time we spend teaching them, can translate to a lifetime of rewards. Allow their minds to wander, their bellies to be filled, and their hearts to brim over with wonder. To learn more about our summer programs, visit www.bgozarks.org.
YOU CAN PLANT: Arugula, Beets, Beans, Carrots, Corn, Cucumber, Parsnip. Sow in dappled shade in late July: Bok Choy, Broccoli, Cabbage, Kale, Leeks, Onions, Scallions, Spinach. Hold off on planting any trees, shrubs, or perennials until November.
words Megan Lankford, Botanical Garden of the Ozarks image courtesy Botanical Garden of the Ozarks
This year, as Fort Smith celebrates its bicentennial, author and historian Tom Wing will be sharing stories of our city’s past in each edition of Do South®
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY
The Civil War brought soldiers to Fort Smith from various states in the Confederacy and the Union. Fort Smith was occupied at the beginning of the war by Confederate forces, as Arkansas became one of eleven states to leave federal authority. By 1863, Union soldiers had come to Fort Smith, pushing out the Rebels, and stayed till the end of the war and into the reconstruction period that followed. Two soldiers, one gray and the other blue lend insight into those perilous times.
Gray: John J. Good was born in Mississippi, educated in Tennessee, and practiced law in Alabama before seeking his fortune in Texas. He married Susan Floyd and together they had six children. He helped draft the Texas Ordinance of Secession, before being assigned to the Dallas Artillery Battery, which eventually bore his name “Good’s Texas Battery.” In the summer of 1861, Good’s artillerymen and other Texas troops journeyed across the Choctaw Nation to the new Confederate supply and training post established at Fort Smith. Federal troops had aban-
Mary and Henry Strong
John and Susan Good
words Tom Wing, Historian and Author IMAGEs John and Susan Good (1858), courtesy Hill College, Texas
Mary and Henry Strong (1867), courtesy Carolyn Gleason and Ralph Moody
doned the fort earlier that spring, as Arkansas moved toward secession. John and his wife frequently wrote letters, which were collectively published in 1971.
In August of 1861, Good writes to his wife that on the journey, he and his men witnessed a great war dance of Chickasaw and Choctaw Confederate troops.
In another letter, he describes the town this way: “There are many noble men and patriotic women here, and they are far more attentive to us than can be expected. The ladies have an association. Their president continually sends word not to pay one cent for sewing or washing but to send them everything of the kind. Today, they sent for a list of the sick who ought not to remain in camp and assure me they shall have comfortable rooms in the city and every attention desired. God Bless the women of Fort Smith, who by their many acts of kindness, have charmed the soldier’s heart more than anything since our departure from home. What a pity all our southern women are not of the same stamp. The Dallas Herald should give them praise, not a puff.” Good closes his letter, “Give my love to all, kiss my sons, and accept the love and affection of your husband.”
Good’s Battery was in the center of the action at the Battle of Pea Ridge, in March 1862. Good had a number of his men killed and wounded but escaped injury himself. He survived the war, returned to his wife and children in Texas, and was elected mayor of Dallas in 1880.
Blue: After winning a crucial battle at Honey Springs in Indian Territory, in July 1863, Federal troops arrived to take back Fort Smith in September of that year. In late December, the 12th Kansas Infantry arrived from Fort Scott, Kansas, marching all the way and eventually crossing the frozen Arkansas River at Van Buren on foot. Private Henry A. Strong was one of those Kansas soldiers who, much to his dismay had a “rather rough introduction to this sunny land.” Strong was born in Illinois but raised and educated in Mound City, Kansas. He enlisted in the 12th Kansas Infantry in 1862, and after a few weeks, decided to keep a diary.
In February 1864, Strong got to forget about the war for an evening. He attended “a regular HO DOWN, had a young lady ask me for a chaw of tobacco.”
As part of the 12th Kansas, he helped fortify the perimeter of Fort Smith by digging trenches and building artillery positions. Strong and his regiment participated in battles near Camden later that spring, and in June he and twenty-four others were guarding the steamboat named J.R. Williams, which was headed from Fort Smith to Fort Gibson in the Cherokee Nation. The boat was carrying supplies and food including 16,000 pounds of bacon. Attacked by artillery and overwhelming numbers fifty miles upriver from Fort Smith, Strong, and his fellow soldiers, had to march back to Arkansas. In July 1864, he gave account of the Confederate attack on Fort Smith describing the brave and decisive conduct of the 11th United States Colored Troops, and the 2nd Kansas Battery. Before summer’s end, Strong and the 12th Kansas witnessed the execution of four guerrillas who were caught posing as federal troops.
Through the winter of 1864-65, large numbers of refugees and former slaves displaced by the war, sought help in Fort Smith. On February 23, 1865, Strong “Bade Adieu to Fort Smith, and went scudding down the Arkansas River, the band playing patriotic tunes.” Arriving in Little Rock, he rejoiced at the news of Robert E. Lee’s surrender and was devastated upon hearing of Lincoln’s assassination. In July, the 12th Kansas was sent home. Strong married Mary Madden, had one daughter, and ran a mercantile store in Mound City, Kansas until his death in 1927.
John Good and Henry Strong were only two of the many soldiers from Texas, Louisiana, Missouri, Kansas, Arkansas, Iowa, Illinois, Ohio, and Indian Territory whose lives were not only “touched by the incommunicable experience of war,” but also left a record of those times in Fort Smith.
For further information: Cannon Smoke: The Letters of Captain John J. Good, Good-Douglas Battery, CSA
Edited by Lester Newton Fitzhugh 1971 Hill College Press
A Rough Introduction to this Sunny Land: The Civil War Diary of Private Henry A. Strong Co. K, 12th Kansas Infantry
Edited by Tom Wing 2006 Butler Center for Arkansas Studies
Summer fun, weddings galore, and so much more. Keep the celebrations going all summer long with these amazing products from some of our favorite shops!
Simply Whimsical Apron, Gloves, and Kitchen Set with Mitt, Potholder & Towel JENNIFER’S GIFT SHOP AT SPARKS HEALTH
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All Roads Lead to Greenwood
When I was told that Greenwood, Arkansas, has a growing food truck presence, I decided to investigate. I drove there on a stifling day in the middle of June with not much of a plan. I’d stop when I saw one of the mobile eateries, and I’d ask a few questions.
The food truck owners I met seemed like minor celebrities. As I interviewed them, there were regular customers ready to offer praise for both the dishes and the friendships that had formed between the buyers and sellers. As for why Greenwood is such a spot for this kind of interaction, it comes down to location, location, location.
Greenwood is separated from Fort Smith by only about twenty miles. But Fort Smith has a population of just over 88,000, and Greenwood clocks in at a little less than 9,500. There is much to recommend Greenwood: a school system that gets a ton of praise (Go Bulldogs!). A close-knit community that shows up for football games and church on Sundays and festivals that happen in the spring and fall. What it doesn’t have is as many restaurants as Fort Smith. And that, I was told, makes this bustling town perfect for the food truck scene.
There is a spot at 636 West Center Street, across from Walgreen’s, that is the mainstay for these mobile eateries. There’s a rotating system in place that allows different food trucks on different workdays. For instance, on Tuesdays, One Stop Burrito out of Charleston, sets up shop. On Thursdays, the day I visited, Beef O’ Brady’s, which has a brick and mortar restaurant in Fort Smith, was set up and taking orders well before eleven in the morning.
