Arkansas's Only Revolutionary War Battle

            You may be surprised to learn that one of the final actions of the Revolutionary War took place right here at our state’s first European settlement, Arkansas Post. Known as Colbert’s Raid, the brief but intense battle serves as a reminder that even as peace was being negotiated an ocean away, conflict still took place on the American frontier.

            In the early morning hours of April 17, 1783, British Captain James Colbert led a force of approximately 100 men, including British soldiers and Chickasaw warriors, against Fort Carlos III and the small village clustered around it at Arkansas Post. Ironically, the attack came months after a peace treaty had been signed between Spain and Britain on January 3, 1783. However, news of that agreement had not yet reached the residents of Arkansas Post.

            The Spanish garrison stationed at Arkansas Post was quite small. In fact, it only consisted of 33 soldiers from the Louisiana Fixed Infantry Regiment, supported by four Quapaw warriors and a handful of officers, including Captain Jacobo du Breuil and Lieutenant Luis de Villars. Despite their limited numbers, they would soon be forced to defend both the fort and the civilian population that relied upon it.

            Colbert’s men began their attack at approximately 2:30 a.m., which caught those at the settlement off guard. Colbert and his soldiers quickly swept through the village and captured Lieutenant de Villars, his family, and several other residents before most of the townspeople could flee to the safety of the fort. With hostages secured, the attackers turned their attention to Fort Carlos III, hoping to seize control of the strategic post.

            What followed was a determined defense. From behind the fort’s walls, Spanish soldiers and their Quapaw allies mounted a counterattack, using both their defensive position and coordinated resistance to hold off the assault. The fighting lasted for several hours, but Colbert’s men were ultimately unable to breach the fort’s defenses. Facing mounting resistance and limited success, they withdrew. Spanish losses were light, with just two men killed and one wounded, while Colbert’s force suffered at least one dead and one injured.

            The aftermath came swiftly. One week later, a combined Spanish and Quapaw force of around 120 men tracked down Colbert’s camp. In a decisive move, they overtook the raiders and freed the prisoners taken during the attack, which effectively ended the ordeal.

            Colbert’s Raid holds a unique place in both Arkansas and American history. It is recognized by historians as the only Revolutionary War battle fought in Arkansas and one of two engagements of the war that took place west of the Mississippi River. Though small in scale, it underscored the strategic importance of Arkansas Post as a gateway for controlling river traffic and regional trade.

            The raid also reflects the broader geopolitical landscape of the time. Spain had entered the war in 1779, as an ally of the American colonists, successfully capturing British-held posts along the Mississippi, including Manchac and Baton Rouge. By 1783, British forces in the region had been largely pushed out, leaving them to rely on smaller operations like Colbert’s Raid in an effort to disrupt Spanish authority and commerce.

            Ultimately, Colbert’s Raid stands as a final clash of the Revolutionary War that highlights the complex relationships between European powers, native allies, and colonial forces in the western reaches of the conflict. Even in its closing days, the war’s reach extended far beyond the better-known battlefields located in eastern United States, touching remote places like Arkansas Post.

            To learn more about Colbert’s Raid and the history of Arkansas Post, consider visiting Arkansas Post National Memorial. Managed by the National Park Service, the site is located near Gillett (Arkansas County) in the heart of southeastern Arkansas. Inside the park’s visitor center, guests can watch a 20-minute film that brings the settlement’s story to life. The center also houses a collection of artifacts and exhibits that trace the long and significant history of Arkansas’s first settlement and its earliest days as Arkansas’s first territorial capital. For more information, visit the park’s website at www.nps.gov/arpo.

            And as I close out this week’s All Around Arkansas, I’d like to wish you and yours a very happy Easter.

The Tiny Town of Slovak

 

                In Arkansas, where quirky town names are almost as common as wide-open landscapes, drivers can stumble across some real head-scratchers. Venture across the flat fields of the Delta, and you might pass places that sound as if they belong on another continent—or were named after long-forgotten settlers. One such place is Slovak (Prairie County), a name that might conjure images of Europe rather than rural Arkansas farmland. But Slovak isn’t just a curious label on a highway sign. Behind the name is a story that stretches thousands of miles across the Atlantic.

            Drive east through the Delta, and you might pass right by Slovak without noticing it. It’s a little more than a speck on the map. Grain bins dot the horizon, church steeples rise above fields, and two-lane highways cut through the farmland. Yet if you slow down long enough, you’ll find a history far larger than the town itself.

            Slovak began as the dream of immigrants who crossed the ocean in the late 1800s and early 1900s, searching for land and opportunity. Many came from what is now Slovakia, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Like countless immigrants before them, they were drawn by the promise of fertile soil and a fresh start. They found that promise in the rich farmland of the Arkansas Delta.

            But the land they settled was far from ready for farming. Early settlers faced dense vegetation, swampy ground, and the relentless heat of Delta summers. Fields had to be cleared, marshy areas drained, and homes built from scratch. The work was slow and often exhausting, but over time, the settlers carved productive farms from the wilderness.

            The growing community was first known as Slovactown before settling on the simpler name Slovak. What held the settlement together, though, wasn’t a courthouse or a schoolhouse. It was the church.

            The parish of Saints Cyril and Methodius became the center of community life. Named for the missionaries who brought Christianity to the Slavic peoples in the ninth century, the church served as both a spiritual home and a cultural anchor for the immigrants who built the town. Sunday services, weddings, funerals, and festivals all revolved around its walls.

            For generations, the church has been more than a place of worship. It has preserved language, traditions, and a sense of belonging that ties families in Arkansas to their ancestral homeland. During community gatherings, older residents still share stories of parents and grandparents who arrived speaking Slovak and slowly learned English while working the fields.

            Food has always been a powerful link to the town’s heritage. During community festivals and gatherings, recipes carried across the Atlantic generations ago still appear on tables. Kolaches, sweet pastries filled with fruit or cheese, remain a favorite. Hearty soups, smoked meats, and other Central European dishes once fueled long days of farm work and continue to bring families together today.

