Ozark Foothills FilmFest Poster Unveiling & Press Conference Feb. 21
Ozark Foothills FilmFest will hold its annual Poster Unveiling and Festival Press Conference on Tuesday, February 21, at 11:00 a.m. at the Batesville Area Arts Council Gallery at 246 E. Main Street. Poster artist Mandy Maxwell of Paragould will attend the unveiling and sign copies of the poster, on sale for $10. Maxwell’s work will also be featured in a gallery exhibit
throughout March.
The schedule for the 11th annual festival, set for March 28-April 1 at several venues in Batesville, will be announced.
Coffee and mini-scones will be served. The complete schedule will also be available on the festival website, www.ozarkfoothillsfilmfest.org, beginning February 21.
Ozark Foothills FilmFest is a 501 (c) (3) educational non-profit founded in 2001. For information call 870-251-1189 or email ozarkfilm@wildblue.net.
throughout March.
The schedule for the 11th annual festival, set for March 28-April 1 at several venues in Batesville, will be announced.
Coffee and mini-scones will be served. The complete schedule will also be available on the festival website, www.ozarkfoothillsfilmfest.org, beginning February 21.
Ozark Foothills FilmFest is a 501 (c) (3) educational non-profit founded in 2001. For information call 870-251-1189 or email ozarkfilm@wildblue.net.
LIFE AND A BLANKET OF LOVE © Vickey Stamps
the ground was lonely, but it had its pride, and wouldn't have admitted such a feeling. It was dressed in dull brown shades of dirt. Weeds grew upon its surface. It stood off by itself, watching the joy and activity of its neighboring lands. After a few years, the ground had given up on ever becoming anything beautiful, or even pretty would have been acceptable. One day, a truck had drawn up upon it. Workers scrambled out and about with bits of building supplies. A house was born upon the land. It was attractive enough and the ground hadn't minded the weight at all. Now another truck came with strips of sod grass rolled high and in rows. Now before the house was a lush greenness, far nicer than that of the neighbors that had snickered at this plain and lonely bit of property over the years. The ground felt better now, and even more prideful than it had before.
A few weeks had passed when a small car pulled up before the house, Smiling and happy, keys in hand, they walked with a skip in their step to the door and, keying themselves in, went inside. The ground and the grass hugged each other, and could it have done so, the house would have lifted itself up and made a large sighing noise. ”More weight' spoke the ground, to which the grass replied "Yes, that is so, but now love lives here". From time to time, the woman of the house would come out with colorful pots of flowers and plant them alongside the white picket fence her husband had built. He'd already planted a tree with plum colored leaves, much nicer than the other yards wore. Around it, planks of wood made into a bench, circled the tree. When the afternoon was nice, and sometimes in the early night, the young couple would come out and sit closely together upon the bench and speak together of the wonders of life. The blades of grass did their best to rise higher and better hear the conversations, so it could talk of it to the ground that only heard a muted version of what was said.
A little life had been brought to the house. Its talk was different and of a crying nature. Sometimes when the father would be at work, the mother would bring the baby out, and sit it upon a blanket. It seemed to love that, turning itself side to side, and kicking its legs, trying to touch the tiny arms that waved about. Sometimes the mother laughed. Other times both parents came out. The father would hold the baby and tell it all about how his work day had gone. Soon the small one learned to walk, and then run. A puppy had joined the family. The toddler would run on its unsteady feet, and the puppy would bark in excitement and chase him. The laughter rose up and settled like a warm blanket upon the grass, and against the house, warming the ground as well. Two years later another little one was carried into the house in the arms of its mother. The cycle of life continued.
Now the children had long ago grown up and were gone. There had been the talk of college, the joining in marriage and at last grandchildren, who came as often as they could, to visit their grandparents. They lived in different states and it was not easy to make it for visits anymore. The man and woman had grown old, and one day they were ... of the world ... no more. Now the children came, and the grass and the ground and the house witnessed the loss, and joined in with their own type of tears. A 'for sale' sign was tacked upon the fence. Again and despite having the grass and the house for company, the ground felt lonely. The grass grew tall and had edged in to touch the underside of the plank bench that stood sentry around the tree. The grass was watered on occasion by a real estate hired person, just enough to keep it and the flowers, and shrubbery alive.
