God’s Little Acre

Hope – Bass Haven Resort on Lake Erling, AR

You know those movies that weave together lots of different plots? Like, for instance, Love Actually. Which, by the way, I really enjoy. Lots of sappiness and happy endings – just the kind of movie I like.

Anyway, today was kind of like that – lots of different stories – but with more mixing of genres. Some epic family drama – think Tara and Gone with the Wind maybe. Some small town Southern – with maybe some echoes of Fried Green Tomatoes. Some elements of your standard horror flick – think Jaws or Halloween. And some hard-to-watch Deep South type drama – think maybe In the Heat of the Night. 

We’re biking south from Hope and I’m kind of grumpy because we’re on a busier road. I had wanted to take a quieter route but Diana figured out that it was at least partially gravel. So here we were – on a bigger road with a fair amount of big truck type traffic. 

As we’re going along I see a small sign saying something about God’s Little Acre Rest Area. We’re listening to our Spanish lessons at the time so I don’t devote much energy to this sign, but I’m momentarily puzzled. A little while later a bigger version of the sign pops up again. Looking around I see that there are some tables, an old barn and a guy mowing the lawn on the other side of a fence. 

Bike touring like this there is a constant flow of new information coming at you all the time. Different signs. Live animals. Dead animals. Trucks. Houses. Roads. People. Bridges. Creeks. Well, lots of things. With every new thing you need to make a super quick decision. Slow down, stop, or go on. Without a quick decision, whatever it is quickly disappears in the rear view mirror (I have a rear view mirror – which I love. Helps me keep track of Diana and see cars and trucks as they approach.)

I don’t know if it was the earlier sign that I saw but paid no attention to, or maybe I saw the goat out of the corner of my eye, but whatever it was, I called for a quick stop. 

Within a few seconds the man on the lawnmower was approaching. I’m worried that he is going to ask what we want in a not very welcoming way (like the jerky store guy from a few days ago).

Nope. This guy is happy as a clam. I think he said he was “tickled” that we were stopping.

A minute later we’re in “God’s Little Acre” rest area and getting the grand tour from Jimmy I. Turns out that Jimmy’s great-grandfather emigrated from Ireland and homesteaded this land over a hundred years ago. Jimmy grew up on the land with his brother and sister. They played in and around the old barn, which was part of a regular farm with hogs and cows and stuff, and had a wonderful childhood – guided at least in part by his mother, who chose to be a great homemaker. His Mother sounds amazing. She died just a few weeks ago and Jimmy misses her already. 

Jimmy lives in Hope now but comes out nearly every day to tend to the “rest stop,” along with the chickens and the goat, Betty, that live on God’s Little Acre. He’s busy preparing the place for a grand family reunion this weekend. 

But he takes the time to show us the historic old barn – pointing out the original beams. Here’s the first small element of horror . . . Jimmy tells about the petrified dog that they keep as an exhibit in the barn. And sure enough, behind some plexiglass sits a 42 year old creature that Jimmy says is a petrified dog. I guess the dog had shown up on the farm and then fell down behind some hay bales, where he eventually died and, I guess, basically became mummified. They found him later and he’s been on exhibit ever since. It really is quite impressive . . .

It’s time to start weaving in some of the other story lines. Shockingly, one of them involves Diana and swimming. 

So last night Diana was calling ahead to some potential camping places on a big reservoir lake that we would be passing today. First question: can we tent camp? Second question (you’ll never guess): can one swim in the lake?

On the camping part, I’m not sure about the first resort, but we’re at the second one camping now – so that turned out fine. The answers to the second question are more interesting – and relevant to the story. 

First answer: “I wouldn’t swim in that lake.”

“Why not?”

”It’s nasty!” (In Diana’s telling “nasty” is about four syllables – with a big Southern accent.)

My take is that Diana made the second call because she didn’t like this answer . . . (“Forum shopping” we used to call it in the law world).

Second guy that she talked to . . . 

“Can you swim in the lake?”

“If you want to be alligator bait.”

Now, this is where the horror movie genre comes in. You know how the babysitter always decides to check outside after the kids go to bed – but it is totally obvious that there is a guy with a chainsaw lurking out there – just waiting for unwitting babysitters? As a viewer you know what is going to happen and it’s all you can do not to yell: “Don’t do it!”

There is a certain babysitter and chainsaw guy element to this storyline . . .

Diana pursues the swimming idea with the “alligator bait” man. 

“Do the alligators bite people?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t go in, but I guess the alligators are mostly up at the north end of the lake.”

Diana tells me about these conversations as we ride – but before we arrive at God’s Little Acre. She is discouraged, but, I think at this point she is still hoping to figure out that she can swim. (Can you say “dumb babysitter”)

Let’s get back to Jimmy. He asks where we are headed tonight and Diana tells him Lake Erling. 

Oh, he knows the lake. “Beautiful place.”

Ms. Forum Shopper is ready to go at this point . . .

”Can you swim in the lake?”

”Well, I guess there’s alligators, but I think it would be okay.”

Jimmy goes on to tell us about a time that he went waterskiing on the lake – which we later found out people stopped doing after the alligators moved in about fífteen years ago. Jimmy forgot to put the plug in the boat so his daughter jumped in to replace it. The point being, I think, that he thought it was safe enough for his daughter . . .