Owners Kim and Randy Didier, who live in and love Greenwood, talked about what their truck does for them. At Beef O’ Brady’s full-service restaurant location, they can’t be as nimble. Menus are less flexible, but at their truck, Randy
words Marla Cantrell IMAGEs Saidee Holmes and courtesy Truckin’ Delicious
Kim and Randy Didier
mixes things up, trying whatever he likes. On a recent trip to New Orleans, he picked up Chef Justin Wilson’s cookbook, and he’s been cooking things like jambalaya and shrimp gumbo at home, getting the recipes perfected for when the backbreaking heat of summer finally leaves.
While selling food is their top priority, advertising runs a close second. The truck serves as a rolling billboard. Greenwood is only one of the places they serve. On other days, they drive to other towns like Ozark, Waldron, and Clarksville, getting to know customers, and inviting them to stop at their main location when they visit Fort Smith.
One of their best practices is that they take orders by text message, and they provide their phone number and daily menu on their Facebook page.
As I was interviewing them, one of their customers stopped by to pick up lunch. Todd Hales, minister for Greenwood’s Northside Church of Christ, is a regular. “They make the food while you wait,” he says, “so you know it’s fresh.” As he’s leaving, two construction workers arrive, and Kim hurries to take their order. “We understand that many people only have thirty minutes for lunch, so we make sure they get their food quickly.”
The Pulled Pork on a Bun with Cole Slaw and Fries was selling fast while I was there. I tried the Southwest Eggrolls that had just the right amount of spice. The menu also included Funnel Cake Fries. One day if I throw caution to the wind, I just might try them. Beef O’ Brady’s truck operates from
11am-7pm, every Thursday in Greenwood.
My second stop was at Holy Smoke Barbeque, at 2321 West Center Street. This trailer remains stationary, at least for now. Holy Smoke Barbeque sits in the shade with white picnic tables topped with patio umbrellas ready for customers. Caren Byers, the owner, bought the establishment about two months ago, a quick decision that changed her life.
Caren loved cooking at home, and when this place went up for sale, she jumped at the chance. Her roots run deep in Greenwood, and she believed she could make a go of it. As she was talking to me, one of the regulars, Chris Brewer, of Greenwood Collision, was picking up his order. “All their food is good. Their pulled pork is good. Their barbeque sauce has a really smoky flavor. They’re close to work,” he said, citing why he’s loyal to this place.
When Caren bought the trailer, the top seller was the Barbeque Nachos, a dish she’d never considered before buying the place. Justin Sweeten, whom she calls Sweet, helps with the cooking and smoking and makes the barbeque beans every day. Since she’s been here, the pulled pork sandwiches and ribs are selling well.
Each month, she changes Holy Smoke’s special, and she has a family pack with brisket, pork ribs, and two Polish or hot links for less than sixteen dollars.
I tasted the ribs, pulled pork sandwich, beans, potato salad, and cole slaw. The food was delicious, and Chris was right:
the barbeque sauce made the meal even better. Holy Smoke is open from 11 a.m. – 8 p.m., Wednesday through Saturday.
My third stop was at Truckin’ Delicious, a food truck that is often in Greenwood on Tuesdays. (Check their Facebook page to be sure or sign up for email alerts.) Owner Tasha Taylor was standing outside, wearing flower-patterned pink Crocs, polka-dotted sunglasses, an apron printed with row after row of food trucks. One of the first things she said was, “Feeding people makes me happy.” And then she told the story of dreaming of this truck, of reading a guide to starting a food truck business night after night.
Truckin’ Delicious just celebrated its third anniversary, and Tasha estimates they’ve served at least 100,000 meals since then. Part of that calculation includes participating in events like the Peacemaker Festival in Fort Smith, which takes place on July 27 and 28 this year.
Tasha’s food has been described as upscale comfort food. She likes to take something familiar and turn it on its head. “For instance,” she says, “the Pizza-rito has everything that comes in pizza, but we stuff it in a burrito.”
Another big seller is Truckin’ Tot, giant tater tots filled with cheddar and scallions.
The Truckin’ Delicious menu changes every two weeks, offering dishes that keep Tasha’s customers happy. “We do a
Caprese salad with cheese tortellini and tons of other ingredients. I had someone say they wished they could roll around in it.” Tasha laughs. “People like a little flair.”
Tasha, who grew up in Greenwood and lives there still, is proud to see food trucks gaining ground. Food should be an experience, she says, and she thinks these new options are a good way to add variety wherever they go. Follow Truckin’ Delicious on Facebook to see where the truck will be on any given day.
By the end of my day, I was overheated and overly full, and fascinated by those who operate food trucks. Imagine what it’s like for them, when the temperature around a grill can rise to 120 degrees in the summer. Some of the owners said thirteen-hour days are the norm. Not one of them offered this information as a complaint. Instead, they remarked on how lucky they feel to do what they love and to meet customers who often become friends.
Several other food trucks, including but not limited to Hungry Wolf Café and Fat Man’s on the Move, also serve Greenwood. They have Facebook pages. I also found a wealth of information at the River Valley Food Truck Association’s Facebook page, including which trucks are where, and for how long, on any given day.
people watcher
I am an observer. A people-watcher. My walk through this broken world is dotted and flourished with a great appreciation for humanity and for the details of it. For a long time, I found this a trivial fact about myself, but in recent years, I’ve realized it is so much more. It is a saving grace.
Words Jessica Sowards
images
Jeremiah Sowards and Jackson Whitaker
SSometimes I have days when I am altogether overwhelmed. They are usually accentuated by hormonal cycles and by too many consecutive nights of bad sleep. I don’t choose these days, and I don’t like them, but occasionally, completely against my desires, I will wake up and be entirely overcome with hopelessness. All I can think about is the mess in the laundry room and the weeds in the garden and the fact that my six-year-old can’t read yet. Then it snowballs, and before I know it, I’m digging up old arguments with my husband Jeremiah and lamenting our debt and feeling like a complete and total failure at everything I do. I shut down. I want to hide. I don’t talk to anyone, because if I do talk to someone, I’ll have an emotional meltdown.
Today was an overwhelmed day.
I have fifty-two unread text messages. I won’t even tell you how many emails. My Instagram inbox would make a more organized woman weep and beg surrender.
I used to consider the fact that I found myself feeling this way about my life a grand failure, an integral flaw in my character. I considered it a weakness in my faith, perhaps a shortage in my revelation of Jesus. How could I, a redeemed child of God, ever feel so hopeless? Is He not the author of hope?
I woke up late this morning. The forecast had changed and instead of the rain I’d been expecting, I was disappointed by blue skies, high temperatures and the urgent need to water my wilting quarter-acre garden. The dishwasher had been broken for two days, and instead of my morning routine of putting the kettle on, I avoided the kitchen and its full display of dirty dishes.
The rest of the day played out with the perfect blend of temper tantrums, stubbed toes and spilled milk. All of these things played my nerves, like tiny irritations dancing across the stage of my frustration, waving their tiny, irritating fingers and making me want to crawl back in bed.