A car pulled up, and another couple came out of it, to stand and look at the house grown old. "Look, sweetheart" spoke the young woman, holding her husband’s hand. "This is the home I saw in the paper. It hasn't been lived in for a long time, and needs repairs. The price is something we can afford, and might be lower than the rent we've been paying. We could make it look almost brand new together. Even the kids could help when school lets out for the summer. I can already see how pretty it will look with a new coat of paint, and maybe we could sand off those planks on that lovely bench around the tree. You could restain it. I know the kids would love to spread a blanket onto the grass and have a picnic. Could we check it out? It feels like love once lived here. Is it the breeze or is the grass waving at us, as if to beckon us forward. Let’s go get the kids, instead of them coming home on the bus. Let's see what they think of it. It's time for school to be out." The husband smiled then laughed at her excitement. It was almost like the times of laughter that the property had heard before. It settled down upon the grass and the ground, and curled up against the house.
Life was good.
Reflectgions on the Battle of Pea Ridge
By Mark Kumming
Contributing Writer and Associate Editor
March, 2012 marks the 150th Anniversary of the Battle of Pea Ridge. The Department of Arkansas Heritage and the Arkansas Civil War Sesquicentennial Commission have been recognizing the anniversary of the battle and the Civil War in Arkansas with special programs, exhibits, re-enactments and lectures. The military action at Pea Ridge during the Civil War was the largest
conflict west of the Mississippi. The Union victory resulted in Missouri being saved from Confederate occupation. The battlefield is one of the best preserved in the nation.
Pea Ridge National Military Park is an important landmark in northwest Arkansas. The residents of the surrounding area remember this
important battle daily. Several businesses include references to it in their names, school children tour the battlefield and study the event, even the
streets of the adjacent town of Pea Ridge are named after some of the noted participants of the battle. That two day military action so long ago has deeply shaped the community it took place in.
As a Pea Ridge resident myself, I have reflected time and again on the battle. I have viewed exhibits on display at the Pea Ridge Historical
Museum, toured the battlefield several times, studied books on file at the Pea Ridge Public Library, and thumbed through books on the topic in my personal library. I set down in poems some of my reflections, imaging what the battle would have been like for some of the people who lived through it, including soldiers and civilians, and from the perspective of a Pea Ridge resident today.
This poem is written from the perspective of a soldier on the evening prior to the battle:
A Soldier's Diary
As I write these words Captain just came around,
informing us that tomorrow we will stand our ground.
We've trained, marched, and that's all well and done,
but what will happen when gun smoke blots out the Sun?
My chums and I left family and friends,
we have sacrificed so much, but to what end?
Will I live to tell grandchildren on my knee,
what it was like to see men die and bleed?
We are all so far from home in these Ozark hills,
will we get enough war to give us our fill?
The night grows dark, the camp fires burn low,
God be with us, each and every last soul.
This poem is written from the vantage point of a civilian who sought refuge from the battle by going into the cellar of Elkhorn Tavern:
Down in the Cellar
Huddled together in dim light,
family, friends, and neighbors escape from the fight.
From outside and above we hear cannon fire and rifles crack,
as the Blue and the Grey continue the attack.
Buried underground, stone walls, dirt floor,
our world turned upside down once more.
The women and small children softly cry,
men and boys wonder when it will be their turn to die.
Moans and cries from just up above,
a makeshift hospital, floor covered in blood.
We sit and wait for the end in our poorly lit cavern,
down in the cellar of Elkhorn Tavern.
A poem from the perspective of a boy at his family farm:
Down Telegraph Road
We watched them march past here on that fateful day,
as we stood in the barn with the livestock, feeding hay.
Oh my little brother, didn’t they look grand,
dressed in their uniforms, ready to make a stand?
Some of them bragged about the deeds they would do,
while others were quiet, and looked nervous to me and you.
Then for two days we stayed down in the cellar,
we heard a lot of noise from all of them fellers.
Cannon, rifle, and pistol fire, shouts from men, too,
quite a fuss they made it seemed to me and to you.
