Category Archives: Fayetteville

Personal, Opinion, Fayetteville

Adeiu

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In the dead of early morning, I walked through the new massive Drake Farms. It’s already a spectacle of modernity. Enthusiasts of liminal photography should visit this place early in the morning and before its completion. It’s an unfinished world devoid of people. It is Langoliers in reverse. Time scrolls forward, adding and adding until everything becomes squares and rectangles. 

Drake Farms is going to be a billion dollar place spanning 165 acres, thousands of homes, and untold businesses contained in well over a million square feet. I wonder what Noah Drake would make of it. The plan is to preserve his original grove of black walnut trees. I’ve reminded a couple of people that the area is indeed losing something difficult to define with all of this construction. But I also point out that Noah Drake himself was an avid proponent of growth and development. His footprint is everywhere if you know where to look. When the Pendegraft building went up, I loved its rustic look as I walked or drove by it multiple times a day. In the back of my mind, I knew that it was intended to be the anchor of a massive incursion into the wilderness.

I looped back on to West Drake. It’s one of the last secret places where you can stand and be equidistant from lights. About halfway between Gregg and 112, it is stunning in the dark. It provides a rare vantage point to watch the entire sky. The U of A Agri facility provides a barrier to the South. Drake Farms will eradicate the dark beauty of the night soon enough.

Two vehicles rocketed past, both of them easily going 80 mph. Although it’s rare, they are at risk of colliding with one of the infrequent deer who run along the cyclone fence of the Agri facility. Two years ago in November, the hair on the back of my neck stood up as a huge deer sprinted toward me from behind and raced past. Had I not been startled, I could have touched it. It finally found a spot on the north side from which to leap across and into the wilderness. The wilderness that will soon be concrete and conduit. 

The night/early morning was breathtakingly still. Each bird call and each twig snapping carried far beyond its normal reach.

I didn’t want to leave the long lonely stretch. I saw three meteors as I stood or walked back and forth along the length of Drake. 

Returning, I stopped at the huge X and took a picture of the hill and of the beautiful luminous moon that’s two days away from being full. Even the contrails from high altitude planes are gorgeous as they streak and spread, remaining behind for minutes after the plane streaks away. They’re ice crystals trapped in the upper atmosphere. That’s where contrails got their name: condensation trails. 

I knew I had to walk this route again soon. Like so many other places, encroachment incrementally eradicates its deep and dark natural beauty. The walk I took this morning was a goodbye. 

Those who think I’m too maudlin won’t appreciate that I was a little upset. The night world exposes and amplifies each loss of dirt and trees.

Lights, once placed, never cede control back to nature. 

Fayetteville, Razorback Greenway

Treasure Chair

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As I stood next to the trail debating where to leave my trinkets and nuts for the crows and other birds, a crew of collectors came through. It was a motley group. An older man went into the brush and pulled out a really nice desk chair. 

“You can’t take the chair, Sarge,” the man who I presume to be in charge told the older man. 

“Uh, I would suggest that you sit in the chair and have him push you,” I said. I added, “The chair doesn’t belong to anybody, if that’s your concern.”

Someone must have changed his mind because Sarge put his collection bag on the chair and made his way down the trail, more than happy with his discarded treasure.

Fayetteville, Personal

Sunday Slaps

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It was a beautiful Sunday morning, even though no one had notified everyone that it wasn’t Saturday night anymore. It was about 60° at 2:00 a.m. Perfect walking weather. Sounds carry through the air almost infinitely. 

Because it was so early on a Sunday morning, I knew the crazies would be out. I barely cleared the trail crossing on Poplar before hearing the glorious early morning serenade of multiple women screaming and slapping each other. I’ll put a video as a comment. I took it from about a quarter of a mile away. The slapping sounds like fireworks. I turned on Chestnut because I misjudged the origin.

I wound my way through the Chestnut II apartments as the screaming intensified. 

“I’m not drunk, Dad. That b**** is gonna get smashed.” Multiple young women were walking in circles and either talking on their phones or screaming. I walked right through them like I was on a safari. The nexus of the tumult was a few feet away at a corner apartment, where other women were in various stages of demonstrating humankind’s lack of advancement. I felt sorry for the dad who had been awakened between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. by his daughter clearly demonstrating that she was in fact drunk.