It’s the strangest thing. I used to respond to my feelings of being overwhelmed by hiding. I could tuck myself away, pull the covers over my head in my dark bedroom, and there, my overwhelmed days would stretch their legs and spread out past their twenty-four-hour allowance. They might sprawl out
into a few days, into a week. And I would believe I might go on forever feeling like I was drowning.
Jeremiah has learned me well after eight years of marriage. He no longer engages with my lamenting on days like this. Instead, he sends me to a coffee shop and tells me to go have a cup of coffee and a talk with Jesus. He tells me to go and get my head on straight.
It’s not the coffee that helps calm the storm. It is absolutely the conversation with Jesus that does the trick. But, maybe not how you think. Do you know what deconstructs the stage of frustration? Do you know what takes my fear off the throne of my heart and firmly places Jesus and His heart back in its place of priority?
People. Humanity. In all its beautiful brokenness. I have found that when I feel life and her demands may just swallow me whole, I can always find a little perspective in the corner of a busy coffee house.
It started raining right as I parked my car tonight. I took a seat at a wobbly table in the corner and settled into observing.
The man in the red shirt seated in the brown leather chair. He’s reading a novel, seemingly unrushed and unfazed by anything at all. The woman straight across from me, texting on her phone with what I can only assume is her lover based on the way she smiles and blushes though she sits alone. The distinguished gentleman standing at the counter. He looks like he’s accomplished great things. But his eyes, they’re kind, and I imagine he may have had to fight for his softness. The girl working at the counter. She is bright. She laughs freely. The young woman sitting on the barstool. She looks sad; something is clearly weighing on her. She looks like she may have cried recently.
So, I start to pray for her.
And the next thing I know, my dirty dishes and harried morning hardly have a hold at all. Here, at the wobbly table with Jesus, I realize how we are all juggling our lives in search
of balance, of passion, of love. I trade my self-centered view for the compassion of a King that loved His people enough to walk among them, to touch them and heal them.
God is so faithful in my weakness. He is so faithful to calm my storms and to paint over the areas of my heart that have given in to desperation with a fresh layer of hope. He is so faithful to give me perspective and to shoulder the burden of my overwhelmed days.
These people may not have even noticed me. Engrossed as they are in their novels and conversations, I am just another person in the coffee shop. I guess that’s kind of the point.
At the end of even the most flustered day, I am just another person in the coffee shop, another blessed and beloved person. And tomorrow the sun will rise again, and I’ll respond to my text messages and try again to teach my six-year-old to read. I’ll keep living my life as a beautifully imperfect, redeemed child of God. His grace will be sufficient. It always is.
For years, Terri Burton, whose nickname is Chickie, raised flocks of free-range chickens, letting them have the run of her twenty-sixacre property in the tiny Figure Five community of Crawford County, Arkansas. But again, and again, Terri’s heart was broken. Red-tailed hawks and owls saw this place as a prime hunting ground, carrying off her chickens one by one. When they took a break, other predators like skunks and the occasional dog showed up.
It was just too much.
So, Terri stopped raising chickens, a decision she reached with regret. She’d had so much fun picking out the different breeds: Buff Orpingtons with their golden feathers and sweet dispositions; the good-natured Black Australorps; the black and white Dominickers, their feathers as intricate as lacework.
One of her favorite things was seeing the chicks that were born when a hen from one breed mated with a rooster from another. “Those were some of the most beautiful chickens ever,” Terri says, wistful in the wake of that old memory.
Imagine how she felt, coming home from her teaching job at Van Buren High School, seeing a scruff of feathers strewn across the ground, all that was left of a chicken she adored. Imagine her counting the brood at night as they roosted, realizing some of them were missing.
She could have corralled her flock in a small space. Perhaps in a tight pen with a secure covering. But Terri couldn’t do it. She wanted happy chickens that got to explore and peck and scavenge for bugs. She wanted them to have the best life possible.
This is the spot in this story where Terri’s husband Mark shows up. He’s a crafty fellow, filled with ideas and the expertise to make them happen. Before working at the Van Buren Street Department, he owned Signature Pools. His experience installing pools, dealing with logistics, measurements, calculations, all paid off.
Already, he’d served as the contractor on the house he and Terri built. In 2017, he and Terri started researching a better way to raise chickens. They scoured the Internet, finding simple plans for mobile chicken coops, sometimes called tractors, that can be moved frequently to give birds access to new ground, and out of the path of predators. They also found tricked-out mobile coops that could be bought for thousands of dollars.
Some
women want diamonds, but chickens are what do it for Terri.
Mark opted to build a coop himself.
He didn’t draw up plans. He knew what Terri wanted, he knew what the chickens needed, and that was enough. Not that it was easy. Terri remembers Mark zoning out, lost in his thoughts, working out a problem he’d encountered while putting the coop together.
Mark worked for a couple of months on the coop last summer and picked it up again this spring. It is finished now, a tenby-eighteen-foot wonder sitting in the meadow outside their home. The red and white contraption nearly sparkles, the sun glinting off its metal roof. Add a floor, and it might pass for an upscale tiny house.
As it is, it’s a palace for poultry.
On one end is the roost, with roosting bars all at the same height. “There really is a pecking order in the chicken world,” Mark says, “and if you stagger the bars, the chickens will fight to see who ends up on top. Put the bars at the same level, and it cuts down on some of that.”
The other end is lattice work, installed for decoration and stabilization. Mark estimates that the coop weighs approximately eight thousand pounds. He credits one of his friends, Buddy Clayton, owner of Buddy's Welding, for helping him get the coop to work the way it should. With the heavy steel frame, it has to be moved by truck or tractor from spot to spot, giving the chickens new grazing areas. The moving is done at night when the birds are asleep, just to make sure none of them gets upset or injured. In the late afternoons, when both Mark and Terri are home, they’ll let the birds out to roam for a bit.
The details are stunning. There are nesting boxes on each side of the roost, with wooden inserts that can be reconfigured for mama hens with little chicks that need to be watched over. Pulleys and levers raise doors, and there’s an emergency system in case Terri finds herself locked inside the coop.
The coop itself—think of it as the chicken’s patio—is floorless, so the birds are on grass during the day. But the floor of the roost, where the birds sleep, is solid and made of the same material kitchen cutting boards are, making cleanup easier. The floor is also sunken—imagine mid-century
modern architecture—and is lined with bedding made of hemp, using the part that is similar to a stalk. Terri will regularly add hemp to the floor to control odors. When the floor fills up, removal will be simple: Mark will pull his tractor up to the roost, unhinge a panel, and sweep the hemp into a bin. It will then be used as compost.
While all the mechanical issues of this mobile coop are fascinating, what makes it even better is the story behind it. Mark points to one of the plexiglass windows. In the corner is a red sign that reads Custom built for Chickie. Summer of 2017 “I messed that window up,” Mark says, “and that’s how I fixed it. I had that little sign made to cover the spot. And it took me longer than the summer of last year, but it was worth it.”
Terri is not within earshot. But later, she says, “I don't know how much you can say about a chicken coop, and I'm not sure anyone will really think much of it, but I can say I'm a very blessed woman to have a husband who would do all that for me.”
Some women want diamonds, but chickens are what do it for Terri.
