The Spot
I often have thoughts that transcend the moment when I encounter places with stories and legends from the past.
Tina and I do not drive, hike, walk in a straight line toward some place. We go together toward a feeling. We do establish destinations, and we go toward them using a map like ordinary people do. But something happens on the way. We might be guided by a random road or place appearing on the map unexpectedly.
I am driving. The palindromic 303 catches my attention and a sign pointing to War Eagle Mill. This is a destination we forgot from our list. No surprise there. It isn’t our goal for the day. We are headed to see . . . Well, I don’t remember now what we were headed to see. And this is how our journeys go.
We turn on 303 and head toward War Eagle something or other. I take note of a log house and covered bridge, an overlook catches my eye but I am past it before I can stop and go on. A sign points to the War Eagle Granary, but it’s just a road too far. So we drive across the one lane, wooden surface, Illinois Steel Works War Eagle Bridge (avoiding a pedestrian) and stop at the War Eagle Store. Here an assortment of tourists, artists, and people fishing dot the parking lot, the shore, the out houses (of course).
It is an interesting spot. I make a mental note (fruitless for the most part) to look stuff up. The store is a trove of organic local or at least not too far away products as well as the War Eagle brand. We taste. We buy. Still just interesting. Lots of pictures of the still working water wheel (underflow, the last one), the store, and environs. It really is interesting as most places are.
When I was at the store and had Wi-Fi, I did take some time to look up my first question. Why are this place and these things called War Eagle?
Long story short, centuries ago, so the legend tells it, a fair native maiden was kidnapped from her noble and beloved husband by a greedy and drunken (in my mind) French trapper, never to be seen again. The husband tried to find her and when he could not, he returned to this valley to await the return of his beloved. His name was, wait for it, War Eagle.
Tina and I take ourselves back across the one lane bridge. This time I am looking for the three places I spotted before. But I turn down the Granary. It seems repetitious and I am disappointed that they use a different mill that the one at the store. Heading on down the road, I catch a quick view of the overlook, stop, back up, and find a convenient place to park.
We do this all the time. Stop. Take a few pictures. Get back in the car. Move on. No big deal.
We get out of the car and cross the road. There is a bench, a concrete bench, of undetermined age. I sit on the bench I can see a panorama of the scene and feel a connection with this place, and I can see the story of War Eagle.
At once, I have more questions. Why does the bench have a fleur-de-lis? Does this spot have connections with the legend? Was it a special spot for a later pair of lovers? Is it just a kindness by a local person for themselves and others who trek the Ozark Highland Trail?
I search, of course, and find nothing about the bench. I post it on social media and someone comments “You found the spot?” What spot? Maybe someone out there will read my story and answer my questions. But right now, as I look back, I realize that the panorama, the bench, and the story hold for me an allegory of the long past European exploration and exploitation of the Ozark Mountains and the Inland Highland region.
