We camped, or at least we planned to camp, in Petit Jean State Park for six nights. My brother-and-sister-in-law were in their camper on the next site. My in-laws rented a house about half a mile away in a place called Tanyard Springs. Our plan was to eat at the house on the first night and around the campfire the rest of the time. Plans don’t always work out. It was a good thing we had the house to resort to.
It rained all Monday morning, but it cleared up in time for us to set up our tents. It was chillier than it had been in recent days, but not bad. We headed to the house for a lasagna supper. The house was right on the edge of the ridge, not more than 15 feet from the cliff overlooking Ada Valley, and a huge picture window faced the view. It was the one nice feature in the house, which was otherwise odd, with strange narrow hallways and hundreds of cupboards.
We ate supper around the campfire on Tuesday night as planned, but that was it. We headed back to the house on Wednesday night for soup (I forget why). We also started taking our showers at the house on Wednesday because the bathhouse in the camp ground was disgusting. We played Hand and Foot after supper.
By suppertime on Thursday, it was snowing. Yep. Snowing. We spent the evening at the house again, then spent the night in the tent while outside it kept switching from rain to sleet to snow. Friday was overcast and damp and cold, and Saturday was supposed to be no better. We decided to move into the house all the way. I drove over to the campsite and took down everything in about 15 minutes by myself, just piling stuff into the car wherever I could make it fit. Back at the house, I spread the tent out in the sun room with the heater on full blast and dried it off in a couple hours. On Saturday morning, it was still overcast with rain off-and-on. We gave up.
The photo at the top of the post shows the view on Monday night. This next photo shows the view from noon Thursday until we left on Saturday. The fog never lifted.
For years, my family has been playing a game called Hand and Foot. I’m not a fan. But on a cold, damp night on an Arkansas mountaintop, there isn’t a whole lot else to do. There is often several minutes between turns, so I began goofing around.
One of the decorations in the rental house was this heavy brass lobster-like creature that was simply odd. Somehow I conjured up this photo of the lobster playing Hand and Foot in the Red Chair.
The view from the cliffs outside the house.