And that’s why she was excited to spend months with a dog-eared catalog from Iowa, looking at the breeds she’d
have once the coop was ready. That happened in early June, and now she’s wrangling Welsummers, Coco Marans, Buff Brahmas, Australorps, and several others.
In the past, when chicks arrived, the moment was bittersweet. The chicks were adorable, but there was a good chance they wouldn’t make it to old age. The owls prowled, hawks swooped, skunks sneaked in. But this time it’s different. The rolling coop is like a fortress. It might as well have a moat around it and a guard in the gate house.
That’s the real gift Mark gave her, the peace of mind to love her chickens without the dread of losing them. She smiles and Mark smiles with her. He doesn’t know exactly how much the coop costs—he stopped counting at five thousand dollars—but he does know that he’d do it all over again just to see Terri’s face as she gathers eggs or checks the roost after everyone’s in bed or shows a new chick to one of their eight grandkids who delight in the birds.
The chickens join the ranks of the Burtons’ menagerie: Ernie the dog; barn cats named Nestle and Copper; cows named Fern, Ella, Princess, Blossom, and Lashes. The list goes on, and so does life in Figure Five, where Chickie wanted a chicken coop, but instead, Mark built her a palace.
The Fingers of GIANTS
WORDS and family photos Chad Rogers
Family gatherings have always been an important part of my family’s tradition. I live far enough away that I don’t get to see them often, but close enough to make it to most events. This has not always been true for me; at one point I lived a fifteen-hour drive away. After several deaths in the family, I realized I wanted to be closer to them, so I quit my job and moved to Fort Smith, about an hour and a half away.
At our celebrations, of course, there is always food. Everyone cooks and cleans—there are no gender boundaries for such events. Sometimes we try a new dish, but how can you beat a good old-fashioned hamburger?
Or a hotdog, if you are into exotic meats. For the gettogether I’m about to describe, these were the two options on the menu.
We were celebrating my mother’s birthday. I had arrived early to my older sister Holly’s house, so I was helping prepare the food. There were five of us in the kitchen: my sister, and her children. Lauren was the oldest, at ten years of age. Rachel was eight, and Caleb was six. I was wielding a knife, carving vegetables on the kitchen island, while the kids watched. Caleb was standing on his tip toes to see, but even then,
he was only just able to get his eyes above the countertop. Suddenly, his face scrunched and his head tilted. “What are hot dogs made of?” he asked in a squeaky, innocent voice.
In a moment of clarity, and perhaps divine inspiration, the words, “They’re the fingers of giants,” sprang from my mouth...
In a moment of clarity, and perhaps divine inspiration, the words, “They’re the fingers of giants,” sprang from my mouth, and were followed by a variety of reactions. My nephew’s face lit up. Clearly, he was thrilled with the idea of something so exotic. My oldest niece, Lauren, through years of experience, had gained wisdom; she knew her uncle was not always completely honest. Her reaction was a guffaw and eye rolling. Rachel was somewhere between these other two in her understanding of when to take her uncle seriously. I suppose the excitement of giant’s fingers tugged at the part of her mind that allowed for the fantastic to be true. Perhaps sadly, she was also beginning to understand reality. She had discovered that her older sister could tell whether I was telling the truth, and she had come to rely on her for cues. She saw Lauren’s eye roll and heard the guffaw. Rachel looked at me with narrowed, accusing eyes that said, “I am not sure that’s true.”
Perhaps the most telling reaction came from the children’s mother (and my
sister). She shouted from across the kitchen, “Don’t tell Caleb that; he will believe you!”
“Fine,” I said. “You tell him what hot dogs are made of.”
Her hands in the dishwater grew still for a moment that was both long and brief, until her voice filled with resigned dread. “They are the fingers of giants,” she said.
It turned out to be a cool and rainy spring day. It was perfect for sitting on the porch eating homemade pie and ice cream and talking about what we had planted in our gardens. We talked about the health and lives of friends and family. Nothing more was said about the new name for hot dogs. I don’t know how long Caleb believed they were the fingers of giants, or if he ever truly did. More important than that was the wonder I remember seeing in his eyes.
My nieces and nephews have grown up. My nephew is quite large; you might even say he is a giant, at least in my family. He is fourteen years old and is just under six feet tall. Only one other person in his immediate family is over six feet. While we are proud of these kids and the way they have grown, sometimes, like so many other adults who are watching kids grow, we miss the days when the fantastic was believable. I suppose the loss of the fantastic has happened to all of us. Perhaps that is a shame, and perhaps it is unavoidable. While I am certain I cannot reclaim the wonder I experienced during childhood, I have found that I can keep wonder in my life. It has many sources—my wife’s smile, the stars on a clear night, or even something as simple as a cool pool on a hot day.
If I could wish anything for my nieces and nephews, it would be for them not to have to learn the importance of family by being absent from them. That’s what happened to me, and I don’t want that for them. I hope they always stay close. And, of course, that they never lose their wonder.
Savory Summer SlawS
Slaw is a summer staple in the south. It’s the perfect side dish for many meals and great for potlucks or summer BBQs. I’ve rounded up some of my favorite recipes. Have a favorite slaw recipe? Share it with us: editors@DoSouthMagazine.com.
WORDS Catherine Frederick
LAST MINUTE SLAW
{ INGREDIENTS }
• Marketside Tri-Color Cole Slaw (in the salad section)
• Marzetti Original Slaw Dressing (in the salad section)
• 1 teaspoon celery salt
• ½ teaspoon celery seeds
• salt and pepper
CHICK-FIL-A COLESLAW
{ INGREDIENTS }
• 4 teaspoons vinegar
• ¼ cup sugar
• ¼ teaspoon dry mustard
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 1 cup mayonnaise
• 2 bags (10 oz.) finely shredded cabbage, chopped to 1/8 inch
• ¼ cup finely chopped carrots
CILANTRO
LIME SLAW
{ INGREDIENTS }
• 1 head green cabbage, sliced thin
• 1 cup purple cabbage, roughly chopped
• 4 green onions
• ½ bundle fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
• ½ cup lite sour cream
• ½ cup mayonnaise
• 1 ½ Tablespoons sugar
• 2 limes
• Salt and pepper
APPLE-POPPY SLAW
{ INGREDIENTS }
• 2 cups shredded green cabbage
• 1 ½ cups shredded purple cabbage
• ½ cup shredded carrots
• 1 Granny Smith apple, sliced thin
• 2 Tablespoons mayonnaise
• 3 Tablespoons olive oil
• 1 Tablespoon apple cider vinegar
• 1 lemon
• 1 Tablespoon poppy seeds
• salt and pepper
Pour cole slaw into large bowl. Add slaw dressing to your liking—start with a small amount, stir and taste. You can always add more. Add celery salt and celery seeds. Add salt and pepper to taste. Adjust spices if needed. Chill to blend flavors.
{ METHOD }
Whisk vinegar, sugar, mustard, and salt together until sugar is dissolved. Add mayonnaise, and whisk to mix. Add cabbage and carrots. Mix to combine. Refrigerate two hours and serve.
{ METHOD }
{ METHOD } { METHOD }
Slice green cabbage and green onions. Chop purple cabbage and cilantro. Toss together in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, combine sour cream, mayonnaise, sugar, and zest of one lime. Add salt and pepper to taste along with juice of one lime. Toss slaw with dressing mixture. Taste and adjust with more salt, pepper, lime juice if needed.
