When morning came, we packed our bags and said goodbye to Missouri and to our temporary lap of luxury and headed south to Arkansas. We had planned to break up the next leg of our trip by driving a while and then stopping to explore an underground cave. Cosmic Cavern to be exact. An experience fit for two little boys.
We pulled in to what appeared to be an old RV site with a trailer house sitting on top of a hill. The boys were somewhat confused since they were expecting to explore a cave, which to them clearly meant something right outa Scooby Doo.
We headed inside to prepare for our descent and check out the goodies on display. As I stood listening to the employee explain how things worked, I could feel someone tugging on my shirt. “Momma,” he said in a whisper. And again, “Momma, Momma.”
Since our boys have been taught not to interrupt when grown ups are talking, I was a bit aggravated and gave him the palm-toward-the-face, not-now-maneuver and tried to continue listening to the worker. He didn’t give up so easily, thank goodness, and when I finally bent down to impatiently ask, “Cooper! What do you want?” He said, “Momma, I’m gonna throw up.”
My cleverly disguised Supermom strength kicked in, and I picked up the boy, and tucked him under one arm, dodging a rack of adventure guides and oncoming explorers in the fray. We barely made it to the end of the porch before the poor child could hold it no longer.
I was frantically scrounging for a tissue of some sort but kept coming up empty handed. I sent Dad to the car and he came back with a Coke and a day old biscuit--to help calm his stomach--and a wadded up, partially used single ply. Geez.
Aside from the uneasy looks we received from the other paying customers, and the personal visit from what appeared to be the proprietor of the place, I’d say we handled the mess quite well, and by the time his stomach had settled, it was our turn to head underground.
The opening of the cave was like an old cellar door. Steps right on top of one another made the trip down and up a challenge for some, but it seemed a perfect fit for two little boys. The guide spent way too much time explaining the differences between stalagmites and stalactites and the origin of the latest bat disease, but the boys were patient, knowing somewhere in this underground world were two bottomless lakes with blind cave trout bumping into one another, no doubt. They could not wait to feast their eyes upon something as crazy as that.
We finally reached the lakes, but as luck would have it, the cave trout had all been eaten by some other kind of trout and all that was left was a giant whisky barrel some old-time explorer had discarded along the way. The boys’ first lesson on “truth in advertising”.
By the time we emerged from the old cellar door, we were all glad we lived above ground, despite the warmer climate, and were ready to continue traveling to our next destination: Devil’s Den State Park.
The place wasn’t as ominous as it’s name, but the caves it housed were closed due to the same crazy bat disease the tour guide had previously told us about. Arkansas, however, was not about caves for our boys. It was all about the great outdoors. You see, those new fishing poles we bought three days ago had yet to get wet. In fact, they weren’t even out of the plastic, so our first order of business was to catch some fish.
They learned rather quickly that just because they had a new rod and reel, and just because there was a bunch of water in front of them, and just because they really wanted to…well, that didn’t mean they were going to catch a single fish. A little moss, a stick or two maybe, but no fish.
And for the next three days…still no fish. They tried top water lures. They tried bobbers. They even tried real live worms, thanks to a nice lady fishing from the dam. But nothing. It was a real test in patience, and we all learned rather quickly that one of them has it, and one of them does not. I think Brisco could have cast and reeled all day long without getting a bite. Coop on the other hand, quite simply would have rather been playing ball.
The next two days were spent in a rustic cabin hidden in the trees of the Ozarks. The rain killed our swimming plans as well as our satellite and cell service, but there’s no way it ruined the fun of our stay.
We spent one morning on a mile and a half hike through beautiful terrain and saw a waterfall and the many crevices in the earth that had formed in the area. The boys seemed to enjoy their discoveries but were even more impressed with the convenient places provided for hikers to tie their shoes (i.e. trail markers). Thanks, Dad, for that bit of comic relief.
We took walks in the rain and perfected our rock-skipping techniques on the creek. We cooked out on the grill and enjoyed catching fireflies and meeting the baby owls that frequented our spot. One morning we watched as a baby deer wandered to within a few feet of our car.
We discovered huge daddy longlegs spiders and walking sticks that were so big and incognito that they could have been mistaken for a stalk of wheat. We eyed Heckle and Jeckle lurking overhead in the treetops above us, and Dad even came across a snake on the hiking trail. Now who says you need a satellite to have fun?
The drive home was no less exciting than any other part of our journey, and as the boys talked about the fun they’d had, all that seemed to be missing was a good, long swim. Being the old softy that he is, Dad steered his car into the first hotel with an indoor pool--and a working air conditioner--that he could find, and rallied the troops for a night and a day of all the swimming they could handle. It seemed the perfect ending to a week of fun and togetherness and to a successful first family vacation experience.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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