Branson, Day Three

We were given the option this morning to stay at the hotel and relax until 11:00 or go shopping in town until it was time to leave for our first attraction.  Not being a shopper, I opted to stay at the hotel.  I wanted the time to reinsert my errant tooth using the bonding cement I bought at Walmart.  And I didn’t feel like doing anything anyway because I’d  been awake for hours, after hearing some sad news from home.

I woke around 5:00 and unwisely did a quick look at Facebook on my phone.  If I have trouble sleeping, this often helps.  In fact, I’m lucky that I haven’t accidentally posted a picture of my cheek plastered against the screen with drool, from those times when I’ve fallen asleep in mid-browse.  No danger of dozing off today though.  One of the first posts I saw described a raging fire at the Walnut Creek Flea Market back home.  Located directly across the road from the thrift store where I work, the flea market is a major tourist attraction in Holmes County and knowing it was in flames was a shock sufficient to drive all thoughts of sleep away.

So I stayed behind while most of the others climbed aboard the bus and left for the shopping district.  The men, I found out when they returned, had decided to check out another car museum and Paul enthusiastically told me about the full city block-size building holding all the various and sundry vehicles.  I was pretty relieved I had stayed at the hotel.  I mean, I enjoy looking at a beautiful classic as much as anyone but I’m not all that interested, nor do I comprehend, all the finer details of how they were built. So I was glad I had stayed behind- until I heard  what the ladies had been up to.

It seems they went to a store modeled after the old “Five and Dimes” that were prevalent in my childhood.  And they all, or most of them, came away the proud owners of little rubber kazoo pigs, chickens, dinosaurs and the like.  They surprised everyone on the bus with their version of Mary Had A Little Lamb and, while they should probably keep their day jobs, the song was actually recognizable.  Indeed, the noises those things made were at once funny, obnoxious, irritating, hilarious, and uncannily like a crying, moaning, whining child.  After some of us were in tears and others were threatening physical harm to whomever brought forth the next moan from the little rubber toys, they were finally tucked away in shopping bags, only to be brought out again at random the rest of the day.  Someone asked one of the ladies if she was giving hers to the grandkids when she gets home.

“Absolutely not!” she said with great feeling.  “How would I ever be able to teach them that making this kind of noise is inappropriate if I gave them something like this?!”  I guess what happens on the  

bus stays on the bus.

At 11:00 we loaded up and after a short devotional by David Lee we were off to the next adventure.  Today it was Dogwood Canyon, straddling the nearby Missouri/Arkansas boarder.  With 10,000 acres of beautiful scenery, trout streams, water falls and of course, dogwoods, it was an idyllic place that captured us from the first moment in. We were served a lovely picnic lunch with delicious food and cloth napkins. We saw Elk and buffalo closeup. We rode trams on our guided tour, crossing water, climbing hills, maneuvering switchbacks and tried to drink it all in.  We were headed back to the entrance when we saw a fisherman pull in a very large trout that drew cheers and congratulations from all of us.

The original owner of the land still subsidizes it with his own money, although our guide said the park is trying to reach financial independence.  All the buildings have been carefully designed to fit the surroundings using huge limestone rocks and timber frame construction.  A covered bridge suspended over one of the many waterways was built by Amish craftsmen from Seymour, Missouri, a place where some of my family had lived for many years and I wondered if they knew each other.  The bridge was a work of art, as was virtually everything in the park.  A tree house, built by Treehouse Masters from the TV show of the same name, had obviously been designed by someone who gave careful thought to every detail.  From the fishing rod door knobs to the huge antler chandelier to the gently curved-bough rails running up the spiral stairs, each unique piece stayed true to the forest in which it lived.

We had just enough time to go back to the hotel for a bit of a fresh-up before heading over to the Dixie Stampede, or Dolly Parton’s Stampede, as it is now named.  That was a new experience for me.  I had been to the Calgary Stampede a few years ago but this was totally different in that it was inside and we were served a huge dinner while the show was in full swing.

The pre-show was on a small stage in the center of seating, rising in tiers on all sides.  The bar on the main level, beside the stage, was open for business, and everyone sat on stools with a small ledge in front, like their own little bar on which to set their drinks. Three brothers playing blue grass did their best to entertain us, and succeeded well. Then the dinner bell rang and we were all directed to the main event.

Surrounding the arena on three sides were long rows of wooden counter tops with stools to sit on. On the fourth side was a gigantic screen behind faux rock outcroppings and trees.  The scenery changed throughout the evening and gave one the impression they were by turns in the desert, at the ocean, or in the mountains.  Live buffalo and longhorn steers were herded through to do their parts of the show, trick riders brought forth applause, and interjections of comedy kept us laughing.  The master of ceremonies manipulated us all with considerable skill and had us screaming and cheering for various sides of rigged competitions.  All in good fun and fun we had.  

Through it all our waiters rushed about serving us food from large, steaming trays and refilling our glasses with sweet tea and water.  The chickens were hot and juicy, the sides of potatoes and corn on the cob were done to a turn and I was sure I’d have no room for dessert, whatever it was.  But when our waiter placed a warm, flakey apple turnover on my plate, it somehow disappeared without a trace.

I waddled onto the bus with the others and even played cards when we got back to the hotel.  And I won!  Will wonders never cease.