            Like many small rural communities across the Natural State, Slovak has grown quieter over the years. Modern highways, shifting agricultural trends, and the pull of larger cities have reshaped life across the Delta. Younger generations often leave for jobs elsewhere, and farming itself has changed as operations become larger and more mechanized.

            Even so, the spirit of the town hasn’t disappeared.

            Families still gather for church services and reunions. Familiar surnames appear on mailboxes and gravestones. Stories of immigration, hard work, and community life continue to circulate around kitchen tables.

            It’s easy for places like Slovak to slip under the radar. They rarely appear on travel itineraries or national headlines, and their populations could fit comfortably inside a single city block. Yet towns like this reveal a quieter side of how America was built—not just through major cities and famous figures, but through small, determined communities planting roots in unlikely places.

            In Slovak, immigrants drained wetlands, carved farms from the Delta soil, and built a church long before paved roads arrived. They carried their language, recipes, and traditions with them, weaving those customs into the fabric of Arkansas life.

            Driving through Slovak might take less than a minute. Understanding its story, however, may take a little longer.

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend at the Museum

                Last Thursday afternoon, I found myself walking through a place that once felt like a second home. I had returned to Historic Arkansas Museum in Little Rock (Pulaski County) for a memorial service honoring a friend and former co-worker, Pat Proctor.

                The occasion was a solemn one, but the gathering was warm. Faces I hadn’t seen in years filled the room: people like Aisha, Felicia, Katie, and Leon, who had once shared lunch breaks, exhibition openings, and the everyday rhythms of museum work. Some had retired, some had moved on to other careers, but for a little while, we were all back where we used to be, remembering someone who had been part of our small family (commonly called our HAMily).

                The service itself was simple and heartfelt. Stories were shared, laughter occasionally broke through the sadness, and the memories painted a picture of someone who had meant a great deal to those around them. Memorial services often carry a quiet weight, but this one also carried something else, gratitude for the time we had known our friend and for the place that had brought us together in the first place.

                After the service ended, several of us walked outside onto the historic museum grounds. The afternoon air was cool, and the sun was shining, and for a moment we stood quietly among the historic buildings that have been preserved there. For those of us who once worked at the museum, the grounds hold a particular kind of familiarity. Every path, fence line, and weathered board carries memories.

                Historic Arkansas Museum sits in the heart of downtown Little Rock, but when you step inside its gates, it feels like stepping into another century. The museum is best known for preserving and interpreting some of the oldest surviving structures in central Arkansas. Several of the buildings date back to the early 1800s, when Little Rock was still a rough frontier town along the Arkansas River.

                Among them are the Hinderliter Tavern (the oldest standing building in Little Rock), the Woodruff Print Shop, and other restored structures that once formed part of the early settlement. These buildings survived events that reshaped the city, including the turmoil surrounding the American Civil War. Their survival is remarkable in itself; many structures of that era were lost to time, fire, or development.

                The museum as we know it today owes much to the vision of Louise Loughborough. In the 1930s, when historic preservation was still a relatively new idea in Arkansas, Loughborough recognized the importance of saving what remained of the city’s early architecture. She worked tirelessly to protect the Hinderliter House and eventually helped establish what became the Arkansas Territorial Capitol Restoration, the early name for the museum.

                Over time, the site grew into a full museum dedicated not only to historic buildings but also to Arkansas history, decorative arts, and traditional crafts. Galleries filled with artifacts, tools, and artwork help tell the story of the state, from its territorial days to the present. Outside, interpreters demonstrate historic skills such as blacksmithing, printing, and woodworking, bringing the past to life for visitors of all ages.

                For many Arkansans, school field trips to the museum are a childhood memory. I remember visiting the museum in the fifth grade. Students wander through cabins and workshops while learning how people lived two centuries ago. For others—like those of us gathered there last week—it’s also a workplace that becomes part of your life story.

                Standing on those grounds again, I was struck by how much history the place holds, not just the official kind recorded in exhibits, but the personal kind that lives in memory. Every museum preserves objects, but places like this also preserve relationships. Co-workers become friends. Visitors become regulars. Over time, the museum becomes part of the city’s shared story.

                As the afternoon sun dipped lower, our group slowly began to drift apart. There were hugs, promises to stay in touch, and the familiar “we should do this again sometime.”

                Walking back toward the gate with my friend, Katie, I glanced once more at the old buildings standing quietly against the skyline of modern Little Rock. They’ve witnessed nearly two centuries of change—wars, growth, and thousands of Arkansans passing through.

                Last Thursday, they witnessed something else: a group of old friends remembering one of their own. And in a way, that felt fitting. Places dedicated to preserving history remind us that every life leaves a mark. Our friend may be gone, but the memories remain—woven into the stories we tell, the friendships we keep, and even the old places that brought us together in the first place.

Close Encounters in the Natural State

                When we think of Arkansas, scenes of its winding rivers and streams, beautiful landscapes, and wide-open Delta skies come to mind. Yet, for over a century, some of our fellow Arkansans have gazed upward, encountering phenomena they struggled to explain.

                Reports of unidentified flying objects (UFOs), now referred to as UAPs or unidentified anomalous phenomena, have woven their way through the history of the Natural State, with sightings dating to the 19th century. One of the earliest series of reports emerged in 1896 and 1897, when witnesses across the country reported seeing enigmatic “airships.” Here in Arkansas, residents near Hot Springs (Garland County) and the Ouachita Mountains described a cigar-shaped craft illuminating the night sky. The newspapers of the time covered these accounts with a blend of amusement and intrigue, with some local lawmakers even humorously suggesting a tax on these strange vessels, as if they were transporting goods.

                Whether the sightings were hoaxes, misidentified aircraft, or simply something unexplainable, they signaled the start of Arkansas’s long-standing relationship with the mysteries that hover above us.

