Down Home

On Memorial weekend we go to the Missouri Ozarks.

I was born and lived here until I graduated from Hartville High School,

then moved to Kansas City.

These photos were taken in Douglas County, MO. My parents were born here and are buried in a little country cemetery a few miles away.

This is the old mill at Rock Bridge MO.
When my father was a young boy his family took their corn there to be ground in to meal.
The mill is now a resort where you fish for trout and pay by the pound for your catch.

The old General Store is now a restaurant.

My cousins and I met there Sunday before Memorial Day

for the delicious trout they serve.

My Father told me that my Grandfather stole a plow from here, hid it in the woods

and came back that night to carry it home 8 miles in the dark.

I'm guessing he really needed a plow, and I hope the statute of limitations will apply.

Inside the mill, now a cocktail lounge, looking out at the Rock Bridge Bank.

My cousin Doyne tells me his first checking account was there.

Another photo of the mill.

Some anglers togged up for the day. These people look really professional but some kids show up with Snoopy gear and do just fine. You can arrange to have your fish cooked for you at the restaurant. Talk about fresh!

Looking down from the mill / lounge.

If you don't feel like fishing you can sip a glass of wine and watch.

John drinking a Corona and watching.

I always feel so comfortable here.

I grew up with hills and trees and water.

Desert landscapes make me ill at ease. Flat grasslands and plains may have an austere beauty but I could never live there.

This is in my genes.

It's home.