I know... I do crazy things sometimes.
Yesterday morning I drove my wife over to Memphis ( a couple hours to our east) to meet her mother to do a little shopping and grab a nice lunch at Macaroni Grill. After lunch I left my wife with her mother at the restaurant (to plan their shopping spree) and I headed back to central Arkansas.
For 38 years I have passed this sign on highway 64 west that points off to the north and simply says "Birdeye". There's really no telling how many times I have passed that sign... each time thinking that someday I would turn off of the main highway and head on up that winding road to Birdeye, Arkansas.
Yesterday was the day. I gently turned to the north and cruised on up the road those short nine miles to Birdeye.
Over the years I have, in my mind, created a place called Birdeye. I imagined Birdeye to be a sleepy little town with only a few frame houses scattered hither and yon around the Crowley's Ridge hills. To me, Birdeye's community revolved around a quaint old "Mom and Pop" general store where mom and pop were actually there and knew when someone came in that "wasn't from around these parts". Not a block away from the general store was Bubba's Sinclair gas station where Bubba still came out and pumped the gas, washed your windows and checked your oil while chatting with you about how hot and dry it's been lately.
In my mind Birdeye had a lovely little church just up the road a piece, nestled in a quiet grove of giant oak trees where everyone came together two or three times a week to sing off key and to pray for rain. The church, of course, was white with one of those tall steeples right in the front that you had to walk under to enter the building. There was a big bell in the church steeple and every Sunday some kid would swing from the rope... using all of his weight to ring the bell... summoning the faithful to house of God.
There was a cemetery, at least in my mind, out back of the church where you could walk around and be reminded by whoever was walking with you of the stories about a rusty old mining town that had a past but most likely no future.
In my mind, Birdeye was worth a visit. In reality... not so much. I turned right on the secondary road that the sign saying "Birdeye" pointed towards and drove until I realized I had passed the town. So I went back and saw that all that was left of Birdeye was three or four old run-down, over-grown buildings with bits and pieces of a sign here and there... "Smith Distributing Company"... "Eat Here"... "Hardware"... grass and weeds covering the buildings and the areas around them... not another human in sight... not even a stray dog.
I parked facing those ruins. I was thinking these were just relics of what once were someone's dreams of a thriving possibility that just hadn't worked out. I just sat there for a few minutes... window down listening to the soft Arkansas breeze trying desperately to whisper the story of what had been and what might have been. I gazed momentarily through the broken window panes of a picture window into a past... that just like most sleeping dogs... probably ought to be left alone.
I didn't sit there long. No need. I liked Birdeye better the way it had been... in my mind. So I drove slowly away trying not to disturb any of the nearly nothing that was left behind. Maybe it was just my imagination... maybe it was the wind... but as I rolled slowly over the gravel back toward my reality... it seemed that somewhere in the distance I heard the very clear tones of a church bell ringing.
Driving into the past is sometimes good... sometimes bad... but always interesting.
10 comments on Birdeye, Arkansas
Add a comment
To add comments without entering your email and image verification, you must be logged in. Login or Join Blogster
This reminds me of a scene from the movie, "Fried Green Tomatoes," where the viewer sees a windswept ruin of an old has-been southern town magically transformed into the bustling country hamlet it once was. There must be many shadow towns just like Birdeye with many stories to tell.
Is it not interesting how such places are magnets to our heart.
I bet it would have some interesting stories to tell
I think that is why I always tell my students to write things down. Sometimes the place disappears but the stories can go on and on.
Reality seldom measures up to the fantasy. So sad. But what a fun little jaunt...to check it out!
It was worth the time to me. My imagination is still making up stories about life as it was in Birdeye.
One of the great things about not living in an urban environment. Big cities have their place, but so do the hidden locales. I suppose the trip in your mind, was at evening, and the soft yellow glow of sunset softened all the hard edges?
I like to drive in rural places like in Arkansas or Missouri at dusk. After a little while the countryside has a calming affect on my soul. Even a place that is rundown.
If you drive in the hills of Arkansas or Missouri at dusk, it is a good idea to drive slowly with an eye to the possible entry of wildlife onto the highway. The deer gather at the roadside frequently... and the skunks all move to the other side of the road at dusk... as do the possum and the raccoons.
My little sister has always raved about a quaint and interesting place called Plush, Oregon. So, I decided to visit this place. After all, with a name like Plush.... it must be beautiful, especially since it is located in the dry dessert of Eastern Oregon. Well.... never base your expectations on a name. lol Like you and your experience at Birdseye, I had to go back through the town twice to find it. It consisted of one store, a few houses, and one church which services all denominations. I called my sister and ask what I should have been looking for in Plush that she thought was so wonderful. Well, it turns out that she likes to go to a mineral hot springs about 8 miles out of Plush and that was the big draw for her. From now on, I won't trust her for travel information.
Glad to see you again. I very seldom get over here to Blogster and I haven't been doing much blogging at greasy, either. After my second back surgery, I'm just trying to recuperate, but it is going slowly.
Your friend - Annie :o)
p.s. I've been attending a Calvary Chapel in a nearby little town. There is a man there who is pretty good on guitar and I'm thinking about taking some lessons. He told me to pick out a book. Great... I don't know anything about guitars and he wants me to pick out my own book. Do you have any suggestions?