Later they walked back this way, tattered and torn,
wagons carried wounded and dead from the storm.
We witnessed it all from our family abode,
as they marched back and forth down Telegraph Road.
This poem is from the view of a veteran of the battle:
I'm an Old Fighter
Oh, I'm an old fighter, yes, indeed!
I fought for my country, my flag, and my creed.I stood with my
brothers, and watched them die.
I saw them hit the ground as they gave their last cries.
I marched countless days and nights through rain and sleet.
I hear in my mind the echo of cannon fire and a drum beat.
I sweated on hot days, and froze in the cold.
I'm now grey headed and old.
I lived to tell the stories of bravery and fear,
when life was cherished, and death was near.
Pea Ridge officials named many of the city streets after those who fought in the battle. One last poem from the perspective of a Pea Ridge
resident today:
The Streets of this Town
Though the last participants are long dead and gone,
the feelings we have for them here remain strong.
The men fought for our freedom, left family and friends,
not knowing how it all would come out in the end.
When the big event was over, our ancestors rallied around,
helped the wounded, and buried the ones cut down.
Now we along with children and grandkids,
remember them daily for what it is that they did.
The Federal passages run north and south,
and it's east and west for Confederate routes.
Black, Bowen and Curtis are a few of the names,
Watie, Sigel, and Van Dorn are more of the same.
In Pea Ridge we've let it be known all around,
we honor their names on the streets of this town.
I encourage you and your family to explore the conflict and
consequence of an important Civil War battle that took place in northwest
Arkansas at Pea Ridge. The state commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Civil War in Arkansas is the perfect time to do it. Special activities will be held in early March at Pea Ridge National Military Park. For more information, visit the park Website at: www.nps.gov/peri/
Photo: Cannon adjacent to Elkhorn Tavern, Pea Ridge National Military Park, Pea Ridge, AR (Photo by Mark Kumming)
HOPEFUL COLUMN: I Think I Think too much by Ed Burns
The American/English language can be very abstract when used correctly. When not used correctly it can be very confusing, allow me to give you a few examples.
Have you ever heard money, the dollar, referred to as "Dough?" Recently a friend of mine was looking at some expensive item in a magazine; they quoted the price and said, boy that is a lot of ‘dough.’ How do you make a connection
between money and dough? If you assume they mean a female deer "Doe" it still doesn’t make any sense.
In public places the toilet is often labeled and referred to as a "Restroom?" I have often been in public toilets and I have never witnessed anyone in there just to "Rest." Often the sign on the door reads Ladies or Men. That has some
logic but not ‘Rest room.’
You often hear someone say, "I was sick as a Dog." Why reference Dog? Do dogs get sick more so than cats or chickens? How about this one, drunk as a "Skunk." I have been around several skunks but I have never saw one drunk, or even drinking. I doubt if the Country Club or the VFW would allow a skunk to sit at the bar long enough to get drunk.
People often say, "What the "Sam-Hill" are you doing? I will reply, what the Sam Hill does that mean. I generally get a shrug but no reply.
I was recently watching the nations weather report on TV, when the weather guy completed his forecast he said, "now lets look at what’s happening in your "Neck of the Woods." Then they switched back to the local weather guy. As a kid I spent a lot of time hunting and playing in the woods. I never saw any part of the bushes that resembled a neck. Do they talk like that in your Neck of the Woods?
I also hear a Bed refereed to as the "Sack." A guy recently told me that he was tired and that he planed to ‘hit the Sack’ early that night. Might have
something to do with a sleeping bag, they look like a sack. I’m still confused.
Why do people say that their money is "Burning a Hole in their pocket?" I touch my money often and it is never hot. I’m sure they mean they are itching to spend their money. So why don’t just say that?
Doing some research I did find out that when someone is called an "Egghead" that means they are smart. Eggs don’t look or taste smart, so why use them for a reference? Now that I think of it, no one has called me that lately.
I will leave you with a couple of questions. Why do baseball players warm up in a "Bull Pen?" What does it mean when something has gone "Haywire?" How about "Stay in the Box?" or "Snake eyes"
I think I need a nap. Ed