                Fresh interest in UFOs took off in the 1950s and 1960s. In 1952, a resident from Prairie Grove (Washington County) reported a disk-shaped object flying swiftly across Cove Creek Valley. While such reports were common nationwide, they struck a particular chord in rural areas, where crystal-clear nights made any unusual lights stand out.

                A particularly remarkable series of sightings took place on August 4, 1965. Across northwest Arkansas, many residents shared their encounters with strange aerial objects. In the small community of Viney Grove (Washington County), one witness described a slender, silver craft with illuminated windows hovering just above the treetops. Others from Blytheville (Mississippi County), Fayetteville (Washington County), and Fort Smith (Sebastian County) shared similar experiences, recounting accounts of lights or aircraft operating in ways that defied conventional understanding.

                The magnitude of these reports caught the attention of Project Blue Book, the United States Air Force’s investigative program running from 1952 to 1969. Though the majority of sightings were eventually attributed to natural phenomena or standard aircraft, a fraction remained unresolved—an aspect that has only fueled ongoing speculation.

                In 2024, Arkansas witnessed an intriguing surge in reports of unidentified aerial phenomena. Across the state, many individuals recounted experiences involving bright lights hovering in the dark, rapid-moving objects, and formations of orbs spaced evenly across the night sky. Some of these sightings have occurred near military sites, including the notable Little Rock Air Force Base in Jacksonville (Pulaski County), leading to speculation about potential secret aircraft testing. 

                Experts remind us that the majority of contemporary sightings often have logical explanations. Unfamiliar with certain patterns, observers might mistake commercial drones, military maneuvers, high-altitude jets, weather balloons, or even satellites like SpaceX’s Starlink for something more mysterious. Atmospheric phenomena can also cause light distortions and optical illusions, particularly during twilight hours.

                However, not every sighting can be so easily brushed aside. The federal government itself has recently acknowledged that some UAP cases are clouded by insufficient data, making it difficult to draw definitive conclusions. This admission signals a shift from the age-old ridicule surrounding these narratives to a more curious and open-minded discourse.

                The cultural impact of UFO sightings has solidified its place in Arkansas society. In the beautiful Ozarks, enthusiasts converge at conferences, enthusiastically sharing their stories and theories. Organizations like the Mutual UFO Network actively collect reports and engage in interviews, providing a platform where skeptics, scientists, and believers can gather to deliberate what witnesses might have actually encountered.

                For many Arkansans, the allure of these sightings transcends the question of extraterrestrial life. It delves into the realm of mystery. Set against a backdrop of natural splendor and expansive skies, the night invites contemplation. That strange gleam over a soybean field or a distant mountain can provoke questions that echo long after the light disappears.

                From the mysterious airships of the 1890s to the glowing formations of today, the skies above Arkansas continue to evoke a sense of wonder. In a world that often feels confined by existing maps and measurements, perhaps it’s only fitting that a few lights in the night still elude straightforward explanations. 

Four Years of All Around Arkansas

            This year, the Saline Courier celebrates its 150th anniversary. And this week, I celebrate a milestone of my own: this column turns four years old.

            I’ve never claimed to be much of a mathematician, but by my count, that comes to 208 columns—208 opportunities to write about the people, places, and culture of my beloved home state.

            The idea for All Around Arkansas was born years ago when I worked in the tourism division of the Arkansas Department of Parks, Heritage, and Tourism. I served in the group travel section, where our three-person team promoted Arkansas to tour companies, travel writers, influencers, and conference planners across the country. We attended conventions, pitched destinations, and invited decision-makers to experience Arkansas firsthand—all with the hope of bringing more visitors and more economic impact to our state.

            Often, we hosted tours of some of Arkansas’s most well-known attractions, introducing guests to our history, culture, and, yes, a few tall tales along the way. As a native Arkansan with a deep love for our state’s stories, I was frequently tasked with serving as tour guide. I relished the chance to share the legends and lore that make Arkansas unique.

            But there were also stretches of downtime.

            As a child, I remembered watching “Travelin’ Arkansas,” a segment on KTHV Channel 11 hosted by Chuck Dovish. Dovish crisscrossed the state, spotlighting attractions and colorful stories. It was informative, entertaining, and unmistakably Arkansas. That memory sparked an idea: perhaps I could use my downtime to tell more of our state’s stories.

            At the time, Arkansas Tourism maintained a blog on its website, along with Facebook and Instagram pages. While those platforms highlighted beautiful photographs of iconic destinations, I couldn’t help but feel we were only scratching the surface. We regularly promoted places such as the Clinton Presidential Center, Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Johnny Cash’s Boyhood Home, and Crater of Diamonds State Park. All worthy destinations, certainly—but Arkansas is far more than a handful of well-known landmarks.

            There were countless untold stories in small towns and along back roads. I believed we could—and should—be sharing them. And I believed I knew someone who would be more than willing to tell them.

            One day, I approached my supervisor with a proposal. When traveling to conventions or delivering materials to welcome centers and state park visitor centers, I could also gather stories. I could write articles about interesting people and places, take photographs and record interviews. The content could be shared on the tourism website and social media channels.

            My supervisor loved the idea and encouraged me to pitch it to the communications director. She was supportive and said she would present it to upper management.

            Then came the waiting.

            Several days later, I was called into my supervisor’s office and given the news: the idea had been nixed. The explanation was familiar and bureaucratic—“It’s not in your job description.” I walked out disappointed but not defeated. The idea stayed with me.

            Fast forward to January 2022. After subscribing to the Saline Courier, that long-shelved vision resurfaced. What if a local newspaper were interested in a weekly column about Arkansas’s history, heritage, and culture? I emailed the publisher with my proposal. A few days later, he responded with interest and asked for a sample.

            For that first submission, I chose a place close to my heart: Pinnacle Mountain State Park. I had visited the park countless times over the years and once worked at its visitor center before moving into the tourism department. It felt like the perfect place to begin.

