Showing posts with label Arkansas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arkansas. Show all posts

Day Eight: The Civil War Rages On


Today we headed out to Pea Ridge, a turning point in the Civil War and a battle that saved Missouri for the Union. In early March 1862, the Federal Western Army, under the command of General Samuel Curtis clashed with the Major General Earl Van Dorn’s Western Confederates in the Ozark countryside.

Decisions made on both sides changed the course of history.

Van Dorn, vain and ambitious, planned to take Missouri, all the way to St. Louis, and at the onset, it seemed within his grasp. He had more men, supplies and cannon than Curtis, who had begun to dig in at Little Sugar Creek. Knowing a frontal assault was suicide, Van Dorn pushed his men on a ruthless march north to the Federal rear and right. To save time, he made the decision to leave behind supplies and additional ammunition. By the end of the fighting on March 7, the Confederates had pushed the Blues back to Ruddick’s Field, and gained control of Elkhorn Tavern, but lost two of its commanding officers, General Benjamin McCulloch and James McIntosh in the fighting.

Van Dorn felt confident he would take the battle the next day, but that night, Curtis fortified his troops and in the morning, the cannonade fired on the Confederates was precise and savage. Union troops then assaulted the Confederate right and centers. Without sufficient ammunition or supplies, the Confederates had no choice but to retreat, leaving Missouri firmly in Union control.

After the defeat at Pea Ridge, Van Dorn continued to fight in Mississippi, where he successfully defended Vicksburg in 1862, but after failing to retake Corinth in October, his troops became disenchanted with him. His career was cut short in 1863 when a jealous husband, a personal enemy who claimed Van Dorn had been having an affair with his wife, killed him.

Samuel Curtis continued his government service after the war, working as an Indian commissioner and consultant for track laid by the Union Pacific Railroad.

The Pea Ridge National Battlefield site covers 4,300 acres. We took the seven mile driving tour with stops that include the Elkhorn Tavern and the east overlook, which provides a panoramic view of the battlefield. It is such a serene scene, and so hard to comprehend the sea of blue uniforms, over 10,000 men stretching a mile long, who amassed in that open field on the morning of March 8, 1862. What chaos with the waves of men, billowing smoke from the black powder, the deafening sound of cannon shot, all eventually forcing the Confederates to withdraw.

In the last two years, Jason and I have been to Civil War battlefields all over the south, each different in their tribute to the fallen, but each hallowed ground. It is important that we remember this tragic chapter in our country’s history, and we do what we can to preserve the battlefields as battlefields, far more essential than another shopping mall or housing development.

If you are interested in learning more about preserving Civil War battlefields, especially in this, the 150th anniversary of the war, visit the Civil War Trust or the national Give 150 campaign sponsored by the History Channel.
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Day Seven: Prairie Grove Battlefield

We headed out of southern Arkansas today along the western edge of the state on our way to Prairie Grove, the site of a turning point battle during the Civil War’s western campaign.  

We certainly can’t call it a Civil War Harley Tour if we don’t visit at least one battlefield and I provide a bit of a history lesson, now can we?

The battle of Prairie Grove took place on December 7, 1862 when the Confederate Army under Major General Thomas Hindman clashed with two divisions of the Union Frontier Army, led by Brigadier Generals James G. Blunt and Thomas Herron.

The Confederates assembled on the ridge overlooking the Illinois River and fought back two charges by Herron’s troops in a bloody barrage of ammunitions. Blunt arrived with reinforcements and the savage fighting continued until dark when the Confederates retreated under cover of night.

The heaviest fighting took place around the home of William Morton and in his orchard, corn and wheat fields. The family, and some of their neighbors, hid in the Morton basement while the battle raged on around them. Strategically, it was a Union win, but casualties were considerable on both sides, with nearly 2,700 men killed, wounded or missing.

The Battle of Prairie Grove took its name from the one room log building that General Hindman used as his headquarters. After the battle, both sides used the structure as a hospital. This was the last major battle in Arkansas, and the state stayed under Federal control for the duration of the war.  The town of Prairie Grove was established in 1888, taking its name from the battle.

The park was established in 1908 by the Daughters of the Confederacy, and was originally used for Confederate soldier reunions. Today, over 800 acres of the original 3,600 are preserved, making the Prairie Grove Battlefield one of the most intact in the country.

We also visited the National and Confederate cemeteries in Fayetteville. I am always so moved by the sheer number of small white headstones, lined in perfect formation, a living legacy to the tragedy we inflicted upon ourselves as a young nation. Anyone who served in our country’s military has the option to be buried in a National Cemetery, and the interments in the Fayetteville National Cemetery are no exception. There are headstones for those who served in the Civil War, both World Wars, the Spanish American War, Korea, Vietnam and the more recent Gulf war conflicts as well.  For the most part, each stone identifies the soldier, sailor, airman or Marine by name.

