Arkansas Off the Beaten Path® by Patti DeLano

Author:Patti DeLano
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781493016075
Publisher: Globe Pequot Press

Tanyard Springs Memory

The Arkansas River wound below. My husband and I sat on the edge of a cliff early in the morning enjoying the crisp air and warm sunshine. I know others have enjoyed this vantage point—perhaps Native Americans looking for campfire smoke in the distance or the French explorers who also wandered here.

Except for the electricity, the cabin we walked from on this particular morning was reminiscent of those built in the early 1800s. The 13 cabins in the Tanyard Springs compound are scattered around the historic springs named for the tanning pits that used to be on the site. Forty acres of trees and the magnificent Cedar Falls are tucked into the nearby 8,500 acres of pine-oak woodlands of Petit Jean State Park. A 1.5-mile trail loops among the cabins, and 20 miles of serious hiking trails interconnect in the park.

It was early winter, off-season at the resort, but for us it was the best possible time. We flew into the area in our Navion airplane, a huge beast of a plane—single engine, slide-back canopy—and landed at the airstrip here, which even though it is a daylight-only strip is more than a mile long. We stepped out of the cockpit and onto the wing of the plane and felt the cool breeze on our faces. We had come in just ahead of a rain shower.

Winter was always our favorite time in the Ozarks. We lived on the Missouri side. The quiet is intense, and the occasional call of a hawk or crow is clear and sharp. This was going to be a beautiful weekend.

Our cottage was the most romantic one in the compound, the Adrienne DuMont. When we arrived, a Crock-Pot of beans and a chilled bottle of muscadine grape juice, locally bottled, waited for us. You can’t call these cottages “cabins.” Ours had a queen-size bed and a walnut headboard with a hand-carved lover’s knot. Even with no telephone or television, we found enough to do to pass a very pleasant afternoon listening to the sound of the rain dripping among the dry oak leaves.

That night we had reservations at the splendid restaurant on the grounds, where we were offered a menu of continental specialties and a good wine list. It is sad that the restaurant is no longer there. The other option was to eat at Mather Lodge in the park, which is an easy mile-long hike away. The next morning we awoke to find a breakfast of croissants, fruit, and orange juice waiting on the steps. Hidden inside the rustic kitchen were a microwave and coffeepot. The romantic feeling of stepping back in time was not at all lessened by not having to split wood—there was a neat stack by the front door. We poured a cup of hot coffee to warm our hands and built up the fire to take the chill from the room. My husband was from Michigan and firmly believed that sleeping with the windows open was the only healthy thing to do.

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