            Thankfully, the publisher agreed. Four years later, All Around Arkansas continues to appear not only in the Saline Courier, but in several other newspapers and magazines as well.

            The story of Arkansas is, ultimately, the story of all of us—those who came before, those who call it home today, and those who will shape its future. I am grateful to the Courier for giving these stories a home, and to you, the readers, who make it a point to join me each week.

            There are still countless overlooked stories waiting to be told in the Natural State. I intend to keep seeking them out, and I hope you’ll continue to ride along with me in the years ahead.

The Legend of the Haw Creek Witch

                On a winding road south of the small town of Pelsor (Pope County), Highway 123 descends into a narrow valley where a crystal-clear stream winds through rock ledges and a lush hardwood forest. Situated in this secluded spot is what appears to be an ideal place for a peaceful weekend retreat.

                The tranquility of the daytime is deceptive, however. When night falls, locals claim the atmosphere shifts dramatically. This change can be attributed to one of Arkansas’s most peculiar modern legends: the tale of the Haw Creek Witch.

                Unlike many Arkansas tall tales rooted in distant history, this particular story originates from a single interesting discovery. In the late twentieth century, some hikers stumbled upon an unusual arrangement of stones resembling a grave located behind the campground. Marking its head was a rugged stone inscribed with the words: “Here lies the Haw Creek Witch, 1829–1881.”

                Here's the problem — no historical records indicate that any woman (witch or otherwise) is buried there. No graveyards can be found nearby, and there are no documented homesteads or recorded nineteenth-century burials in the vicinity. Yet, this marker sits deep in the woods, far from well-maintained trails, seemingly placed for accidental discovery rather than formal visitation.

                Theories surrounding the site emerged quickly. Some suggest it belonged to a shunned mountain woman excluded from her community. Others speculate it was a folk healer unfairly blamed for local illness. A darker narrative implies she may have been killed out of fear of being a witch. However, none of these theories has been substantiated, and many researchers now lean towards the notion that the grave was likely just a prank. 

                Soon, campers began reporting strange occurrences. Some claim to have heard a woman weeping in the forest late at night. Others described footsteps circling their tents, rocks tossed from the darkness, or the persistent sensation of being watched from the tree line. Several visitors claimed their dogs refused to approach the wooded hillside behind the campground. There are no police reports, no injuries, and no confirmed paranormal events. Yet, the story continued to grow every time the tale was told.

                Part of the explanation may lie in the area itself. The Ozarks are far from silent after dark. Barred owls produce calls eerily similar to a human scream. Foxes emit sharp, high-pitched cries that sound like someone in trouble. Coyotes, bobcats, and even wind funneling through the narrow valley can create sounds that echo and distort in the forest. 

                What makes the Haw Creek Witch unusual among Arkansas legends is that the folklore seems to have formed in reverse. Most legends grow from an event and eventually become stories. Here, the physical object came first, and the narrative followed. The suggestion created the legend.

                Today, hikers still search for the marker. It has disappeared and reappeared over the years, sometimes rebuilt by visitors. Coins, stones, and small trinkets are occasionally left behind by those who find them. Even skeptics admit that encountering a grave dedicated to a witch deep in remote woods can be unsettling, particularly after sunset, when the valley darkens, and the forest grows loud.

                No verifiable haunting has ever been documented at Haw Creek Falls. Still, on cool autumn nights when fog settles over the creek, and owls call across the ridges, it becomes easy to understand why the story refuses to fade.

                Whether or not it’s a harmless prank, modern folklore, or simply imagination meeting isolation, the Haw Creek Witch has secured a place among the Natural State’s enduring mysteries, proof that a legend does not always need history to survive. Sometimes all it requires is a quiet forest, a lonely marker, and someone willing to tell the haunting story around a warm campfire.

Gulpha Gorge Campground and Park

                

                 It’s no secret that Hot Springs (Garland County) is my favorite city in my native state, and one of my favorite places there is Gulpha Gorge Campground. This beautiful spot has long been special to my wife and me, a place where we’ve spent countless afternoons with our Boston terriers, Stonewall and Dixie, splashing in the cool waters of Gulpha Creek. This past Saturday, we returned once again—this time introducing our new Boston Terrier puppy, Tucker, to a place that has become part of our story.

                The history of Gulpha Gorge stretches back more than two centuries. In 1804, President Thomas Jefferson commissioned Dr. George Hunter and William Dunbar to explore the Hot Springs area, surveying the newly acquired territory and documenting its scientific significance. After a 25-day journey, the expedition reached the confluence of what is now known as Gulpha Creek. In his journal, Dunbar referred to the stream as “Fourche à Calfat.” Over time, “Calfat” evolved into “Gulpha,” giving the creek its modern name.

                The campground itself came much later. In 1924, Colonel John Fordyce donated 16 acres of land to the federal government to establish a campground in Gulpha Gorge. The property included two rustic changing booths near a small swimming lake called Lake Lillian, named in honor of Fordyce’s wife. The small lake was created by a dam Fordyce had constructed on the creek, which was eventually removed, allowing the creek to flow freely. That gift laid the foundation for what would become one of Hot Springs National Park’s most beloved outdoor destinations.

                Today, Gulpha Gorge Campground sits in the heart of Hot Springs National Park, offering a rare blend of natural beauty and modern convenience. Although it is the only developed campground within the park’s boundaries, it has managed to retain a peaceful, wooded atmosphere. The gentle sound of Gulpha Creek, shaded campsites, and nearby hiking trails give the area the feel of a quiet forest retreat, all while remaining close to the city.

                The campground is relatively small, with around 40 campsites, but it is thoughtfully designed. Each site offers full hookups for RVs and trailers, including 30- and 50-amp electrical service, along with water and sewer connections. Picnic tables, grills, and fire rings make each campsite comfortable and inviting, while paved roads and RV pads simplify setup. Modern restrooms with flush toilets are available year-round, adding a level of comfort not always found in national park campgrounds.