Combine cabbages, carrots, and apple in large bowl. In separate bowl, combine mayonnaise, olive oil, vinegar, lemon juice, poppy seeds, and salt and pepper, to taste. Combine the cabbage and dressing mixtures, toss to coat. Chill for one hour before serving.
Blueberry BLISS
image Catherine Frederick
INGREDIENTS
Serves 8
• 1 ½ cups fresh blueberries
• ¾ cup sugar
• ½ cup water
• 2 cups gin
• ¾ cup lemon juice (about 4 lemons)
• 2 cups club soda
• Lemon slices (garnish)
METHOD
Bring blueberries, sugar, and water to a boil. Reduce heat, simmer 15-20 minutes. Strain berry mixture into pitcher, pressing berries to release liquid, discard berries. Add gin and lemon juice. Stir. Add ice to pitcher.
Fill glasses with ice, then ¾ of the way full with blueberry cocktail. Top with ¼ cup club soda and garnish with fresh lemon slice. Leave out the gin for a non-alcoholic, delicious treat – simply replace gin with 1 cup of water.
Always drink responsibly. Never drink and drive.
Hoop Dreams
The coolness of the gym is a nice respite from the Pine Bluff afternoon heat, but the sweat still flows out on the court as the Arkansas Rising Stars run through their drills. It's tourney week, and some of the top AAU squads in the country await the Stars in Memphis. Team founder and Head Coach Steven "Jay" Barnett is hell-bent on making sure the squad is ready.
Coach Barnett doesn't yell, but he never stops talking, either. Every athlete gets a steady patter of coaching and tips on footwork, on form and especially desire. The Stars aren't as tall as some of the teams they'll meet, and success goes to who wants it more. Thus, Barnett tolerates no shortcuts – the path to excellence is a toll road and here's where you pay the fare.
"You owe me," is about all Coach has to say to send a kid trotting dutifully to the side, and then hit the deck and crank out some push-ups for missing a pass or other slip-up.
"It's one of those things where I've always been a leader," Barnett said. "Growing up, I was the captain on the football team, the basketball team, you know, I always had leadership roles. My philosophy when I teach kids is discipline, hard work, and dedication.
"They aren't going to get it all at one time, so it's that constant reinforcement. This is competitive basketball; sometimes you just have to know when to let it go and have them try again another day. I don’t want anyone to think they can't be kids."
The first thing you notice about the squad is how much middle school basketball, and the kids who play it, have changed. The seventh-grade team, made up of players age thirteen and younger, is the elite of the Stars program. They've been here the longest and as such are the most tournament savvy and they look it.
Just warming up, you see the talent gliding effortlessly to the
words Dwain Hebda images Dwain Hebda and courtesy Arkansas Rising Stars
hoop; racing through dribbling drills, the ball under perfect control throughout; splashing dead-center three-point jumpers, easy as breathing. They look good, even if they don't look like the seventh graders you remember playing at that age.
But boys are exactly what these athletes are, despite circumstances forcing some to grow up fast and try as they might to look and sound like men. Coach Barnett, who’s thirty-one, sees a lot of himself in his athletes, which is why his directions are taken with such authority. Two or three players tower over him, and most can look him right in the eye, but they don't, at least not in a challenging way. Everything here is "Yes, sir," and every direction is followed and followed immediately.
"As coach, you just got to be firm. You gotta let them know that it's my show," he said. "I'm here to teach you fundamentals and what you're doing is not fundamental. What you see on TV, they get paid to entertain. At some point, those guys started where y'all did, and they had to do this."
The Rising Stars came out of Barnett's conviction that iron sharpens iron, be it in the classroom, on the court or in life. When his son X'Zaevion, now a member of the seventh-grade squad, was just getting going in basketball the elder Barnett didn't like what he saw out of the coaching or the competition.
"When he got into playing rec league basketball, I saw the
direction he was going, and it wasn’t going to do anything but handicap him," he said. "I wanted to teach him the game the correct way. So I prayed about it and asked God if this is for me to do, show me a sign. After a week or two, God showed me a sign and my sign was: If this is what He wanted, to help me come up with a name. I came up with a name after about a week."
Barnett knew what greatness looked like—he'd excelled in athletics throughout his growing up—but he'd never actually coached before, and he'd certainly never put a team together. Plus, this wouldn’t be just any team to bump around in YMCA rec leagues. His would be a squad that would compete at the highest level of youth basketball.
"I just hit the ground running, you know, researching tournaments, figuring out how much everything would cost," he said. "Just went out trying to get all my paperwork together, 501c3, did all that type of stuff."
Barnett cleared every hurdle, and the Rising Stars, made up of nine-yearolds, took the floor in 2014. True to his word, Coach didn't waste any time throwing his boys into the deep end of the competitive pool, racing headlong into tournaments that featured national-caliber competition. They were soon hanging with the more established teams thanks to an up-tempo style of play and rabid defense that kept opponents on their toes.
"I drive hard on defense because I was a defensive guy when I played," Barnett said. "Defense first and then I like to play up-tempo. The more chances you get to put up a shot, the more chances you have of one going in.
"I teach good spacing, it's a team sport. So if you do your job and the other person does their job, then the team's job gets done."
The Stars finished a respectable twentieth and eighteenth in the nation in 2014 and 2015, respectively. In 2016 the squad broke through with an eighth-place national ranking and was third in the country last year. This year, the squad has already played in seven tournaments, won four and was runner-up in a fifth. Individual players have also excelled on their school squads, with several standouts on junior high teams or playing up to freshman high school teams.
"I know for a fact that I have several who can play college basketball," Barnett said, "if they stick with what they know."
The Stars program has grown to include a twelve and under sixthgrade squad, which formed in 2015. Its rise has been even faster, with three consecutive top-ten finishes in the nation, two in the top five rankings. An eleven and under fifth-grade squad came along in 2016 and posted a sixteenth-place finish nationally.
The team's reputation has attracted athletes from throughout the region and even from out of state; one athlete commutes from Monroe, Louisiana, for practices. Another lives in Dallas. But success hasn't made the day-to-day administration of the program any easier. Barnett hustles practice time and facilities and is constantly on the lookout for sources of funding to pay
for tournament fees and other expenses. A lot of times, that source has been his own pocket.
Through it all, Barnett finds the competitive success gratifying— that's the point, after all—but as a high school teacher by trade, he's equally committed to matters of character, respect, and intellect, attributes that will far outlive a crossover dribble in the lives of his players. It’s a responsibility he feels and carries every day, like the father and father figure he is.
"I'm trying to be a positive role model," he said. "I come from the same neighborhoods that they came from."
During practice, the younger brother of one of the players dribbles non-stop on the sidelines. The tot is too young for the Rising Stars, but never too young to learn the fundamentals. Seeing him, Barnett pulls him aside and gives him a piece of advice, then sends him streaking down the court, focused yet joyful. Barnett watches him go, and a smile plays briefly on his face.
That’s the funny thing about dreams. They’re so easily gained yet so hard to shake. Coach Barnett calls the squad in and goes back to work.
