Dixie Classic Fair

Finally . . .a "hang-out" in our home. After attending the annual Dixie Classic Fair, Spencer and 30 of the fiends arrived for pizza, brownies, and festivities. We decorated with lighted jack-o-lanterns, helium bat and pumpkin balloons. "Witches brew" was served to all---the vapor created by the dry ice in the punch bowl was a hit!!

Hogans

The farmhouse

Ozark Mountain Road Trip

When I read between the lines and realized my Mother's only living sibling is now almost 80 years old and undergoing treatment for a recurrence of cancer, I put Spencer in the car and began the 2000 mile journey to visit the place my Mother grew up in. Mammoth Springs, West Plains, the Mississippi River. Clear, sparkling rivers all around us. Homes made of rock. A visit to the remaining effects of the Mary Holt Estate, including an original newspaper announcing the end of WWII. A trip to show my son the legacy of the Hogan family. Parkside, former home of my great-grandfather, now donated to the city as a children's park. Photos of the Christa Hogan Hospital. A search for the Hogan family plot--headstones for my my grandfather, David Lee Hogan and my grandmother Theo Smith Hogan. My mother's sister Mary, who died when she was only 16 years old from appendicitis. My mother, Anne Hogan Baker and her sister, Martha Hogan Crawford (aunt Marty!). A drive out to the farmhouse I remember from my childhood summers. Spencer had never seen an agricultural farm or the beauty of the thickened forest, alive with butterflies and wildflowers. The only sound we heard was a woodpecker. When I was overcome with emotion at my Mother's headstone, my son held me. When I apologized for the tears, he said, "Mom, why wouldn't you cry here?"

We drove to Springfield and Spencer finally got to meet his Uncle Jack. Along the way, Spencer read the family geneology and now he knows why his middle name is Hogan. The long drive provided ample time for my son to talk, laugh and share himself with me. We drove to my sister Martha's house and knocked on the door. She got up long enough to see it was me on her front porch and to retreat to the bedroom.

I was unprepared for the emotions and memories this journey through my family history would unveil. So sorry the last eight years and our own private journey for survival would postpone this trip. Joy at having the opportunity to sit and talk with my Uncle Jack, who has built a business and a family and served as a pillar of support to all of his family. Many answers to questions long unanswered. Spencer and I both hope to return to the Ozarks soon.