                For hikers and outdoor enthusiasts, Gulpha Gorge Campground is an excellent starting point. The Gulpha Gorge Trail begins near the campground and climbs toward Hot Springs Mountain, offering scenic views and access to the park’s broader trail system, which spans more than 26 miles. Whether you’re looking for a short walk or a longer trek, these trails highlight the forested landscapes and rolling foothills of the Ouachita Mountains.

                There’s also plenty to enjoy without leaving the campground itself. During warmer months, wading in Gulpha Creek is a favorite activity for visitors of all ages. The shallow, clear water makes it especially inviting on hot summer days. Picnicking, birdwatching, and simply relaxing beneath the trees round out the experience, making Gulpha Gorge an ideal place to slow down and reconnect with nature.

                That said, Gulpha Gorge does not offer complete seclusion. Its proximity to Highway 7 and the edge of the city means that traffic noise can occasionally break the tranquility, and the close spacing of campsites can limit privacy. Still, most campers find these minor drawbacks are more than balanced by the campground’s convenience and accessibility.

                Reservations are required for all campsites and can be made through Recreation.gov. The campground is especially popular during peak seasons and holiday weekends, when sites tend to fill quickly. With a little planning, however, it’s possible to secure one of the coveted creekside sites, known for their peaceful views and soothing sounds of flowing water.

                Staying at Gulpha Gorge also puts visitors just minutes from historic downtown Hot Springs. After a morning hike, you can head into town to soak in one of the city’s famous bathhouses, explore local shops and restaurants, or take a scenic drive up Hot Springs Mountain Road. That drive leads to the Hot Springs Mountain Tower, a 216-foot steel observation tower that opened in 1983 and offers sweeping views of the surrounding landscape.

                In a region of Arkansas known for its lakes and forests, Gulpha Gorge Campground stands out by offering the best of both worlds: the calm beauty of a shaded creekside retreat and the charm of a historic city built around water and wellness. Whether you’re a seasoned camper or visiting for the first time, Gulpha Gorge invites you to slow down, explore more deeply, and discover why the Spa City has drawn hundreds of thousands of visitors for generations.

Miss Laura's Social Club

                Prostitution has often been called the world’s oldest profession, and in Fort Smith (Sebastian County), this intriguing history is neither hidden nor whitewashed. Instead, it stands out in a beautiful green building on Garrison Avenue: welcome to Miss Laura’s Social Club, which now serves as the city’s official visitor center. What began as a house of prostitution has become one of the most famous historical landmarks in the area.

                In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Fort Smith was a rough and tumble river and railroad hub, teeming with soldiers, marshals, outlaws, and the many working men passing through the last vestiges of “civilization.” Where there was money, loneliness, and whiskey, vice followed closely behind. The red-light district flourished mere footsteps from the tracks, with Miss Laura’s among the most notable establishments operating openly at the time. This was not a secret back-alley endeavor; it thrived as a business, regulated and tolerated, intricately woven into the city's fabric.

                What set Miss Laura's apart was its reputation for being relatively respectable for a brothel. Managed by Laura Ziegler, the house enforced its own rules: no weapons, no drunken disorder, and no violence. The women were expected to maintain professionalism, while clients were required to behave. In a city infamous for Judge Isaac Parker, popularly known as “The Hangin’ Judge,” order was essential—even in a place steeped in sin. This commitment to conduct resulted in a house known for its safety, cleanliness, and discretion, qualities that solidified its place in the rich backstory of Fort Smith’s history.

                When the allure of the red-light district waned, and Miss Laura's doors closed, the building faced the possibility of fading into obscurity. Rather than opting for demolition, Fort Smith city officials chose to preserve this iconic structure. Today, Miss Laura's functions as Fort Smith's visitor center, warmly welcoming tourists with maps, brochures, and friendly faces. The transformation feels almost poetic: a venue once devoted to pleasure is now centered on hospitality. Yet, the past remains visible; the upstairs rooms are preserved, stories are shared openly, and the building's history is acknowledged without any embarrassment.

                In my opinion, Miss Laura’s stands out as a testament to the unique character that defines Fort Smith. Unlike many towns that polish their pasts into shiny, marketable narratives, Fort Smith boldly embraces its history, as evident in its decision to transform a former brothel into a welcoming point for residents and visitors alike. This choice conveys a subtle yet powerful message: this is our story, and we take pride in it. After all, history is rarely accommodating.

                As you step inside Miss Laura’s, the layers of Fort Smith’s rich history unfold before you. The city has always been a juxtaposition of law and lawlessness, from churches and saloons to justice and vice co-existing in harmony. The building itself embodies this balance, reminding us that the American narrative encompasses not only aspiration and morality but also the intricate dance of survival and desire that defines community life.

                Miss Laura’s does not romanticize or vilify its past; it simply presents the building’s true story. In doing so, it offers a far more nuanced understanding of history than mere plaques or historical markers could ever convey, recognizing that towns are shaped not only by their heroes but by the everyday lives of common people—imperfect yet resilient individuals doing their best in challenging times.

                Ultimately, the enduring appeal of Miss Laura’s lies in its authenticity. It serves as a reminder that Fort Smith has always been a crossroads, influenced by movement, commerce, and the complexities of human morality. While calling prostitution the oldest profession may be a playful quip, at Miss Laura’s, it opens a doorway to understanding the city itself: unrefined, resilient, and unexpectedly inviting.

                For those interested in learning more about Miss Laura's, you can visit the center’s website at www.misslaurasmuseum.com. However, for a truly enriching experience, why not take a trip to Fort Smith and see it all for yourself? It’s definitely worth the drive!

