Ozark Living

blackberries for hours, pricking our fingers on the bushes and eating the berries while they were still warm from the sun. Sometimes we would come across some with bear droppings close by. at's usually when we would head home. Dandelions were a staple in our household. My mother would batter the flowers in corn meal and deep fry them, or make a salad out of the greens. Dandelions are also fantastic for your heart and blood pressure, and have also been said to lower the effects of depression. My dad would forage morel mushrooms aer a good rainfall. My mother would then soak them in salt water and saute them. Warning: Educate yourself on morels before scavenging as they can be deadly. Every fall we picked persimmons, which are similar in taste to the sweet and fruity pumpkin. According to folklore, the kernel inside the persimmon predicts the upcoming winter: A spoon means we will be shoveling snow, a knife means we will have to cut ice, and a fork means a mild winter is ahead. You can take the girl out of the Ozarks, but you can't take the Ozarks out of the girl Growing up in a small town somewhere over the river, at the edge of the Ozark Mountains, I took for granted the beauty that surrounded me. As a child, my life was filled with music, good food, art, nature and love. Friday nights were spent listening to local musicians play classic country and bluegrass, all-you-can-eat catfish, homemade pies, and dancing. Young and old gathered to enjoy each other's company, catch up with old friends, and fill our bellies. Once a week, the ladies at the community center met to quilt; they taught me more than just a proper cross-stitch. ey taught me old wives' tales and how best to remove the grass stains from my white shirt that I thought I had ruined at recess. I listened and like a sponge soaked up everything as they argued about the best way to thread a needle and the correct butter-to-flour ratio in a pie. e house that built me was about a quarter-mile straight up a mountain on a rough, dirt road. Our closest neighbor was two miles away, the closest store was six miles away, and the closest school was 10 miles away. We lived on well water and antenna TV. All we had for entertainment was our imaginations. I've fought cowboys and played Indians as I hid behind my handmade fort. I've talked to the "Little People" in the grass and begged my mother not to step on the . I've fallen asleep to the lullaby of the whippoorwills and frogs, with the crisp night air floating through the drapes. Yet somehow, I always wanted more. I don't know if it was adolescent vanity or just the simplistic need to experience it myself, but as a young adult I just had to leave. I wanted to see the ocean and live in the city. So, I hung up my apron and swapped it for ball gowns. I took off my boots and traded them for high heels. I switched dirt for concrete, and I replaced the bears and coyotes with burglars. I traveled to the west coast and lived in the city, with houses I could reach out my bedroom window and touch. If I hadn't experienced the journey, I wouldn't know that there was no place like home. "Somewhere, Over the River" is your all-inclusive guide to the foothills of the Ozarks from the insight of an Ozark-native. e first edition published in the Washington County Enterprise-Leader on Oct. 16. Visit www.somewhereovertheriver.com for more information. oZArK LIvING • November 2022 • 29

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