Kathy and I drove up Highway 10 a few Saturdays ago to escape the crowding of the crowds. Our destination was Petit Jean. It was around noon when we got to Perryville, and we were both a bit hungry but didn’t feel like Sonic or Pizza Hut so we headed up the mountain. “There is a little store that makes good ham sandwiches and homemade fudge,” I told her.
“You think they’re open?” she asked.
“Of course. It’s Saturday afternoon.”
The Honda climbed and we enjoyed the view of the valley and river below. When we passed the entrance to Petit Jean’s gravesite I was ready to eat, but worried a bit that we weren’t seeing more cars.
We got to the little country store, which thankfully looked to be open. Then as I was about to park, I saw a piece of paper tacked to the handrail on the stairs that read – “Deli closed.”
“Well, that isn’t good,” Kathy said as my stomach rumbled its agreement.
So we drove to the north side of Petit Jean, where Mather Lodge sits. But I was fairly confident that it was still closed for major renovations, which it was.
I had one last idea. The Rockefeller Institute has a restaurant we’d eaten at years before that was pretty good. I pulled into the entrance of the manicured grounds, being eyed by a large, cherry-red Santa Gertrudis Bull. The drive turned and I pulled in front of the lobby and Kathy went inside to beg for nourishment.
I had been there almost a year ago to the day, by myself, to spend a night and find the muse. But the muse was on Christmas vacation and I got lonely and drove home. I guess I’d never have lasted as one of those traveling salesmen.
I looked up and saw Kathy walking back to the car, and could see from her body language there was no food at the inn. “They open at 5 p.m.,” she told me. It was 1 p.m.
The herd of Santa Gertrudis watched as we drove through the grounds. “All this beef and not a steak in site,” I said.
It was back down the mountain as we turned east toward Morrilton, and hopefully something home cooked along the way. It was not to be on that day. The closest we came was some chicken and rice and pinto beans and corn bread at Cracker Barrel in Conway. That night, I dreamed of a 24-ounce Santa Gertrudis, medium rare.
•••
I ate lunch at Browning’s on Monday with some of the family, to celebrate Kathy’s birthday. (Whew, I almost said 55th, that would have gotten me in hot water). While waiting on my Saltillo Plate, I asked her brother Dennis how much golf he’d been playing. “None,” he said. “I quit.”
That’s the same thing he told me back in October when we were at The Red Apple Inn, waiting to tee off. He told us on that first tee he was quitting because he had shot a 92 in his last round. We were glad to hear that. But three and a half hours later, we weren’t so glad as we handed over to him our hard-earned Lincoln and Hamilton currency, after he threw a 73 at us.
Back at Browning’s, I asked him why he was quitting after that last round had been so low.
“I’m bored with it,” he told me.
Oh to have enough talent to be so bored.
•••
Thanks to friend Arthur (not Bowen) Murphey for sending me the ‘Top ten things heard on the Ark" (and especially for the No. 1 thing)
10. “Did anyone think about bringing a couple of umbrellas?”
9. “Hey, there are more than two flies in here!”
8. “Wasn’t someone supposed to put two shovels on board?”
7. “Okay, who’s the wise-guy who brought the mosquitoes on board?!”
6. “Help! I need some Pepto for the elephants – QUICK!”
5. “Don’t make me pull this ark over and come back there!”
4. “No Ham, you cannot eat the pig!”
3. “And whatever you do, DO NOT pull this plug out.”
2. “Nice doggie…”
1. “Are we there yet?”