The babysitter is for sure going swimming now . . . All you can do is throw popcorn at the screen and maybe look away . . .

Jimmy makes it worse by explaining that alligators don’t eat people much. That’s crocodiles. But crocodiles need salt water. There’s no salt water here – so no crocodiles. 

Look away babysitter watchers . . .

Enter the Fried Green Tomatoes part of the story . . . 

Lunch today was at a roadside place called Burges in Lewisville. Think Betty’s Pies before it became the Mall of America of hamburger and pie places . . .

Before arriving at Burges we stopped at Tim’s Grocery in Lewisville – the only grocery store we would see on our journey today. We met Larry there. Larry was excited about our bikes and our trip and we ended up talking to a bunch of people there, including Larry’s niece, who happened to be shopping at the same time. 

It was interesting to shop at Tim’s. First sign that we are REALLY, REALLY in the South. Basically no fruits and vegetables. Seriously, fruit selection was a few green bananas and half a dozen red delicious apples. But it was the meat department that told the real story. Chicken feet. Pork fries (pig testicles). Hog maws (we don’t know what this is – if you know, please share). Pig feet. Pig tails. And pickled eggs.

Larry sent us on our way telling us that we would love Burges and their famous smoked meats and that we should get a po’ boy sandwich. 

Within 30 seconds of arriving at Burges we were talking to several different people – all with deep Southern drawls. Pretty clear that there is a small town “we know everybody around here” type of feeling at Burges. The first guy keeps track of a few oil derricks in the area – and also has a lawn care business – so he mows around the derricks too. We met a couple foresters who scout timberland for Weyerhaeuser. The plant they work makes 2x4s for construction. They explained that Weyerhaeuser made a ton of money during COVID – when prices went way up. They haven’t been making much since . . . (Kind of like the bike and ski world.)

Great lunch. Had another Southern Sweet Tea (love those), and a fresh-squeezed cherry-lime-aide (also super good). 

So we make it to the lake, and Michael – the “alligator bait” guy that owns the place – shows us where we can camp and tells us, like J.R., that we can shower in a room that’s not currently being used . . . because, like J.R.’s place, there really are no tent camping facilities here.

Diana starts talking about swimming and you can tell Michael doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he seems to know better than to argue with Dr. Liu so he just let’s it go . . .

Eventually she’s headed to the lake. I watch as she makes her way in (believe me – I have not blessed this ill-fated idea – but to the extent that patriarchies still exist, they are definitely extinct at our house – so what am I going to do?). 

Just then a guy comes up to bring his boat in from the water. And this is where the In the Heat of the Night type movie comes in . . .

I ask if he’s been fishing and if he’s caught any fish . . .

The conversation starts out fine.

“I caught four, but I should have had six,” he says.

”I hope she’s alright out there,” he adds, looking at Diana, and obviously thinking about alligators and the fact that she is now about 200 yards out in the lake.

He goes on to tell me about the 14’ alligator that lurks “over by that red house” – which is about 400 yards away, on the other side of where Diana is.

”You’ve seen a 14’ alligator in this lake?”

”At least 14’ – maybe more!”

He’s soon asking about our trip and where we’re from. 

“You’re from Minnesota? You must be one of those Biden people.” And he points to the back of his pickup, where there are at least three Trump bumper stickers. 

“Yes. Walz is our governor,” I explain. ”But we generally find that we can all get along.” 

And this is where things really go south . . .

”He’s the one that let those [insert plural form of unutterable word here] burn the place down a few years ago.”

I’m dumbstruck. 

Finally I say, “I don’t think you need to say that word.”

”Why not? That’s what they are. They ask for it, so we give it to them.”

Even more dumbstruck. 

“You know what, I guess we’re not going to be able to get along.”

And then he tells me how at least Trump has a plan, but Harris doesn’t have a plan at all. She’s just all about joy, and how is that going to go when she meets the leaders of other states?

Mercifully, he pulls away.

I’m left feeling like I’ve done something wrong. Maybe I should have punched him? Or told him to F off. I don’t know. But maybe I’m naive to think that people like Jerry the other day are not evil people. 

I don’t know. But I will say that other than the fishing douchebag we felt like people were super nice today. Friendly. Curious. And, really, today was probably by far the most African-Americans we have seen since St. Louis – and it felt like everyone was getting along. 

So much good in the world. People like Jimmy and Larry, and the housekeepers we met at the hotel. I’m not going to let that low-life make me cynical. But boy did he suck.

Oh, and Diana – she’s fine, of course. Said that if an alligator had approached that she would have hit it or something. Probably she’s right. Alligators aren’t that dumb. They would know they can’t mess with Dr. Liu . . .

A little bit of improvisation with the grill set up tonight – but we had a fine dinner. 

The biking? Easiest day we have had on the trip. (“The victory? She was easy. But the promoters, they say that the Italians are coming and we will race with the best of them.” More super bonus points for anyone who can identify that much more difficult movie reference . . .) We didn’t go that far in the first place, but it was also the flattest day we have had so far. Turns out that all this weight doesn’t matter as much when it’s flat . . .

Tomorrow? Louisiana!