Batesville's Historic Lock and Dam

                As most folks pass over the White River in Batesville (Independence County), the winding waterway rarely captures a second glance. I know I didn’t think much of it during my visit to this historic city last Saturday, accompanying my wife on a work trip. The river flows steadily beneath the bridge, a familiar sight in our everyday lives. Yet, just downstream lies a significant structure that has quietly influenced the city for more than a century: White River Lock and Dam No. 1.

                Constructed in 1903, Lock and Dam No. 1 emerged during a time when the United States relied heavily on its rivers for transportation. Initiated through the Rivers and Harbors Act of 1899, this project was part of a grand federal vision to enhance the White River for commercial navigation. Although plans were made for ten locks and dams along the river, only three came to fruition, with Batesville’s being the first.

                The dam spans approximately 660 feet across the river, featuring a lock chamber designed to lift boats about 15 feet above low water levels. At one time, this height was crucial. Steamboats transporting goods like lumber, cotton, and agricultural products required reliable river conditions, and the lock offered a solution, allowing vessels to navigate around troublesome shallow areas.

                Batesville’s bond with the White River predates the dam itself. As early as the 1830s, steamboats were a common sight at the docks, establishing the town as a bustling regional trading hub. For many years, the river served as the lifeblood that brought people, resources, and opportunity to the area.

                However, this dynamic shifted in the late 19th century with the arrival of the railroad. Rail transport gained favor due to its speed, dependability, and reduced vulnerability to the whims of weather and water levels. As trains began to replace boats, river commerce began to dwindle. By the mid-20th century, the Corps of Engineers determined that maintaining the navigation system on the White River was no longer financially sustainable, leading to the closure of the lock gates at Dam No. 1 in 1952.

                What could have easily become a forgotten relic of days gone by has instead found a new lease on life. The City of Batesville took ownership of the site, transforming the surrounding area into what we now know as Riverside Park. The dam has transitioned from being an industrial asset to a community treasure. Families can be seen picnicking nearby, while anglers cast their lines into the deep waters below the spillway. Walkers and joggers enjoy picturesque views of the river that once carried steamboats upstream.

                But the story of the dam doesn’t end there. In the latter half of the 20th century, local leaders recognized the river’s steady flow as a source of untapped potential. With an increasing focus on renewable energy, attention turned back to Lock and Dam No. 1, this time as a crucial player in hydropower production rather than just navigation.

                After years of planning, securing financing, and navigating regulatory hurdles, a hydroelectric facility was established at the site. It began generating electricity in 2007, enough to power thousands of homes. While it may still be considered modest compared to larger power facilities, this project signifies a significant investment in local renewable energy and contributes to economic development.

                Today, Lock and Dam No. 1 wears many hats. It serves as functional infrastructure, quietly generating power while also being a beloved recreational landmark at the heart of one of Batesville’s most frequented public spaces. It stands as a living testament to the city’s longstanding relationship with the White River.

                However, maintaining the dam is an ongoing necessity as it ages—a reality faced by any structure subjected to decades of rushing water and seasonal flooding. Recent repair efforts highlight the need to strike a balance between preserving historic infrastructure and ensuring public safety and usability.

                In many respects, White River Lock and Dam No. 1 mirrors Batesville itself: adaptable, resilient, and shaped by the winds of change. What began as a gateway for commerce has evolved into a vital community gathering spot and now plays a significant role in the region’s energy future. The river continues to flow, the dam remains strong, and together they narrate the story of a town built on the edge of one of the most important waterways in the Natural State.

Arkansas's Country Music History: Part Two

            Last week in my column, I wrote about some of the most prominent country singers to come out of the Natural State — legends like Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty, and Glen Campbell. It was a fun trip through music history, but as a sharp-eyed (and sharp-eared) lady at my church kindly pointed out afterward, I left off some important names. She was absolutely right.

            So, please consider this week’s column a continuation — and a correction — because Arkansas’s influence on country music runs far deeper than just a handful of household names. From silky-voiced crooners to chart-topping hitmakers, Arkansas has produced a remarkable lineup of artists who deserve their due.

            You can’t talk about Arkansas country music without talking about Charlie Rich. Born in Colt (St. Francis County).  Nicknamed “The Silver Fox,” Rich had a smooth, sophisticated sound that set him apart in Nashville. Songs like “Behind Closed Doors” and “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” made him a superstar in the 1970s, earning him a Grammy and multiple CMA awards. On a side note, Rich had a fishing cabin on Lake Norrell near Benton (Saline County), which happens to be where my wife and I live. The old cabin was recently renovated, with a side building being refurbished with a mural depicting the country music star.

            Another Arkansas native with deep country roots is Tracy Lawrence. Born in Atlanta, Texas, but raised in Foreman (Little River County) became one of the biggest stars of 1990s country music. With hits like “Sticks and Stones,” Time Marches On,” and “Can’t Break It to My Heart,” Lawrence has been a mainstay on country radio for decades. Before the eight number one hits and millions of records sold, there were gigs in small towns in southwest Arkansas and big dreams — and it’s always special to know our state was part of that journey from the very beginning.

            Joe Nichols is another name that deserves recognition. Born in Rogers (Benton County), Nichols proudly claims Arkansas as home. With his traditional country sound and rich baritone voice, Nichols has scored several hits like “Brokenheartsville,” “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off,” and “Gimmie That Girl.” In an era when country music was often drifting toward pop, Nichols helped keep one foot firmly planted in classic country tradition, something Arkansas fans have always appreciated.

            Then there’s one of my all-time favorite female singer/songwriters-- K.T. Oslin. Kay Toinette Oslin was born in Crossett (Ashley County) but raised in Memphis. Oslin broke barriers in country music, proving that success didn’t have an age limit. She didn’t score her first major hit until her mid-40s, but when she did, she came out hot. Songs like “80’s Ladies” and “Do Ya?” spoke directly to adult women — a demographic that Nashville often overlooked. Oslin’s success paved the way for more mature voices and stories in country music, and her Arkansas roots make her achievements even sweeter.

