From Florida to north-central Arkansas

by Pat Laster

Florida is old news now and North Central Arkansas is front and center.
I type this on the last full day of our annual sisters’ week as I balance my laptop on a throw pillow on my lap, my feet resting on the coffee table. We live in unit 29, Los Indios, the only condos allowed in Cherokee Village. There are fourteen units. Why the discrepancy between the number of units and our unit number was not known by our contact. “Good question, though,” she allowed.)
The Couch sisters, from youngest to oldest, are Beverly, Barbara, Carolyn and me. Fifteen years separate us. I remember, because when I was 15, I was s-o-o-o-o embarrassed that Mom was pregnant again. Beverly lives in Little Rock and has worked at Blue Cross Blue Shield since she graduated from Hendrix College (the fifth Couch kid to do so). She is gaga over her six-month-old granddaughter, Hqzel Rose.
Barbara, presently a church musician, began her working life in the FBI in Washington, then moved to Gardner-White, insurance brokers for hospital employees, and from there into the foster care program and church music. She/ husband adopted three of their fosters, all now grown.
Carolyn is a retired kindergarten teacher, a volunteer, church woman, wife, mother of two grown sons, and grandmother to Marlee.
And you know about me.
The three Arkansas sisters loaded (really!) the small hatchback with clothes, food, coolers, purses and laptops. I rode in the back seat with the extra baggage stowed in the adjacent passenger area. At Bald Knob, we missed the turn toward Batesville—none of us saw the exit signage––so at the edge of Newport, we took H’way 14 west through Oil Trough, Rosie and Salado until we hit H‘way 167. At Ash Flat, we turned west again toward Horseshoe Bend on 62-412—the wrong way—then backtracked to 289, thence to 175-S where we finally found our Virginia sister (Barb) smiling and waving. What did we ever do without cell phones to guide us to the exact address? The Hoochie Mamas were together again!
The place was palatial––to have only one floor! Anyone belonging to RCI and wanting a quiet get-away should certainly consider this retirement community if you haven’t already done so. Fishing, golf, a swimming pool and tennis courts, plus all the accoutrements—restaurants, country clubs, parks, lakes—are found down one native- American-named road or another.
For flea-marketers and antique hunters, this is a prime area: Hardy is nearby, Mammoth Springs is farther, then there’s Salem, Ash Flat and Highland––as well as businesses on the highways between towns.
Beverly looked for baby clothes, Carolyn for toothpick holders, Barbara for sheep-motifed items and I looked for books. Of course, bargains in Fostoria American saucers for $1.59 each were not to be passed by. Nor were pear-motifed Corelle bread-and-butter plates.
Two bought magnet bracelets to soothe their aches and pains. Unintentionally, they often picked up dinner forks.
Look for more adventures in this space next week.