BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… THE DIVINE HAG. The Ozarks are beautiful in springtime, but springtime is not yet here. I stand atop my own meadow mountain, wind gusts hitting something like 50 miles an hour, and squint into the gale, into the dust, briefly losing my footing and catching myself from falling as the wind intensifies.…
A Thoughtful Drive by Cindy Thomas with artwork by Brent Holland Writers Artists Night 2021 Leaving U.S. Highway 65 at Leslie, Arkansas, Highway 66 meanders through the Ozark hills toward Mountain View. It winds past communities whose dominant—or only—feature is a gas station or tiny post office, alongside the occasional country church. Gently sloping from…
Whiskey Men and Wildcat by Travis Holt Moonshine, so often associated with Appalachia, is an integral part of Ozarks culture. Growing up in the hills of Newton County, Arkansas, I lived a privileged life. I got to know a good amount about my ancestors and hear of their stories and experiences. Though most of my…
Plate 1. War Eagle Cornbread, May 11, 2009. Corn bread by Joshua Heston You wouldn’t think that a simple cake — and it is more of a cake than a bread — would garner so much attention. Or come in so many varieties. Cornbread does. A staple of not only the Ozarks but rural America…
Entrance sign to Board Camp Crystal Mine near Mena, Arkansas. Mysteries at the Board Camp Crystal Mine by Margie Kay My experience at the Board Camp Crystal Mine in Board Camp, Arkansas, began long before I set foot on the property. I’d heard about this mysterious place where people said they’ve seen not only Unidentified…
Josh’s StateoftheOzarks Picks 2016 The memories of a past year. Of the many photos I took as editor of StateoftheOzarks, these are my favorites. Most aren’t very fancy. Few are particularly edited. But they are a montage of my life’s last 12 months. As a writer, I do, naturally, have a lot to say about…
Been Thinkin’ About… Nine summers ago. Change. Love. Heartbreak. The passage of time. The pain of self-doubt. Life. Nine summers ago, the tomatoes were ripening. Strawberry season had passed. Cottonwood leaves rippled in the dry August air. And I was on a mission. One I absolutely believed in for no apparent reason. I had known…