I am so much more saddened by the anonymity of the Confederate cemeteries. They are primarily afterthoughts, burial grounds organized by caring associations formed to provide a proper resting place for their soldiers. Since many of the bodies were exhumed from where they fell and were originally buried, the stones are usually anonymous, simple markers that only silently remind that that at one time, this was someone’s husband, son, brother or father.
In the middle of the cemetery is a large confederate soldier, standing sentry over the rows of headstones, fanning out from the memorial in four directions, representing the soldiers from Louisiana, Missouri, Texas and Arkansas.

Most of the soldiers buried in Fayetteville fell in the battles of Pea Ridge or Prairie Grove. Some fell in the Battle of Fayetteville or other small area skirmishes, but many died from sickness of disease during the winters of 1861 and 1862.

I don’t have any relatives buried in any of these cemeteries, but I always feel a need to stop by and offer a moment of silence for the fallen, regardless of which side they fought on. 
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Pioneer Life: Washington State Park


When I first suggested to Jason that we visit Washington State Park, he reminded me that my bar for these types of interpretive attractions is Williamsburg, Virginia, and Hope, Arkansas was a long way to go for possible disappointment.

I knew I was taking a risk. I was told Sturbridge, Massachusetts was like Williamsburg. Disappointed. Same with Plimoth Plantation. So, it was either three strikes I’m out or third time’s the charm. 

The town of Washington, Arkansas, current population 180, holds a pivotal place in Arkansas history. It was a stop along the southwest trail for pioneers and frontiersmen, including Jim Bowie, Sam Houton and Davy Crockett, on their way to Texas. Washington also served as the Confederate capital of Arkansas during the Civil War. The Washington Telegraph, established in 1840, was the only Confederate newspaper to continue to print through the Civil War and beyond, publishing its last edition in 1947. The railroad, and the neighboring town of Hope contributed to the slow decline of the city, but because of its historic significance to the state, the Pioneer Washington Restoration Foundation was formed in 1958 and in 1975, Washington was declared a Historic State Park.

The Visitor Center, housed in the former 1874 Hempstead County Courthouse building, is your first stop. There are several rooms of audio and visual exhibits, including the actual courtroom and Judge’s chambers. You can certainly wander the town itself, but to learn more about the town, it’s history and to tour the restored buildings, a ticket is required.

It was early when we arrived, and it seemed like we were the only two people there. Turns out, most of the visiting traffic is during the school year, on weekends and for special events (of which there are many), so we had what amounted to a quiet, personal tour. 

Different exhibits are open based on the day and the theme. We visited the Block-Catts residence, home to Abraham Block, the first Jewish settler in Arkansas, the Royston house, circa 1845, owned by one of 17 lawyers living in Washington in 1850, and the  Purdom House. At the Sanders  farm and homestead, we met Betty, the Sanders slave, who chatted with us since “Mistress Martha” had gone into town, and shockingly, in such heat, without her parasol.

We had lunch in the Williams Tavern Restaurant, built circa 1832. Southern hospitality and good home cooking were both on the menu. We enjoyed fried pickles,  Jason had a classic fried bologna sandwich with a side of fries and I had an awesome reuben with onion rings. The atmosphere was quaint and charming and the food delicious.

We saw the B.W. Edwards firearms collection, more than 200 pieces, the Printing office, with a superb collection of printing presses and a Lin-O-Type machine, and the James Black blacksmith shop. Black was the smith who forged the knife made famous by frontiersman, Jim Bowie.

So, no, it’s not Williamsburg, but Washington was charming, well managed and definitely worth the trip. It was an excellent representation of a prairie town and the daily lives of the pioneers who help expand our country westward.

To learn more about Washington, visit their website at http://www.historicwashingtonstatepark.com/
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Day Six: How Dry I Am

My intention for tonight was to draft a simple blog about our experience at Washington State Park, have a nice adult beverage, watch the hockey game and get a good night sleep before a long ride up the western edge of Arkansas to see a few Civil War battlefields tomorrow.  Ah, the best laid plans……

We returned to the hotel and wandered across the street to the gas station to buy some beer for Jason and Mike’s Hard Lemonade (I hoped) for me. Since we’d seen beer and wine in every gas station we stopped in after Pennsylvania, we didn’t think it would be an issue. Silly us. No beer. No wine. Nothing with alcohol content stronger than water. Ok. Maybe that particular gas station simply didn’t sell it, but before we went on to the next station, we decided head back to the hotel and ask at the front desk.

“Do you know where we can buy some beer or wine?”
“Oh no deah, this is a dry county.”
“Really?” I tried not to sound shocked. After all, this IS Arkansas.
“But I can give ya’ll directions to the liquor store,” she offered, rummaging matter-of-factly through her file index, pulling out a slip of paper with typed directions. “Here ya go, deah. It’s just a short ride over the bridge and down the haway in Miller County.”

Miller.  How appropriate.

So we took the slip of paper back to our room, stifling our giggles until we were out of earshot. It then dawned on Jason as to why he couldn’t find an Applebees, Chili’s or sports bar of any kind closer than Texarkana. So, no alcohol, no hockey, and the only restaurants we’d seen were fast food chains. It wasn’t turning into the promising evening we had expected.

The Boll Weevil, yes… that’s the name of the liquor store….was only a few miles away, so we decided to make the run.  Donning helmets, we climbed on the bike and headed on down the “haway”. 

