I’ve spent the better part of December trying to find the place to start my journey. Perhaps I should have began where my roots were planted, the parcel I was born on or even the town that grew me, in that schoolyard or those nearby forests, or even the location from whence I last lived. Those would have all been appropriate beginnings. Places to launch my exploration of this landscape. And I have. From each of those explored, and searched and grown and learned. Yet they just didn’t seem right.

Overlooking the White River today I finally found my spot. The place to begin. This later half of life journey to all the places my roots have sought. The ground my ancestors plowed and trekked and fought so hard to tame. And maybe that’s why this location. This river that flo

wed so free and fearlessly that laid before me tamed to the degree a river can be tamed. It’s a testament to the Ozark people. To their unwavering determination to make of this rugged landscape a livable land.

Perhaps it’s because my roots run so deep amongst it’s banks. Intertwined with the arrowheads that litter the bluffs and the shores buried beneath the lakes that swallowed the land. Woven with the fricassees, chicken bouillon and cuisses de grenouilles that filled our bowls and graced our tables, leftovers of the French trappers who canvased the Ozarks a full century before any man put to pencil the stories of this place. Knitted together by remnants of Appalachian folklore from those first hardy pioneers who settled amongst these river banks and mountains. Roots deep in this Ozark soil fed by the rivers that carve through the mountainsides.

Gazing over the White River from high above the Bull Shoals dam watching the sun set, this is the perfect place for new beginnings. A wide world spanning out before me. History before me, untouched lands, waters and trees. History behind me, a dam built in my grandparents lifetime changing the Ozarks from a secluded wilderness to a tourist destination. A river wild and free held back time and again by a series of dams and locks stretching it’s course till finally it’s once again free to charge into the Mississippi and empty into the sea.

Waters that hold in its depths towns and paddleboats and secrets and springs and caves and life. A river that formed in the Ozark hills, lakes that devoured them. Constantly changing. Constantly starting new from its source in the Boston Mountains gathering strength with each tributary and spring.

Today is a good day for new beginnings. As with everyday. But especially today. The first day of the year. And as I watch the scene unfold, the colors envelope the White River basin before me I see both the journey ahead and all the new things that will bring and my roots and all the memories held within them.

*** the Bull Shoals State Park is a beautiful location with hundreds of acres of forest and shore line to explore. There are campgrounds, parks and playgrounds, picnic areas and a state of the art visitor center with a small store. The grounds are both above and below the dam giving stunning views from every angle and plenty of opportunity to explore. Nearby are the small towns of Bull Shoals and Lakeview and just a little further Flippin. The towns boast quaint cottages and old roadside motels, tiny cafes and cute boutiques.

****May our journey to find our roots inspire your journey to fall in love with these beautiful Ozarks.