As fierce as the screaming was, I knew it was all bluster. Before I made it back to the side street, I saw one of Fayetteville’s finest rolling into the area. I wish I could have stuck around to hear the police say “STFU and go to bed” multiple times. But there’s always one alcohol-fueled person who insists on getting bracelets to mark the occasion. Another police car soon followed. I’m guessing they were bored and wanted to watch a live-action version of Jerry Springer. 

There were enough angry women to fill the Razorback’s defensive line. I’m betting there was a man named Chad or Marquise somehow at the center of it all.  My half of the species is invariably at the crux of this kind of late night / early morning anger. 

The picture is one I took in near darkness. I stood on Miller Street, watching the driver try to figure out how to make a turn. There’s no question that whoever was in the car was using Jack Daniels as their GPS. 

A picture I took in almost total darkness, looking south toward the hill on Woolsey. It’s a very popular deer path at that hour of the morning.

When I came into the apartment, I forgot that I had totally sweet talked a cat into letting me pet it. When I got down on the ground it walked all over me and rubbed on my head. Güino knows. 🙂

Fayetteville, Humor, Lemon Moment, Razorback Greenway

Duh!

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I passed through my old favorite go-to spot near Gordon Long park. I laughed, looking at the oil stain in front of the steep incline going across the water dam on Scull creek.

For those who didn’t see the picture, someone drove a U-Haul van from Drake Street across the serpentine new trail that connects to The Greenway by the park. They got stuck and teeter-tottered on the concrete drop off as they tried to use the trail as a highway. 

I hollered, “Watch out for U-Hauls” to a few people. 

If it can happen once, it can happen again. 

PS Scull Creek was named after a family rather than a skull. I tell everyone a completely different origin story if it comes up. It’s our job to make local history as argumentative as possible.

Fayetteville, Lemon Moment, Personal

Immerse

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What used to be beautiful, uninterrupted backwoods now has a modern trail running through it. A dad with his two kids told me this afternoon that they will soon put in a huge elevated bridge across the creek. I’ll have to find a way to get down past it, even if I have to hang a climbing rope ladder on it.

I don’t want to traverse. I want to immerse. Convenient rarely equals joyful on a long timeline. If it were true, all of our fast vehicles and massive roads would have led us to be happier.

What used to be a massive cattail marsh is now just a small patch. I remembered last year after most of the hummingbirds migrated that it was one of the last places to be abandoned by these little jet fighters. I wasn’t disappointed this afternoon. There was a small squadron of the hummingbirds there, joyfully feeding on the little red wildflowers growing around the cattails.

As for birds, my Merlin app confirmed what my eyes were seeing. It tracked 36 different kinds of birds. I’m certain some of them were migratory, unlike me, who will return more frequently now that it’s rained and the weather is cooling.

When I arrived at the creek, an older man stood on the low water dam looking down at a turtle with a little bit of damage on its back. He told me his dogs had gotten a hold of it and that he feared it wasn’t alive. He left before he found out otherwise. The turtle came out of its shell and then I had to rescue it from one of the flow drainage pipes running under the low water dam.

The dad I mentioned earlier in the post took the opportunity to talk to his two kids about turtles and nature. I waded up into the creek away from them. The little boy was jealous that I was allowed to roll up my pants and walk barefoot in the middle of the creek. I heard the dad tell him that the next time they came, they would all go into the creek without shoes.

I never see people my age roll up their pants and get in the water. It’s their loss. Sure, I can slip and fall in. It’s happened before. And I hope it happens again. Everything comes with a price and a risk. Just as much as the decision to play it safe.

Some bastard with chalk defiled an offshoot of the trail. It’s so strange that he used red for the hat and orange for the stick body. Who in the hell carries chalk out across a creek? Crazy people, that’s who.

Fayetteville, Humor, Lemon Moment, Personal

A Story Of Revenge

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Because I got up even earlier than should be possible, I walked the dead man hill route and cut south. When I made it to North Street, the number of young people out around 1:30 was ridiculous. 

By the time I looped back around and walked a short stretch of Leverett, three different cars had driven by with young men screaming from the windows in an attempt to startle me. It happens a lot. I wish I could tell all these young guys who have obviously been drinking that riding around with the back passenger window open while wearing a backward baseball cap is tantamount to catnip for police. 

After I turned on Leverett again, a little white Hondaesque car drove by me slowly. Can you guess? Yet another inebriated young guy leaned out the window and screamed. “Wooooo!”

Even though I was expecting it, I jumped and laughed. The young guy leaned further out the window and waved, laughing. 