MAKE TIME FOR Memphis
When I visited Memphis a few years ago, I stayed at the Peabody Hotel and saw their famous ducks march into the grand lobby where Elvis himself used to socialize. I ate barbeque and strolled down Beale Street, the avenue that literally gave the Beale Street Blues Boy (B.B. King) his name. Sadly, I took these things for granted. But recently I revisited Memphis and saw it in a whole new, soulful light.
This time, while a guest of Tennessee Department of Tourist Development, I stayed at the Hotel Napoleon. This gorgeous boutique hotel is downtown, the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll. Memphis itself is hot and gritty, a place where people have always struggled for a better life, where the Civil Rights Movement dug its heels in. Walking along Main Street, I came upon the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot on April 4, 1968, just outside Room 306. Now the home of The National Civil Rights Museum, it is hallowed ground.
My favorite attraction was Elvis Presley’s Graceland, the house he bought as a twenty-two-year-old. Now it’s one of the most visited homes in America. I didn’t realize Elvis was just nineteen when he recorded his first hit, “That’s Alright Mama,” at Memphis’s Sun Studio, where Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, and Jerry Lee Lewis also sang.
I could go on, but to fall in love with Memphis like I did, you’ll need to go there yourself. Let it wrap you in its big southern arms and transform you with its music and comfort food. Plus, it’s only a five-hour drive from Fort Smith. Here are my top recommendations for visiting Memphis and Western Tennessee, a trip I’m sure you’ll never forget.
WORDS Marcus Coker Images Marcus Coker; courtesy Tennessee Department of Tourist Development; The Peabody Hotel; Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc.
THINGS TO DO
Graceland, The Home of Elvis Presley
Elvis Presley Boulevard, Memphis 901.443.3000 | graceland.com
Graceland is preserved just as it was when Elvis lived there. Recently added is the nearby forty-acre museum that houses Elvis’s gold records, car collection, wardrobe, and even a television that Elvis shot with a pistol. Stay at the newly opened Guest House at Graceland. Consider going during Elvis Week (this year it’s August 11-18), which commemorates The King’s death.
Sun Studio 706 Union Avenue, Memphis 800.441.6249 | sunstudio.com
This is where young Elvis got his start and where the Million Dollar Quartet sang. Go. Get the tour, stand where Elvis stood, sing into the microphone he used. Ask for Tiffany, the most entertaining tour guide in the South.
Stax Museum of American Soul Music
926 E. McLemore Avenue, Memphis 901.261.6338 | staxmuseum.com
Stax was a recording studio during the heyday of soul music. At first a scrappy operation, it became home to Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, and Jean Knight. Now a museum dedicated to the history of soul music, it’s a place not to be missed. (You can see the organ that Booker T. & the M.G.’s used to record “Green Onions.”) Proceeds go to support Stax Music Academy, a program that uses the language of music to educate and uplift underprivileged youth.
Tracing the history of the Civil Rights Movement from slavery to today, this is a beautiful tribute to the fight for equality. Located where Martin Luther King, Jr. was tragically shot, it brings hope for a better tomorrow.
For a relaxing afternoon, go to the gardens, a ninety-six-acre getaway in the heart of town. There’s a traditional Japanese garden, a sensory garden, and countless places to get married if you want to. There’s even a charming play area for children, complete with whimsical treehouses and flower “beds” with actual twin-sized headboards.
Oh my gosh, go to the zoo. There are polar bears, giraffes, hippopotamuses, and even a monkey with a rainbow-colored behind. This is a must for families and animal-lovers.
THINGS TO EAT
Huey’s Downtown
77 S. 2nd Street, Memphis 901.527.2700 | hueyburger.com
The best place to get a burger and shoot toothpicks through a straw into the ceiling! Go here to chill out, grab a drink, and quench your hunger.
Blues City Café
138 Beale Street, Memphis
901.526.3637 | bluescitycafe.com
Put Some South in Your Mouth! If you love barbeque and good southern eatin’, this is the place for you. Here you can get a tasty meal and listen to live music. Reserve the Cadillac Room for your private party.
Majestic Grille
145 S. Main Street, Memphis
901.522.8555 | majesticgrille.com
Located in an old silent-movie theater, here you’ll find delicious food and impeccable service. I had one of the best steaks of my life, topped off with a chocolate cheesecake dessert that came in a shot glass. Ask for Wesley.
The Gray Canary
301 S. Front Street, Memphis 901.249.2932 | thegraycanary.com
The perfect blend of swank and whimsical, this is one of Memphis’s newest and hottest restaurants. Located on the river in an old distillery, The Gray Canary is where you’ll want to spend your special occasions. A new twist on seafood and fine dining.
JACKSON
Drive east for more adventures, and be sure to stop in Jackson, the city that’s the subject of a famous Johnny Cash song. Whether you’re into history or food, it has something for everyone. Check out the West Tennessee Farmer’s Market then walk over to The Local, a collection of small businesses where you’re sure to find the perfect souvenir.
If spirits are your thing, visit these two family-owned businesses, Century Farm Winery and Samuel T. Bryant Distillery. Get a tour. Drink up. Century Farm often has live music in the evenings, so watch their calendar online. When it’s time for dinner, Rock’n Dough, located close to the Farmer’s Market, boasts local beer and pizza so big you’ll need both hands to hold it. For finer dining, go to Chandelier, an eclectic restaurant located in an old whistle-stop hotel. The fried green tomatoes and chocolate crème brûlée are second to none!
Samuel T. Bryant Distillery
1331 Lower Brownsville Road, Jackson
731.467.1221 | samueltbryant.com
Century Farm Winery
1548 Lower Brownsville Road, Jackson
731.424.7437 | centuryfarmwinery.com
Rock’n Dough Pizza & Brew Company
16 Jackson Walk Plaza, Jackson
731.300.0404 | rockndoughpizza.com/jacksonmenu
Chandelier
575 S. Royal Street, Jackson
731.554.2221
For history lovers, the Carnegie Center for Arts and History features an entire room dedicated to Carl Perkins, the man
who wrote “Blue Suede Shoes,” as well as a tribute to the Jackson native who started Hard Rock Café. Then head to the Casey Jones Museum and learn about the famous railway man who gave his life to save his passengers. If you like all-you-caneat downhome cookin’, walk across the parking lot to The Old Country Store. You won’t go away hungry!
Carnegie Center for Arts & History
305 E. College Street, Jackson
731.394.0425
Casey Jones Museum & Village 30 Casey Jones Lane, Jackson
731.668.1222 | caseyjones.com
For more information, visit memphistravel.com & jacksontn.com. If you’re willing to go exploring between Memphis and Jackson, I suggest the Delta Heritage Center in Brownsville, which hosts a Tina Turner exhibit.
For a day on the lake or to see live bald eagles, go to Reelfoot Lake State Park in Tiptonville, and for a fabulous family outing, Discovery Park of America in Union City is worth the drive. They have one of the fastest slides in the world!
The Sun and the Moon
II’m driving past Gregory Cemetery on a day in July when the heat has already topped one hundred degrees. That doesn’t stop the ladies who come every morning bearing tin-foil-covered jars that hold roses from their gardens. The roses don’t last long on the headstones, what could in this Arkansas heat, but that doesn’t stop them.
My mama is one of those women. She wears boxy dresses zipped up the front that she calls dusters. She wears house shoes to town. She flat-out embarrasses me sometimes, but I love her more than air conditioning.
