The Ozarks

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After breakfast, everyone piled into the car and we resumed our trek toward Branson. The grandchildren were disappointed to leave the spinning breakfast table so soon. They expressed their disappointment by screaming, crying and fighting among themselves. Mom and Dad knew exactly what to do in such a crisis.

My daughter slid a CD into the player and my son-in-law turned it up. Way up. I could hear every nuance of Johnny Cash’s aged-in-the-cask voice, but I could also still hear the children, barely. For my part, this was not a tranquility inducing experience.

Eventually, there was a break in the music and I knew I had to act fast.

I spun around in my seat and faced my granddaughter, looking directly into her innocent eyes. “You are getting drowsy,” I said in my best “The Count” voice. I repeated the phrase several times, adding some finger waving for effect. It had little effect. I took a slightly different tact. “You are feeling happy…” I increased the finger action. Sure enough, she began to smile. In a couple of minutes, she forgot the pique leftover from breakfast.

Next, I turned my power over the minds of children to my grandson.

“Do me, do me!” He pleaded.

Okay, but you must promise to be good or I won’t do it.

“Okay, gwandfadder.”

I ran the hypnotism routine on him. Five minutes later, I was enjoying the company of two contented grandchildren. It felt good to know I had not lost my touch.

Next, I leaned forward into the front seat.

“You are sick of listening to loud music…“ I began.

Everything went swimmingly for the rest of the trip. Well, it went swimmingly until we hopped off the interstate in Arkansas and turned north on a tiny state highway. My son-in-law was tour guide for the children.

“We’re going to go through the Ozark Mountains,” he said cheerily. “We’ll see beautiful scenery and forests along the way, so keep a sharp lookout.”

“Dark, scary forests,” I added for effect.

“We’re scared,” said the chorus in the rear seat!

“Damn. I wish I hadn’t said that.” I thought silently.

It was then my daughter turned and gave me a stern look.

“Do you recall the little talk we had just a few days before we left?” She asked.

“Uh, no I don’t seem to have that recollection. Can you give me the gist of it?”

“The topic was you were going to straighten up.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll do my best, really.”

With that, I received a scary mommy scowl and life returned to normal, at least for now.

We cruised through some of the most beautiful scenery in America. Quaint villages, small farms, mountain streams and meadows appeared around every turn. Through gaps in the dense forest, we saw magnificent vistas as row after row of mountains stood tall all the way to the horizon. I made a mental note to revisit this country on my motorcycle in the near future. It was two-wheel paradise.

Then, everything changed. The tiny highway dissolved into a fork of two dirt roads. After a short break for indecision, we took the left fork and motored on. I recall humming the theme from Deliverance. I only got through a few bars before I received another “straighten up” scowl from the front seat.

We drove for hours. The quaint villages gave way to little clusters of haunted looking buildings. The forest squeezed ever tighter and the road narrowed to barely one lane. The farms disappeared and ramshackle shacks and trailers took their place. We passed a group of young girls playing barefoot in the road. They strolled out of our way, seemingly fascinated by seeing the giant SUV on their tiny road. I think their dog actually laughed at us as we rattled by.

Next time, we will arrive - somewhere.

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