An Arkansas Ramble
Bill R. Baker
Merriam-Webster says “ramble” is a 15th century Middle English word derived from romblen or romen, which meant to roam. It lists three definitions:
1. a: to move aimlessly from place to place
b: to explore idly
2. to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion
3. to grow or extend irregularly.
I believe you will agree, the following qualifies on all counts.
Normally, I keep a journal on trips, but this time I did not. I apologize for that, because journals have immediacy reports written, even a week later, cannot duplicate.
We, my wife Stella DeVoise and I, left on Tuesday, October 16th and drove to Jefferson, Texas. The first day did not go very well. Max, our 6 month old Bichon Frisé pup, got sick en route, twice! We have taken Max and Sadie, his littermate, on several short trips, and getting sick was unprecedented. It was also very unsettling since we have planned many road trips in the future. We did have opportunity of visiting the Village Bakery in West, Texas for a good supply of kolechniki (kolaches with sausage) and poppyseed kolaches. My relationship with West, Texas, a Czech heritage town, and the Village Bakery, began July 4, 1948 and has continued. From West, we drove east over back roads with a stop at Wal-mart in Corsicana for more paper towels. Fortunately, we did not need to use them for any more upchuck duty for the rest of the trip.
We arrived at the Delta Street Inn in Jefferson, Texas around 8 pm. Our cordial hosts were Pam and Bob Thomas.
They welcomed Max and Sadie as they did us. They have an old shot-calling Dachshund, who makes them appreciate dogs.
Jefferson was an important seaport (Yes, I said seaport in NE Texas) due to its access, through Caddo Lake, to the upper reaches of the Red River. There was a logjam in the 19th century that prevented large vessels going above Shreveport. If northeast Texas cotton, and there was a lot of it, was to be shipped, Jefferson was where it happened. It was an important goal of the North’s Red River Campaign of the Civil War.
We wanted to see Jefferson, so we stayed two nights. We explored the town and its environs. We visited nearby Uncertain, Texas (I have identified with this town all my life) and Caddo Lake.
There is a wood-burning steamboat that gives tours of the swamps, bayous, and open water of Caddo Lake. Despite my well-laid plans and early exploration, I got lost and did not make its departure. I did get a picture of it a couple of hours before departure, however.
Thursday, we drove north across the Red River into Arkansas. We went near Lanesport where many of our ancestors first entered Texas (e.g., Davy Crockett entered there). My particular ancestors, who visited Lanesport twice, made their first crossing from Texas into Arkansas, but that is a story to be written later (On your toes, it’s coming). We progressed north to Mena, where we turned west to follow the scenic Talamena highway to Talahina, Oklahoma. Along the way, we had seen hundreds of motorcyclists on the highway. A few miles out of Mena, before the Queen Wilhelmina State Park, we were stopped by a biker and a long line of traffic. The obvious thing to worry about, on the Talamena highway, it going over the side of one of the steep mountains. The highway follows the crests of the Winding Stair Mountains. The biker announced, “Biker down”. The length of the line convinced us to turn around. We went to a nearby State Park to take Max and Sadie for a little run. Please do not expect to hear of every place we stopped to do that pleasant chore.
In Fort Smith, Arkansas, we made a left turn to cross the Arkansas River and go the very few miles into Roland, OK. Our goal was a visit with Joe and Jean Knox.