Not long ago, somebody plowed their pickup into the cemetery’s wrought-iron sign that showed the year this graveyard started. Eighteen hundred and something. I should remember; I drive this road every day to and from work, but now the sign is gone, and so is my memory.
Somebody should put the sign back up.
At home, my daughter Virginia is sitting in front of the TV, watching one of those shows with foul-mouthed housewives who pull out each other’s hair and eat air for dinner so they can have cocktails after. I could hear those women in the back-
ground when I called to see if Virginia wanted me to bring her something for dinner.
Virginia is eighteen. Virginia has reminded me of a racehorse ever since she turned thirteen. She has spindly legs and long brown hair and eyes that look at every other girl like they’re something to defeat.
We’re fighting right now. She wants a tattoo. I want her to go to college. Neither of us is very good at compromise.
When I come in the door, she switches the channel to a show about six-hundred-pound people and the doctors who try to save them. Hollow men and hollow women, and gallons of food that never fill them up. I understand emptiness, and it breaks my heart. But I know Virginia is digging at me with this program; I’ve put on twenty-seven pounds since January without even trying.
I point to the TV where a lady fills up a king-size bed. “I get what you’re doing, girl. And I don’t appreciate it one dad-gum bit.”
Virginia flips her hair and narrows her eyes. She looks seven years older when she does this. It gives me a shiver, imagining the future. In seven years I’ll be forty-nine. Dear lord.
FICTION Marla Cantrell
“What?” she says.
“You think skinny lasts a lifetime, but let me tell you, your hormones change. Your body turns on you. You look in your closet one day and the dress you wore to last year’s Christmas party looks as small as a Barbie dress.”
Virginia crosses her arms. “Won’t happen to me. I won’t let it.”
Later, when I call Mama, she says, “Linda, you need to stop provoking that girl. She’ll go to college if she wants to. She’ll get a tattoo whether you like it or not.”
“I hate it when you tell me the truth,” I say. And Mama says, “The truth is the worst.”
The next day, I’m walking past the Pasta Grill on Main Street. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass storefront, and I’m astonished by my body. I lift my hand to my hair and watch my upper arm jiggle. Mama calls this affliction the “Hi, Betty.” As in, when you wave at your friend Betty, your saggy flesh becomes a bedsheet on the clothesline just as a storm front moves in.
Virginia calls as I’m getting into my car. I see her name come up on the phone’s screen and I let it go to voicemail. When I listen to the message, she says, “Hey, Mom. Erin and I are heading to Eureka Springs for a few days. Her dad has a cabin there. We’re going to meditate and stuff.” The phone goes quiet, and then Virginia laughs, “Just kidding! Anyway, wanted to let you know.”
I should call her back. Tell her she has to ask permission, but I’m not up for it. She is in the wasteland between childhood and adulthood. I am there with her.
I call my mom, who says, “When you were eighteen, you crawled out the window in the middle of the night to meet that guy with the two different color eyes.”
“Rennie,” I say, remembering, and despite it all, I smile.
“Rennie,” Mama says. “Didn’t he end up in prison?”
“He owns a chain of Taco Bells,” I say, and Mama says, “I never liked that boy.”
The wind has kicked up, and when I pass the cemetery, it is littered with jars, their tin-foil wrappings reflecting the light. Tomorrow my mama and the other ladies will pick them up. Replace them with new jars, new flowers.
At home, I eat a Lean Cuisine. At eight o’clock on the money I go to Sonic for a half-price root beer float. I decide to give up sleeveless dresses, sleeveless shirts, sleeveless nightgowns. The float tastes soapy and sweet.
The next night, I scroll through Facebook, looking for Rennie. When I find his page, I see he’s gone bald. He’s done that thing men do now, shaving his head and shining it like a bowling ball. He’s probably forty pounds heavier, but he was a stick when I knew him. He has pictures of himself on a bass boat, on a motorcycle, on a cliff overlooking the sea. He has a wife who looks bored, even as she’s standing beside a new Lexus with a red bow on top.
I wonder if Virginia will love anybody the way I loved Rennie. Whether, years later, she will sit alone on a summer night and remember the way it felt to crawl out a window and run to a waiting car. To drive down country roads that smelled like dust and hay and the promise of dew. To end up at a swimming hole after midnight, the water like salvation on those hot nights.
I remember his arms around my waist.
The next morning, I go visit Mama. She says, “You didn’t have to end up alone.” She is sweeping her screened-in porch, her broom sounding like cornstalks rattling in the wind. She names the men I’ve loved or sort of loved or tolerated through the years, the number so high I start to sweat.
I hold my hand up. “Mama,” I say. A warning. An alarm about to go off.
“Don’t you ‘Mama’ me,” she says.
“I’m not alone,” I say. “I have Virginia.”
“Honey,” she says. “Virginia’s nearly gone.”
I stare her down, but Mama keeps sweeping. It seems as if she’s been sweeping my whole life.
Virginia comes home on a Sunday evening, sunburned, smelling like coconuts, a pair of cut-offs covering her bikini bottoms. Her hair is in a messy bun, and I can see that someone has used a ballpoint pen to draw a crescent moon and a four-pointed star on her back, just above the hooks on her bathing suit top. “What’s that?” I ask, and Virginia shrugs. “Nothing permanent,” she says, and I say, “Nothing ever is.”
Still, it’s a beautiful thing. I put my finger against the drawing and trace the lines of the moon. I remember the first time she said the word ‘moon.’ She was nearly two. It sounded like moo. But it was nighttime, and we were on a quilt in Mama’s yard, so I knew what she meant.
“What’s the sun and moon symbolize?” I ask, and Virginia shrugs again. “Not everything has to mean something.”
“I remember the first time you said ‘moon.’ We were in Grandma’s yard. Grandpa had just died. I mean it. He had just died. The ambulance was in the yard with its awful lights pumping. The EMTs were still trying to bring him back. Grandma was wailing, and that made you cry, so I grabbed a quilt and took you outside.”
“That’s an awful story,” Virginia says. And I say, “It sure is.”
“I took you to the funeral. Not my best decision. And then we were standing by a pile of red clay at Gregory Cemetery watching his casket go into the ground. I kept thinking how perfect the hole was. Chiseled sides. Flat bottom. Whoever dug that hole knew what they were doing. It made me feel better somehow, that someone cared enough to make that rectangle smooth and clean.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Virginia asks. Her eyes are rimmed in black. Too much mascara. Too much eyeliner.
“Because life is over in a flash. One moonlit night you’re sneaking out your bedroom window to meet a guy you think could change your life, and the next your daughter is walking out the front door.”
Virginia’s skin is the color of honey. Her eyes are pools. She could be on the cover of a magazine, she’s that beautiful.
“That’s what front doors are made for,” she says. When she frowns the way she does, the number eleven appears for just a second on the spot between her eyes. And then she says, “Your life isn’t nearly over, Mom.”
It’s the nicest thing she’s said to me in weeks.
Gregory Cemetery is a mile from our house. Our house is on a blacktop road that is filled with more possums than cars at night. Tonight, the clouds are putting on a show, moving fast across the sky, covering and uncovering the moon and stars like a kid playing peek-a-boo. I walk in front of Virginia, holding the flashlight. When we get to the cemetery, we tread carefully. Anybody who’s raised right knows how not to step on graves. When we get to Daddy’s plot, we spread the quilt we’ve brought off to the side. It is an old quilt, older than my daddy would be if he were still alive.
