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The Stylish Gardener

Pond Panther

11/24/2014

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It's official:  I'm not crazy.  I'm not imagining things, I'm not hallucinating, I'm not dreaming. 
I know this because this morning I saw it again. 

Remember that mysterious creature I saw back in the spring?  With the coal black fur, cat-like tail, and pointy ears?  The one that my dad and I tried unsuccessfully to track into the woods?  That one.  It came back. 
I believe now that what I saw then was a young panther.  And I think it likes my pond.

The morning started out like usual.  There I was, minding my chores, tossing pumpkins to the pig, when for no reason at all I happened to glance down toward the pond.  And there it was--perched on the pond bank, tensed for attack, staring with laser-like focus at the water. 

A jolt of shock shot through me, paralyzing me for a brief moment.  And then I sprang into action.  I dropped my pumpkin, whirled around, and ran back to the house. 

No, I wasn't being a 'fraidy cat.  I'm not afraid of no cat.  But I was afraid it would leave before I got a picture of it.  And my camera was in the house.

After a few frantic moments, during which I managed to find the camera, the binoculars, and my courage, I raced back outside, praying silently that it was still there. 

My prayers were answered.  It was now sitting on its haunches on the bank, slowly assessing the area.  It was here that I faced a dilemma like none I'd faced before:  Should I look through the binoculars first or the camera lens?  Had I been more awake I could have made a decision faster, but as it was, my foggy brain and my bleary eyes slowed me up. 

I wanted to see it close up so bad that I tried the binoculars first, but they were out of focus, so I wasted precious moments trying to remember how to adjust them.  I got them fixed just in time to watch the thing shake its head in disgust at me and turn toward the woods.  As if it could do any better.  Adjusting binoculars is hard!

I realized I was missing my chance to get a photo, so I quickly raised the camera and clicked off a shot.  Unfortunately, by that time it was so far away that the photo doesn't do it justice.  Instead of the majestic jungle cat I saw with my own eyes, it resembles something more along the lines of an alley cat.  Bummer.  But at least I have evidence.  So without further ado, here it is...
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See what I mean?  It's not that impressive. 

You should have been there--it was better in real life.



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Let's try to zoom in...nope.  Still not any better.  Actually I think that's worse.

Shoot.  I really wanted you to see it.  I wanted you to experience the amazement I felt while gazing at this mesmerizing animal.  The kind of wonder I felt when my granny would tell me stories from days gone by about mysterious creatures living deep in the hills surrounding our tiny town.  Like the creature that walked on two legs, creeping behind my uncle as he walked the path home from a visit to his sweetheart.  The panther lounging in a tree, staring into the upstairs window at a lady as she brushed her hair before bed.  The search parties headed into the darkness of the woods by lantern light, in pursuit of elusive mountain lions who had decimated their livestock.  Eerie eyes glowing in the moonlight, peering at the occupants of passing wagons on their way home from town.  The big cat killed by the menfolk that was so massive its nose touched the front of the wagon, its body stretched the length of the bed, and its tail dragged the ground as they hauled it to town. 

Those were the days.  And those were the stories that were told, whether we believe them or not.  What I do believe is what I've seen with my own eyes, tired though they were.  One thing I know for sure, when a black panther looks you in the eye, you believe he's real.  Even if you're peering through binoculars when it happens.  I am also aware of the caution that needs to be exercised now that I have one in my midst.  But still, I feel honored to have glimpsed it.  It's as if for a few moments I was granted access to a wilderness reserved for the truly wild, a place very few humans get to see.

My glimpse was short-lived, as they always are.  As I watched my panther disappear into the brush, I slowly returned to my chores.  The excitement faded and routine returned.  All day long I glanced toward the pond, hoping to catch another glimpse of my pond panther.  But it was not to be.  He was long gone, yet even now he lingers in my mind.  And in my imagination.  And one day when my grandchildren sit at my knee, I will smile to myself and tell them about the time I came eye to eye with a black panther. 

And then maybe, just maybe, I'll tell them the truth!

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Arkansas Adventure

11/6/2014

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You may think that I'm talking foolish, you've heard that I'm wild and I'm free...or maybe you haven't.  Either way, I've been on a little adventure through the Arkansas Ozark Mountains, and I've got a wild story to tell.  And it's free.