At the beginning of my matriculation into the sixth grade, my parents got rural school-teaching jobs in a school called Rock Hill. We had lived, for several years, in the teacherage of the Culbertson School, always referred to as Apple, about 12 miles over primitive roads, northeast of Hugo, Oklahoma. Rock Hill was only four miles in the same direction. The pay was better, but there was no teacherage (I note spell-check does not recognize teacherage, think parsonage --- it was a house to accommodate teachers). When they started at Rock Hill, we moved into Hugo, Oklahoma. I attended sixth and a part of seventh grades in Hugo as well as high school. In sixth grade, two of my classmates were Joe Thomas Knox and Jean Campbell. Joe lived about three blocks away. Jean told me she was a cousin to some of my friends from Apple. I was very much a country kid in the city (OK, town, but I thought it was a city!). We had many other friends in the class, but germane to this tale, I will only mention Margaret Knox (not related to Joe). Sixth grade, half of seventh, and all through high school, we were friends. Joe had a successful career in the United States Army, retiring as a Colonel. As it happened, I was stationed near him in Germany and got to know his wife and children, there. Joe’s wife died young. Jean Campbell married Lee Loftin, a friend of mine, though a couple of years older, and moved to Fort Smith, Arkansas. Lee, too, died young. At our high school class’ fiftieth reunion (I missed due to a heart scare), widowed Jean and widowered Joe, became reacquainted. Jean’s sister, Margaret, told her she should marry him, because “You know he comes from a good family”. They did. They decided to relocate somewhere between her home in Fort Smith and his in California. They did, about ten miles west of Fort Smith in Roland, Oklahoma. That should put to rest all that “alpha male” myths. They have a wonderful home with a magnificent view. When Stella and I visited with them on June first of this year, they invited us to come see them. Our visit was everything, and more, than one could hope for. I look forward to our next visit. Oh yes, I mentioned Margaret Knox along with this tale. I became infatuated with Margaret Knox in the sixth grade and have found no reason to change. Sure, she married someone else (a nice guy), and I have married a couple of someone elses, but what does that signify? In our third year of high school, there were three Junior students nominated for President of the Student Council: Joe Knox, Margaret Knox and Bill Baker. Joe Knox won without a runoff. After sixty plus years, I am ready to forgive him. I cannot speak for Margaret, of course.
Northeastern Arkansas is lovely. The mountains are old and do not have the spectacular precipices of the Alps or Rockies. They do have the advantages of good soil producing fine forests, both deciduous and evergreen, good grazing and good crops. I particularly love the combination of rolling mountains and good agriculture.
Eureka Springs has the advantage, and the disadvantage, of being in the heart of this verdant scenery. It is overly crowded. We arrived on one of the busiest weekends of the year. Either I did not catch what festival was going on, or I forgot. Accommodations taking dogs are limited, and I understand that, but the whole town was full, anyway. We drove around a bit, checked many places, and went on to Harrison, about forty miles away. First, we went to a site called Inspiration Point. Trite as the name sounds, it was appropriate. Then, we went to E. Fay Jones’ Thorncrown Chapel. I had read much about it, going back to its origin and its many architectural awards. It is beautiful but not as breathtaking as I had expected. All the supporting structures are made of wood and everything else is glass.
I loved the architecture but expected more of a religious experience of it. Perhaps this is a more important comment on me than of the chapel. It is in a beautiful setting.
Eureka Springs, like Hot Springs and a number of other Arkansas towns, got their fame as spas. The springs, themselves, are scenic gardens.
Downtown has tens of lovely 19h century buildings and thousands of visitors. They were all there, that day.
We took the railroad tour, mainly to let Max and Sadie say they had been on a train, I suppose. The conductor is entertaining, the engineer picturesque, and the ride about a mile or so alongside a creek.
Unlike the Thorncrown Chapel, which I had anticipated so much and found less that exhilarating, I enjoyed the statue of Christ of the Ozarks. Pictures of it had left me cold. The fact it was the product of the effort of Gerald L. K. Smith, a Huey Long disciple, had left me cold. I respect the memory of Huey Long, but not that of Gerald L. K. Smith --- probably because my father disliked him in the ‘30’s. I had thought the sculpture a bit primitive. In real life, against the almost indigo mountain sky, it is moving.
After Eureka Springs and Harrison, we drove to Mountain Home and Big Flat. We crossed the White River, along the way.
I had Baker ancestors from this area, and the Bakers being a prolific bunch, there are many there, today.
Before I confuse everyone, you should know that my mother, whose maiden name was Smith, had a mother whose maiden name was Baker, and those are the Bakers I was following. My father’s Baker ancestors are lost a few generations back, but, thanks to the late J. N. Baker of Temple, Texas, my mother’s are known back to Maurice Baker in Maryland colonial times. Following is a short life story I have written on the life of the founder of some of my Arkansas roots.