The car turned on the very next left onto Hazel Street. It’s very close to Leverett. For no reason at all, I walked around the same corner.  The Hondaesque car had stopped at the intersection of Hazel and Storer. The brake lights were lit, so I knew somebody was in the car. 

I’m pretty sure one of the occupants was either stopping to confirm his membership in the chess club or securing more alcohol. I’ll let you decide which is more likely.

It was at that moment that I realized that Bobby Dean was calling. I walked quickly across the grass and against the trees just in case one of the car’s occupants might see me. When I was about ten feet away, I darted over to the passenger side. Keep in mind it’s about 2:00 a.m.

At the top of my lungs (two feet from the car), I screamed: “WHAT’S UP C*******ERS!” 

(You have to use the terminology that young university men are prone to use, not to mention a nod to my dad.)

It turns out that two of the occupants had exited the vehicle when they arrived. Both passengers in the back seat screamed like elementary school girls. 

It was as if they moved in slow motion as they overreacted. It didn’t occur to me to run off. 

Both of the young guys fortunately thought it was hilarious. 

“Be safe and watch out for the Watermelon Man,” I said before walking away, still grinning like an idiot. 

PS The Watermelon Man is a fable invented by my dad, Bobby Dean. He’s always out at night and you never see him coming until he wants you to. 

.*The picture is of beautiful new buildings recently constructed on the corner of Sycamore and Leverett. I had what should have been beautiful shots of the university skyline, but both turned out to be Mr. McGoo shots.

Fayetteville, Lemon Moment

Surprise Oasis

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I thought I knew this area completely, almost down to the square foot. I saw what I was sure was a brilliant orange Oriole and looked at an angle through the trees. It was a canopied oasis sloping down into a little valley that I didn’t even know existed. Dozens of birds in there, singing and chirping and flying around.

Fayetteville, Personal

They Always Come Back

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Each year, I forget about the difference in Fayetteville at 2:00 a.m. in the morning once the U of A students return. There were troves of young people walking along the hot, humid streets at 2:00. It’s nice hearing them chirp and overlap each other’s conversations. I do wonder what magical ability they possess. I can’t imagine staying up and drinking like that, followed by a sweaty walk home.

I stopped at one of the “reputable” inconvenience stores for a diet soda. There was so much exposed skin in that store that I thought I had walked into the dermatologist’s. The U of A students are great barometers to determine which stores are safe and clean. Even though there are other stores nearby, you will not see students at those.

As for people who shouldn’t be driving, it’s a good thing there’s not an officer at every intersection. I saw at least a dozen drivers who probably need to spend the night in a concrete bedroom.

If you look at the middle of my picture, you can see someone on a moped. As I walked down Sycamore to turn onto Leverett, this guy was going way too fast. I didn’t see it when his handlebars clipped one of the poles. But I heard the bell sound when he did. I watched him come off the moped. Shockingly, he got up and stumbled around. He got back on his moped and headed back in the other direction. Probably from disorientation, if not inebriation. I watched just to see if he was going to keep it upright. He did a fast turn and then roared back past me. The picture’s blurry because I thought I hit the video button. I was 100% convinced I was going to film him careening into something.

Had he hit something at that speed, he would have become Jason (Re)Bourne.

Ancestry, Fayetteville, History, Lemon Moment

Heebie-Jeebies History

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The Heebie-Jeebies Index

There’s no question that the stretch of Oakland Ave. between Sycamore and Mt. Comfort is among the weirdest and most heebie-jeebies-prone streets in Fayetteville. This is doubly true once August arrives. 

The street is unusual for several reasons. It is a chaotic mix of old houses, modern townhouses, sporadic street lights, and one side of the road lacking a sidewalk while simultaneously having a drainage ditch that is a literal hazard to both drivers and pedestrians. 

It was probably during my 100th late-night/early-morning walk on Oakland that it occurred to me just how many weird things I had seen and heard.

The stretch of street I’m referring to is 2,250 feet. One of the fascinating things about part of this area is that Mt. Comfort Road was once a major “highway” for its time. It was cut off when Highway 112 was put in, leaving this little forgotten stub of a highway. Almost no one alive today knows that this strange fragment of road is very, very old, or how many people once passed through Fayetteville east to west (or vice versa) this way. If you are so inclined, you can do as I did and find old aerial photography from before the interstate was built and before the Hwy 112 project cut off Mt. Comfort Road. We forget that “progress” is a seemingly slow, constant march until we scan through and see that even our familiar topography is really a slow-motion, never-ending process.