Incidentally, it doesn't involve Randy Travis.  Sorry.

But it does involve
a catfish pond, a pumpkin thief, a tiny graveyard hidden deep in the Ozark Mountains, and a van full of crazy ladies.  And an entire barrel of fun. 

That part bears repeating--A barrel-full.  Of fun.  I feel I've made my point.

It all started in 1933.  Sort of.  At least that's when a certain notorious ancestor of mine disappeared under questionable circumstances.  It was such a mystery that to this day, folks in our little town still speculate about it.  And that's all I'm allowed to say.  It's still a delicate subject in our family, but it's one that led a group of us across the Missouri/Arkansas line and deep into the Ozark Mountains on a quest for answers.

Here's where the wild and free part comes in.  Their names are Phyllis (my mom), Aunt Jane,  Aunt Virginia, and Cousin Julia.  These ladies love to cut loose and have a ball, and all I can tell you is this:  I haven't laughed so hard in years.  And you wouldn't believe the family secrets that were revealed--my ears are still ringing!  And I love it.

With me at the wheel, we
headed south toward Arkansas--well, most of us did.  We picked up Julia along the way. 

Julia and her husband, David, live not far across the state line, so we made their home our home base.  They said they didn't mind.
..

Good thing, too, because I love visiting Julia.  There's lot's of fun things to do at her house.
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Julia and David own and operate the shop, One Man's Treasure, which is a fantastic treasure trove of antiques and nostalgia items located on Hwy 65 not far from Harrison, Ark.  Every time I visit, they bring out their latest finds and let me ooh and aah over them.  I'm really good at that.

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Here's a shot of Julia's house.

Just kidding.  This is her cute little cabin, nestled in the woods, near the banks of a catfish pond.

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Let's peek inside...oh, it's so cute and cozy!  No wonder she likes to sneak away and play in here!

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Mornings at Julia's house are spent sitting by the catfish pond, drinking coffee, tossing crackers to the fish, and letting your troubles float away.  Even though it was rainy, I wasn't gonna miss out on this.  It was so relaxing.

At least it was until we realized we had a pumpkin thief in our midst...

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...who appropriately goes by the name of "Outlaw".  Outlaw roams free at Julia's house, he's not the type to be fenced in.  But this wild stallion was no match for an angry blonde.  She chased him out of the yard in no time flat. 

The dust was flying, or it would have been if it hadn't been raining.
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Here's the pumpkins he was thieving from...see the bite marks? 

Outlaws will try to get away with anything!!

But they're fun to have around.

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After the showdown with Outlaw, we hopped back in the van and headed south on Highway 65.  This stretch of highway meanders through the mountains, alongside quaint little towns that time forgot, and around long-abandoned homesteads.  Everywhere you look there's a reminder of the past, like this peaceful old barn with it's festive hay bales...

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And this lively old pickup truck...that I really wanted to take home with me.

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And these neat little rock cabins near the beautiful Buffalo River.  Can you imagine spending the night here, then canoeing down the river the next morning?  Oh, yesteryear.  Where did you go?

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And then there was this not-so-little Victorian Mansion.  Stunning, even if it's seen better days.

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When we happened on this spring flowing right out of the side of a mountain, I suddenly realized how thirsty I was.  And you know how I am with springs--I simply had to get me a sip.  The spring reminded me of the one my granny told me she drank out of as a girl, living in an Arkansas railroad camp in the 1920's.

Except ours was a little more modern.  It had a pipe.  

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We traveled on past great antique shops like this one (too bad it was "shut"), and gorgeous scenery, through a rainstorm and narrow mountain passes, and eventually pulled up at the final resting place of our long missing relative, a tiny cemetery in a beautiful mountain holler.

Reaching our destination sparked a wealth of speculation that transported us back to the days of Model T's, moonshine stills, railroad camps, and smoke-filled taverns.  It was a world where life was hard, disappearing was easy, and survival was all that mattered--to some, at least. 

But it all comes to an end sometime...no pun intended.  But it did seem fitting that a graveyard was where we reached the end of our quest. 

Sort of.
  If we could only figure out how he ended up there...it's such a mystery.
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We haven't arrived at all the answers yet, but as always, the journey is really the best part.  Especially when it's through the Ozark Mountains with family like mine!
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