Red Ferns

Where the Red Fern Grows was written in 1961 by Wilson Rawls.    According to the book, if you see a red fern in the wilderness, it was planted by an angel.

In 1974, the children’s book was turned into a movie and portions of the movie were filmed in the Ozarks region of Arkansas and into Oklahoma.   These pictures are from Natural Falls State Park near Siloam Springs.

This beautiful waterfall location was filmed for Where the Red Fern Grows, a book about rural life in the Ozarks and a boy hunter with his two dogs, Old Dan and Little Ann. We had the chance a while ago to visit Natural Falls State Park and we captured these pictures.

Near Siloam Springs, there are lots of other interesting tourist attractions like this one in Gentry, Arkansas.

You can drive through the wilderness park and view the many animals or stop and feed some of them like these cute baby goats and the kangaroos.

There are other fascinating tourism attractions in this area of Arkansas that I love like Crystal Bridges Art Museum owned by the Walton Family, Petit Jean State Park, Eureka Springs’ spooky haunted Crescent Hotel on the hill, and my personal favorite is Hot Springs bathhouse row and downtown. The best time to visit the Ozark Mountains is in October when all the tree leaves turn brilliant shades of orange, yellow, and red. It’s truly breathtaking. And if you come this way, best stop off in Branson, home of some great music, fantastic caves, and the Silver Dollar City theme park.

The Onset of October

Here’s a poem for October – the month of cooler Autumn breezes, falling leaves, football tailgates, candy corn, caramel apples, and pumpkin spice latte. There are lots of wonderful imagery surrounding October such as the delight of children on marvelous trick or treat nights.

And here now, is the poem. Happy October y’all!

A Foreboding Place

Near the old barn, unseen coyotes howl eerily together at the full moon.

Skeletons rise slowly from the cold dirt behind broken tombstones in the old country graveyard down the road.

They dance, ivory bones rattling and clacking.

A green lantern orb shines down the beaten path across the ridge and disappears abruptly into the hollow of darkness surrounding the low water bridge.

Bats, hanging upside down from a cave’s entrance, watch witches that swiftly ascend and descend across the midnight sky. 

A night hag’s cackle sounds in the distance.

A black cat crosses your path, silently shrouded in night. 

Yellow gleams from her half-slit eyes.

A screech owl responds in the wind. 

Stirring, he sits aloft a hidden branch of the rugged oak tree nestled in the shadow of the solitary weathered house. 

It is purported to be haunted, or so the locals say.

This place is ominous even to the wearily aged man standing behind the glass of the second story window overlooking the quiet gravel road. 

Moonbeams pierce through the chest and abdomen of the man revealing his ghostly presence.

He waits for Hallow’s Eve, for the night he’ll be released.

While down the road from the neighbor’s porch, a jack-o-lantern pumpkin grins wickedly.

His candle flickers in the Autumn breeze.