By John Fee
The Bartlett Express and Cordova Beacon newspapers
Walking out into the night, the brightness of the moon shining on falling snow brought an unexpected beauty to our neighborhood. I stopped on the wooden porch that covered the entire front of our small house and pulled my stocking cap down a little tighter, zipped my coat up a little higher.
As an 11-year old in the early '70s, the short walk ahead would be an adventure to last a lifetime.
It was a couple of days before Christmas and close to midnight. My mother allowed me to walk downtown by myself to meet and surprise my dad, who was coming home for the holidays. He was working in St. Louis and we were living in Pocahontas, Ark. Something had happened to his car, so he had to take a bus to make it home on time.
Before his bus left St. Louis, my dad called to let us know we wouldn't have to pick him up at the "station," which was really a gas station where the bus stopped. The driver told my dad he would let him off the bus at the opposite end of our street downtown a few blocks away. He could walk home from there.
Although ancient oak trees with trunks three- and four-feet in diameter lined our street, the quarter inch of snow had quickly covered everything. The residents of our modest neighborhood always kept their yards and homes neat and clean, but the blanket of white added a pristine beauty that, along with the chill, took one's breath away.
Walking uphill caused me to breathe in deeply the crisp air scented with hardwood smoke from fireplaces around town. Many people in town burned wood to heat their homes and it added a pleasing fragrance.
At the top of our street, I could survey the deserted downtown area. I crossed Thomasville, a busy street during the day, but without a single tire track on this snowy winter night.
Passing by Lewallen Furniture store, I looked in the front door to see the mounted gar on the wall. No young boy could walk past without stopping to look at this four-foot long creature, with a head like an alligator and the body of some primitive fish. It had been pulled from the Black River, which flowed just beyond the highway at the end of our street.
On the next block I passed The Pocahontas Star Herald. At the time, I had no idea that in five years' time I would be working there as a part-time photographer and writer.
Standing in front of Joe Pete's Variety Store, I was one block off the town square and anticipating seeing my dad. In my child's mind, this store stocked everything anyone could want; comic books, firecrackers and bottle rockets, fishing lures, household goods and fine perfumes. I did a lot of my Christmas shopping there.
I slowed down as I walked past the old courthouse, built in the 1800s, then raced down the final block to meet my dad, who was coming up the hill.
He was quite surprised to see me at that hour.
I helped him carry one of his bags home and the trip took only moments. The house was never so cozy and the tree never more beautiful than when we ran through the front door.
Christmas had begun.