            Collin Raye, from DeQueen (Sevier County), is another Arkansas favorite. With a powerful, emotional singing style, Raye delivered heartfelt hits like “Love, Me,” “In This Life,” and “That’s My Story.” His songs often focused on family, faith, and everyday struggles — themes that resonate strongly with Arkansas audiences. Raye’s career may not always have been flashy, but it was honest, and that authenticity helped him build a lasting connection with fans.

            And finally, there’s Martin Delray from Texarkana (Miller County). Born Michael Martin, he was encouraged by his record label, Atlantic Records, to adopt the stage name Martin Delray to avoid confusion with established recording artist Michael Martin Murphey. Delray showed real promise as a songwriter and performer, blending traditional country sounds with thoughtful storytelling. He scored two top-twenty hits in the 1990s: “Get Rhythm” and “Lillie’s White Lies.” “Get Rhythm” was a remake of a Johnny Cash song, and Cash, a labelmate of Delray’s, appeared in the music video. The video was placed in heavy rotation by CMT and TNN.  There’s also a personal connection for me — Martin’s uncle, Stan, was my childhood neighbor, and through that relationship, I had the chance to meet Martin several times.

            The Natural State has never been short on musical talent. From small towns and church pews to national stages, these artists carried a piece of home with them wherever they went. And as I was reminded last week, sometimes it takes more than 700 words to tell the whole story.

Arkansas's Country Music History

                Growing up in a household where country music ruled the airwaves, the sounds of artists like Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty, Don Williams, and Mickey Gilley were a constant presence. My parents embraced this genre wholeheartedly, ensuring that whether we were at home or driving down the highway, the radio, always tuned to KSSN 96 FM, was always filled with the heartfelt stories and melodies of country. These songs didn’t just fill the air; they became the very fabric of my childhood, shaping my love for music and my grasp of storytelling, emotion, and tradition. It’s only fitting that Arkansas, my beloved home state, has played such a crucial part in the tapestry of country music history.

                The Natural State has been a subtle yet powerful contributor to the evolution of American music, particularly in the realm of country. From the Delta’s rich farmland to intimate small-town performances, Arkansas has nurtured voices that have helped define the sound and storytelling traditions of the genre. While Nashville may hold the title of country music’s epicenter, Arkansas has served as both a birthplace and proving ground for some of its most significant stars.

                You can’t mention Arkansas country legends without starting with the iconic Johnny Cash. Born in Kingsland (Cleveland County) and raised in Dyess (Mississippi County), Cash’s lyrical prowess was deeply embedded in the trials and triumphs of rural life in Arkansas. His songs, such as “Five Feet High and Rising” and “Pickin’ Time,” were direct reflections of his experiences during the Great Depression. With his rich baritone and keen empathy for the working class, Cash transformed country music into a more socially aware art form.

                Another luminary from this vibrant music scene is Harold Jenkins, who is better known to fans as Conway Twitty. Legend has it that when Jenkins sought a memorable stage name, he consulted a map and found inspiration in the names of two towns: Conway, Arkansas, and Twitty, Texas. Although Twitty was born in Friars Point, Mississippi, he spent his formative years in Helena (Phillips County), where his musical career began to flourish. Twitty would go on to become one of the most successful country artists, amassing an impressive number of No. 1 hits—more than any other artist of his time (a record that would eventually be surpassed by the legendary George Strait). With classics like “Hello Darlin’,“ “Don’t Take It Away,” and “Goodbye Time,” Twitty’s emotive songs and captivating storytelling left an indelible mark on the genre, marking him as a cherished part of Arkansas' musical legacy.

                Glen Campbell, a global icon with roots in Arkansas, was born in the small community of Billstown, just outside Delight (Pike County). Rising from humble beginnings, Campbell carved out a place in history as one of country music's most versatile performers. His timeless hits like “Gentle on My Mind,” “Wichita Lineman,” and “Rhinestone Cowboy” seamlessly blended country and pop while remaining grounded in his authentic background. Renowned for his exceptional guitar skills and powerful voice, Campbell captured the hearts of music lovers across various genres and generations.

                The influence of Arkansas in modern country music is evident in artists like Justin Moore, who hails from Poyen (Grant County). Moore takes pride in his small-town roots, frequently drawing inspiration from rural life, faith, and family in his songs. Tracks such as “Small Town, USA” resonate with my fellow Arkansans and find common ground with fans nationwide.

                Ashley McBryde, a notable contemporary musician from Waldron (Scott County), is another example of Arkansas talent making waves. Her rise in the industry has been marked by a fearless approach to songwriting, characterized by raw honesty. McBryde's music delves into themes of heartbreak, resilience, and personal struggle, with a Southern grit that is both authentic and compelling.

                From the powerful voice of Johnny Cash to the smooth ballads of Conway Twitty and today’s chart-topping stars, Arkansas has consistently nurtured artists who tell compelling stories with heart and sincerity. The Natural State’s impact on country music may not always be loud, but its depth, endurance, and unmistakable authenticity echo in the melodies that once filled my childhood home.

Benton's Historic Cemeteries

                  

                   The city of Benton, the heart of Saline County, is home to some of the area's oldest burial sites that tell unique stories of our community’s past. Among these, Crouch Cemetery and the historically rich Hughes Cemetery, often referred to as the potter’s field, provide a glimpse into the lives of those who came before us, showcasing life in 19th-century Arkansas.

                  Crouch Cemetery, a modest yet significant burial ground in Benton, may not be extensively documented in state historical records, but it holds an essential place in local genealogy and cemetery registries. Located near South Street and Interstate 30, behind the site of what was once the Newcomb Garage, this private cemetery is primarily known as the final resting place for members of the Crouch family. Here, one can find the graves of notable individuals such as Benjamin Franklin Crouch, among others, preserving the memory of early Benton settlers.