Littleton Baker (1811-1892)
Liittleton Baker was born May 14, 1811 in (what is now) Gwinnett County, Georgia, where his father, John Baker, and his grandfather, Elias Baker, farmed. Elias had been a patriot militiaman during the American Revolution. Gwinnett county constitutes part of the northeastern segment of present-day Atlanta. Littleton, source of first name unknown, grew up there and married a local girl, Martha Adeline Morgan. They farmed there, also. After the State of Georgia refused to recognize Indian ownership of land, the Cherokees were deported to Arkansas and present Oklahoma. The state made former Cherokee land available to farmers, by lottery. Littleton, his brother, Levi, their father, John, and other relatives, were granted land in Chattooga County. They moved to the Broomtown Valley, GA area where they farmed, successfully, for several years. Broomtown Valley lies in both Georgia and Alabama. I have heard a story of one Baker “whose house was in Georgia, but his still was on a mountain in Georgia.” Again, Littleton heard of good inexpensive land in Arkansas, so they moved. Many Bakers still reside in that portion of Georgia.
Big Flat, then in Searcy County, Arkansas but now in Baxter County, was the site of his next farm. Big Flat is exactly that. Though one might expect it to be a fertile valley, it is a large plateau above numerous valleys at the height of local landmarks like Pine Mountain. The 1860 census shows him living there with Martha and several children. According to that census, he was one of the more prosperous farmers in the area, though he had no slaves. He was one of the commissioners who founded the County Seat of Searcy County in 1856. They called it Barrowsville, but it is now called Marshall.
It may be his growing family furnished enough field hands. If his removal to Arkansas was to avoid the looming Civil War, it did not work. By wartime, Littleton was too old to serve. Northern Arkansas and Southern Missouri were filled with people of mixed loyalties. During the war, the authorities (Yankees) arrested Martha for being a cousin (degree unknown to the author) of Confederate General John Morgan. She was taken to Kansas for interrogation. Littleton followed to secure her release. By the time she was released, she was very ill. Trying to take her home, Littleton stopped in Ft. Scott, Kansas to secure medical care for her. She died, and was buried there.
Littleton was left with a number of children to raise. He married Abigail Brown. He and Abigail had several children, the second of whom was Asbury Napoleon Baker, great-grandfather of the author. He was called Poly with a long “o”. In his family Bible, he is called “A. N.” Littleton and Abigail’s grand-daughter said of her grandmother, “She just walked out.” The 1880 census shows him divorced, living with his and Abigail’s offspring on the farm next to his daughter.
Littleton’s obituary stated he had married four times and left 18 children. Fifteen can be accounted for by his marriages to Martha Morgan and Abigail Brown. He had moved to be near a son in Leslie, Arkansas, and was buried in the Sulphur Springs Cemetery near Wiley’s Cove.
The drive from Mountain Home to Big Flat is winding, hilly, and beautiful. The road crosses the beautiful White River of Clinton investment fame. The forests are primarily deciduous with many pines.
There, too, we were too early for much Fall color. In fact, on the whole trip, the most beautiful color was in a parking lot in Harrison.
Not knowing where Littleton’s farm was located, there is not a great deal for us to see in Big Flat. However, we saw it all in a very few moments. On Sunday, many residents were in church.
We were surprised that such a small town (pop. 104) should have a rather prosperous looking liquor stores on each of the four corners of the only street intersection. Later, we learned Big Flat, now in an oddly shaped extension of wet Baxter County, has the responsibility for satisfying the thirsts of many of the residents of dry-voting Searcy County. As Kurt Vonnegut would say, “So it goes.” I recall my late father’s comment on then-dry Oklahoma, “It’s the best arrangement; dries have their prohibition and wets their liquor.”
We drove near the small town of Baker to Marshall. We stopped a short distance south of Marshal at a roadside park with a great view and room for the dogs to get some exercise. There was a rock shop next door, where we did a bit of shopping and had an informative and pleasant conversation with the proprietor. Among other things, I learned the answer to “Why all the liquor stores in Big Flat?” Arkansas is full of rocks, some, including diamonds, more valuable than others. As a dentist who has sharpened many surgical instruments on Arkansas stones, I found him a great source of entertainment.