I wish I’d thought to bring my camera.

The building was certainly nothing to speak of, distinguished only by the giant green letters spelling out BOLL WEEVIL LIQUORS and DELI. The parking lot, on the other hand, looked like the mall on December 23rd.  There had to be twenty or more trucks parked in the lot, not counting the two that pulled in ahead of us.  The entrance was like a two-way conveyor belt – truck in, truck out, two in, two out. And every patron wore the same uniform – faded blue jeans, graphic tee shirt, construction boots, ragged baseball cap and black sunglasses. In they went and out they came, brown paper bag in hand.

Jason and I sighed deeply and went inside, clearly out of our element.  The air was heavy with the smell of grease (Fried chicken, yes. Bologna, no, so I was confused about the whole ‘deli’ concept). and the left and back walls were lined with beer coolers. While Jason and I surveyed the shiny cans and bottles, it was no nonsense for everyone else. They bee-lined to their beverage of choice, walked up to the counter, paid and left. With no Mike’s in sight, I settled on a large-sized Smirnoff Ice. Jason pulled out a 40 oz. bottle of Bud Light, and we did what felt like the Perp Walk, without the paparazzi and coat over our heads, to the counter.

With brown-bagged bottles in hand, we went back out to the bike and loaded them into the saddlebag, while the trucks continue to pull in and out. It was amazing.

We waited for five more vehicles to make the right into the lot before we could pull out, and as we made our getaway, I felt like a fugitive smuggling contraband across the county line.

With the bottles chilling in our in-room refrigerator, dinner was the next decision.
Staying true to our commitment to eat locally at least once a day, Big Jake’s BBQ, the home of the Original Fried Pies, was the hands down winner. Of course, being the only place within 15 minutes helped.

A local favorite, judging by the parking lot, we entered with high hopes and were not disappointed. Jason ordered the small plate with beef brisket, ribs, corn and coleslaw, and I had the same, with chicken as my BBQ choice.  The meal was served in paper lined plastic dishes, with plastic silverware and rolls of paper towels on the table.  It was awesome.  And because we felt we had to, we tried the coconut fried pie; batter covered coconut cream pie filling deep fried and served in a paper sleeve.  Also, a tasty treat.

So now, we’re back in our room watching the Boston Red Sox instead of the Boston Bruins, drinking water instead of alcohol and looking for Harley Dealers along tomorrow’s route.

And yes, I’ll still blog about Washington State Park, but it may have to wait until morning.
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Day Five: Arkansas

We left Branson early this morning to hazy blue skies and a chilly 70 degrees. Not that 70 is normally described as chilly, but considering it was 87 degrees when we started out on Monday…..

The Arkansas state border was less than 20 minutes away, and it seemed that as soon as we crossed, the haze evaporated and someone turned up the heat. Today was spent on Scenic Highway 7, which, for the most part, was great. But nothing has the capacity to mess up a perfect road than a road crew. June is not only the official first month of summer vacation season, but apparently, it’s also the official start of road construction, especially on two lane roads that wind wonderfully through national parks.

We pulled into Hot Springs near lunchtime, and spun the local fare wheel once again. Hot Springs was the boyhood home of former President Bill Clinton, and it’s posted proudly on a sign as you roll into town. The historic downtown area has wonderful stores and shops housed in restored landmark buildings. (http://www.hotsprings.org/things_to_do/historic_hotsprings/downtown.aspx) 

We spied a restaurant called The Ohio Club, and decided to try it. Little did we know we were walking into history.  It features tin ceiling tiles and a massive mahogany bar back. The piece was constructed in Kentucky and shipped to Hot Springs in 1917 by flat bed rail car. During Prohibition, Hot Springs was frequented by famous and infamous gangsters. The Ohio Club was a private gambling establishment patronized by Al Capone, Mae West and Al Jolson.

Bullet holes are still visible in the ceiling, and a complete wire service, which helped bookies get sporting results, was found behind a false wall.

The food was fabulous!  Jason had a hand-formed mushroom swiss burger served on a ciabatta roll. I had a to die for turkey and swiss melt on sour dough bread. Our waitress, Scarlett, was awesome. She gave us the history of the club and told us about the ghosts who frequent the building. Yes, ghosts. Plural.

Scarlett told us about the other things to do and see in Hot Springs, including the Fordyce Bathhouse, in an attempt to convince us to stay in the area.  As much as we would have liked to, we needed to move on, but had I known, I would have scheduled some more time there.

The ride continued down Route 7, and the mercury kept rising. The temperature reached 100 degrees and there was no escaping it. The radio kept reiterating that it was unusually hot for this time of year. No kidding.  At least it wasn’t raining.

Our day ended in Hope, Arkansas, the birthplace of former President Clinton. I swear, I didn’t plan it this way! 

Tomorrow (Wednesday) is a “stay” day. Our ride is a whole 7 miles, all the way to Historic Washington State Park. Anyone who knows me knows my bar for historically preserved towns is set at Williamsburg, VA, so I’ll let you know tomorrow how Washington measures up!
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