                 While it might not boast the size or prominence of larger community cemeteries, Crouch Cemetery continues to play a vital role in Benton’s historical narrative. It serves as a poignant reminder of the families who established roots in this area, shaping the community we know today.

                Not far from Benton’s downtown lies another historically significant site: Hughes Cemetery. Commonly acknowledged by locals and historians as the early potter’s field or county cemetery, Hughes Cemetery dates back to the mid-1800s. Named after Green Hughes, a pivotal figure in Benton’s founding, this burial ground is steeped in local lore. Born in North Carolina in 1800, Hughes ventured to Arkansas to build a new life. He operated a general store and became Benton’s first postmaster shortly after Arkansas became the 25th state in June 1836.

                When Hughes died in 1858, he and his family chose a plot of land on what was once his farm for his burial. Unfortunately, over time, the original grave markers for Hughes, his wife, Louisa, daughter, Catherine, and son-in-law, Sam Steele, have fallen victim to the ravages of time, becoming lost or vandalized.

                Over the decades that followed, the cemetery grew well beyond its origins as a simple family plot. It became known in the community as a county cemetery, often referred to as a potter’s field—a term historically used for burial sites designated for those without means, unclaimed individuals, or those lacking family to bury them. In this regard, Hughes Cemetery emerged as the final resting place for many of Benton’s early residents, including pioneers and lesser-known locals, many of whom rest without headstones or proper markers.

               An 1882 deed highlights the cemetery, describing it as “100 yards square embracing the old graveyard,” indicating that the land had evolved into a communal burial ground rather than just a site for individual families.

              Like many older cemeteries in expanding towns, Hughes Cemetery fell into disrepair over the years, suffering from neglect, overgrowth, and vandalism. By the early 2000s, however, interest in preserving it began to grow, leading to the establishment of the Hughes Cemetery Association in 2004, aimed at restoring and maintaining the area. Local volunteers, including Boy Scout troops and various work crews, came together to clear underbrush and put up signage.

              In 2019, Hughes Cemetery was added to the Arkansas Register of Historic Places, honoring its significance in Benton’s early history and the importance of remembering those buried there.

              Today, although many graves remain unmarked and vulnerable to the effects of time, local historians and community volunteers tirelessly work to safeguard this historic burial site.

              Combined, both Crouch Cemetery and Hughes Cemetery emphasize the vital need to preserve local burial sites, not merely as places of rest, but as lasting connections to the history of the region and the lives of its earliest inhabitants.

Arkansas's Historic Plantation Homes

                The few cotton plantation homes that still stand within our state’s borders reveal a great deal about Arkansas's history. These stunning examples of Southern architecture not only showcase beautiful design but also whisper tales of a time when the cotton industry flourished, intertwined with deep-seated complexities of wealth and human experience. While many plantation homes across the South have been lost to the ravages of time, several in Arkansas stand, acting as poignant reminders of the state’s agricultural roots and the legacy of slavery that underpinned its economic development.

                Imagine walking along the wide porches of these grand homes, many of which showcase architectural styles such as Greek Revival, Colonial Revival, and Victorian. With their towering columns and airy rooms, these estates were designed to impress, serving not just as residences for the rich and powerful but as proud symbols of power and prosperity in the early to mid-19th century.

                Take, for instance, Lakeport Plantation near Lake Village (Chicot County), built in 1859. This Greek Revival gem is one of the few plantation homes in the state that invites visitors inside to experience the antebellum Southern lifestyle firsthand. Its large windows and symmetrical design stand as a testament to the era’s artistic vision. Today, Lakeport serves as a museum, providing visitors with the opportunity to learn more about the economic and cultural dynamics that have shaped the region. 

                Yet, amidst the beauty of these homes lies a stark reminder—the wealth that adorned these elaborate estates was built on the backs of enslaved individuals. Their labor is essential to understanding the real narrative behind these impressive residences.

                While the cotton plantation homes often symbolize status and affluence, the untold stories of the people who toiled in the fields paint a fuller picture. Beyond the grandeur of these structures, the lives of those who maintained the estates and faced unimaginable hardships deserve recognition. It’s a reminder to look beyond the façade and appreciate the intricate tapestry of history that these homes represent. So, as you explore Arkansas’s plantation landscapes, take a moment to reflect on both the beauty and the complexity woven into their walls.

                 Though many of the smaller structures where enslaved people lived no longer exist, a few have been preserved as part of historical sites. These small, often crude cabins were a stark contrast to the opulence of the plantation homes, reflecting the brutal realities of life for the enslaved. My former workplace, Historic Arkansas Museum in Little Rock (Pulaski County), for example, is working to highlight these overlooked stories, offering exhibits that delve into the lives of the people who made the plantation economy possible.

                One of the most important preservation efforts in our state is the Walker House in Jefferson County. Although not a grand plantation home, the house tells a powerful story of African American resilience post-Civil War. Built by a freed couple, it serves as a reminder that not all African Americans were dependent on white landowners and that they played a key role in Arkansas’s post-war reconstruction.

                Through these efforts, plantation homes that once represented the height of Southern wealth are now used to tell more complete, and often painful, histories. Visitors to these sites learn about both the grandeur and the exploitation that shaped them.

                Looking ahead, the future of these homes rests on the continued balance between preserving the architecture and telling the fuller story of the lives behind the facades. Preservation efforts must continue, but the narratives must continue as well. Many of these sites are beginning to focus more on the contributions and suffering of enslaved people, emphasizing their integral role in the economic systems that allowed these homes to thrive.

                While these homes stand as lasting symbols of Arkansas's past, they also serve as reminders of the state's complicated history of race, labor, and inequality. Through ongoing preservation and reinterpretation, they can help inform the present and future, offering lessons in resilience, empathy, and the importance of understanding our history in all its complexity.

                As the dialogue about race and history continues to evolve, the Natural State’s cotton plantation homes will undoubtedly remain at the heart of this conversation, standing as both testaments to the state's architectural heritage and powerful reminders of its dark past.