We spent a couple of hours looking for Littleton Baker’s grave; we would have settled just for Sulphur Springs Cemetery. When we got to Wiley’s Cove, we stopped at a service station for directions (Stella was driving). No-one knew where it was though several had heard of it, “all my life.” One very pleasant cook called her mother, “who has lived here” forever. And, sure enough, got details over the phone which she transferred onto a map she sketched on a lunch ticket. It was easy to follow. It did not lead to the cemetery. We drove quite a distance along Baker Road. We asked others. Though each had heard of it, “all my life”, none could help. Given another day, I am sure we could have found it. We did find the Leslie Cemetery, though, and it contained at least one Baker. News that a movie is in production concerning the Mountain Meadows Massacre piqued my curiosity. I do not know if he is a relative of Littleton or not.
We spent the night in Clinton (no relation). Max and Sadie have an investigative routine they follow on entering a new motel room. They inspect, everything, using their visually and olfactorally (I am neither fazed nor surprised Spellcheck does not accept “olfactorally”. Hell, it doesn’t even accept Spellcheck!)
Fog and rain were the order for the day on the drive from Clinton, through Little Rock, Fordyce, and Magnolia into Louisiana. Shortly before Fordyce, we crossed the Saline River at the site of a Civil War battle. I was interested because Pvt. Robert Carroll Isbell, another of my great-great grandfathers, and his son, Pvt. John Allen Isbell, of the 7th Missouri Cavalry (Confederate), fought there. Theirs was a successful effort to block the United States forces from sending reinforcements to the forces of General Nathaniel P. Banks in the Red River Campaign. That occurred before their ill-fated invasion of their home-state of Missouri, that defeat, their runaway through the Indian Nations, crossing into Texas near Gainesville, marching downriver to re-cross the Red River at Lanesport, Arkansas, as mentioned a couple of thousand words back.
We drove through Fordyce,, home town of my dental school classmate and late friend, Bob Benton. “Fordyce on the Cotton Belt, twice as nice as paradise”, was his appraisal. I note he did not practice there. Later, we drove through Magnolia, home of my dental school roommate and late friend, Paul Carrington. Paul and I remained close until his death about fifteen years ago. Bob went earlier. I seem to be collecting quite of large inventory of late friends.
After spending the night in Minden, Louisiana, we drove south the cross the Red River from east to west at Coushatta. The Bayou Pierre lies a short distance to the west and parallel to the Red River from Shreveport to shortly above Nachitoches. It for good marching for many of the Northern troops from where they had left their troopships at Nachitoches. President Lincoln appointed him one of his first Major Generals shortly after the Civil War began, so he outranked just about everybody. As former Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, and Governor of Massachusetts, he had been a contender with Lincoln for the 1860 Republican nomination. The Red River Campaign was ill-conceived, but that was the work of Lincoln’s chief general (before Grant), Henry Halleck. As well as its strategically needed cotton, both Lincoln and Halleck wanted U.S. presence in Texas as a warning to France who had invaded Mexico and deposed Benito Juarez, its President. Banks, and Grant, had wanted Banks to march east from New Orleans to free Mobile and open its port. Halleck said “no”. The Confederate general in charge of those parts of Louisiana not occupied by the U.S., was Maj. Gen. Richard Taylor, son of former President Zachary Taylor. (Taylor’s late sister, Sallie, had been the first wife of Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy). Taylor outgeneraled Banks. Of course, Taylor’s men were native Louisianans, and Banks’ men came from all over the North. Louisiana is a tough place to get around in on foot or horse. Banks’ forces were soundly defeated just south of the present town of Mansfield. Most of them began their way back to Nachitoches via the strip between Bayou Pierre and Red River. Some went south to Pleasant Hill for another pitched battle. Taylor flanked the Union forces and attacked, again, as they crossed the Bayou Pierre near its mouth.
We found a well-tended state park south of Mansfield, with great fields for bichons to run and two big cannons to bark at.
Lunch at a small downtown café in Logansport, Louisiana produced some memorable crawfish and shrimp. Late that afternoon, even through a bug-anointed windshield and driving into the sun, Boerne, Texas looked awfully good.
End of this particular ramble. Bill R.