Virginia moves the jar of roses off the grave. The roses are memories of their former selves, but when the jar passes beneath my nose, I can smell their peppery perfume. “Grandma should plant a rose bush here,” Virginia says. “It would save her a lot of trouble.”
“Sit,” I say, and Virginia sits cross-legged next to me. Through the quilt I can feel rocks and twigs, the hard edges of grass turned to hay.
Virginia points toward the grave. “Is it possible to love someone you don’t know?” I say, “Sweetheart, that’s the easiest kind of love.”
We lie down. We turn off the flashlight. Above us, Venus shines. I point. “There’s Venus. The only planet that goes in a different direction from all the others.”
The cemetery is loud with birds and frogs and things that scamper out of sight. I stop talking and listen. Tomorrow, Virginia could go away for good. Next week, I could step off a curb at just the wrong time. But tonight, I am the moon. Virginia is my star. Tonight, we are everything.
We’ve gathered a trove of information on the local businesses you love to support. Find out how they got their start, what services and products they offer, and what makes them such a great part of this place we call home.
We serve traditional American food at affordable prices in an atmosphere full of memories! Calico County was built around the concept that traditional American foods never go out of style and we serve cooked-from-scratch recipes in ample portions so you won’t have to ask for a second helping! We offer catering for your outdoor gathering or holiday dinners. You can even give the gift of home cookin’ with our Calico County gift cards. We’re proud to say we’ve been serving you breakfast, lunch and dinner since 1984, and we look forward to many more years to come!
4300 Rogers Ave., Fort Smith, AR
To me, local ownership of a private practice clinic ensures that I have control over important decisions that directly affect my employees and our patients. For our patients, it allows us to choose only cutting-edge technology in the hearing industry based on the person's specific needs, not based on a national sales average. For my employees, it allows us to sit together, pray together and resolve problems with collaborative input where everyone feels valued.
Chris Clean Carwash, home to the cleanest cars in the city! Drop by and let us show you why our loyal customers say we’re the best from start to finish with customer service that can’t be beat. We have 8 locations to serve you! Greenwood, Fianna Hills, Booneville, Zero Street, 74th Street, 11th Street, 6th Street, and Arkoma. Whether it’s road grime, bird poop, bugs, or other pollutants – we’ll clean it up from hood to trunk! Drive Chris Clean - it’s time to shine!
Certified Gemologist
The iconic white building on Garrison Avenue has been occupied by First National Bank of Fort Smith since it was built 108 years ago. While preserving the past, First National Bank wanted to prepare their historic headquarters for the future. Among the new additions are a coffee bar, waiting area, and additional offices to serve their customers. From the original coffered ceilings to the new glass walls and granite floors, First National Bank will continue to serve their community for generations to come. We are grateful for the past, looking forward to the future, and excited for the grand reopening event in August.
Summer is here, and fun is in the air! What better time to get your jewelry cleaned and checked so it sparkles for all your BBQs and pool parties. It’s also a great time get those timepieces checked to make sure they are good to go for your next lake adventure, and you don’t wake up with a foggy watch crystal. Be sure to pay attention to upcoming ads in Do South® as we have some fun events and shows coming up that are unlike anything you have ever seen in our area before!
Kelsie Jo Photography
KelsieJoPhotography.com 479.434.6443
Hi, I’m Kelsie Jo, and I’ve been in the photography business for 11 years! My love for photography began as a young child but grew into a business during my junior year at Southside High School. I’ve been photographing seniors, families, weddings, and special events ever since. I’ve been blessed to receive the title of Best of the Best Photographer in the River Valley for the past 3 years, as well as honored with several photo awards, and chosen to travel the world to photograph weddings. I always strive to make sure my clients are happy and go the extra mile to make sure that what they envision, is brought to life through my lens.
An idea was planted in a garage on Free Ferry Road in Fort Smith, in 1959. An idea of healthy living through wholesome food and supplements. That idea has grown, expanded and transformed into something more than just a seed. Olde Fashioned Foods is now owned and operated by the third generation of the Bruce family, and we are excited now more than ever to be your Natural Food Store in the River Valley.
4951 Old Greenwood Rd., Fort Smith, AR preferredcounseling.net
479.709.9880
Feeling stuck in life? Develop new perspectives and life skills so that you can free yourself from habitual patterns of anxiety, depression, and self-criticism and move forward with a new plan of hope. The ways in which people cope with stressors can have significant short and long-term consequences on their physical and emotional health. Let us walk with you down the path of change and victory. We also offer Technology-Assisted Counseling to our clients, so no matter where you are in the world you can schedule a session with your therapist!
5401 Phoenix Ave., Fort Smith, AR
At Sodie’s, we strongly believe in our local community and as a result we support various local charities throughout the year. We believe that our community thrives when one might drive that extra mile to shop local, keeping jobs and tax dollars here in the River Valley. As we continue to grow, customers can expect to find top-of-the-line products and services, including online ordering, the new Sodie’s app, and a tasting area that’s open daily. We invite you to shop local and experience the Sodie’s difference.
6808 Rogers Ave., Ste. B, Fort Smith, AR truegritrunningco.com 479.434.3571 / 479.629.8676
True Grit Running Company is where perseverance meets passion. Whether you’re training for your first 5K, planning your next marathon, or just need comfortable shoes to keep up with your kids, we have the gear to help you reach your goals. With our slow-motion gait analysis and our extensive product knowledge, we can help you find a great pair of shoes! But, we offer so much more than shoes! We carry apparel, nutrition, hydration accessories, injury prevention gear, and recovery gear. We also have a variety of classes, workshops and group runs to help keep you moving, whatever your pace!
We love our hometown and have for generations. The Udouj family is rooted in Fort Smith! Our patients love that we have often treated their parents and even their grandparents, so we’ve established trusting relationships. As a locally owned business, we are deeply involved in the success of our community and strive to offer our time, treasure and talents to see that “Life IS worth living in Fort Smith, Arkansas!”
5111 Rogers Ave. Ste. 204, Fort Smith, AR
3716 South 87th St., Fort Smith, AR
479.452.3559 / 479.434.5350
What’s new at The Woodsman Company? This spring we opened a second location in the old Ozark Mountain Smokehouse. This location is focused on kayaking and kayak accessories, backpacking, and camping gear, with the addition of Simms and Fly Fishing gear this fall. At this location, you can rent select kayaks and gear. We are continuing to expand The Woodsman Company brand of apparel with an expanding line of t-shirts, hats, and sweatshirts. Thank you for 33 years of support!
3117 Waco St., Fort Smith, AR
Why choose Westark? We’ve been in business for more than twenty-six years, we stand behind our work, and our vendors stand behind us with their products. We are organized and productive, honest and available, and have an excellent work ethic with the licensing and the right equipment to get the job done. We are here to take care of your needs, and we answer the phone every time! We can unclog anything in addition to pumping out septic tanks and cleaning grease pits. Trust is our main asset. Depend on our team for all plumbing installations, repairs and replacement needs!
Chair Publishing, LLC 4300 Rogers Avenue, Suite 20-110
