Ode to the Ozarks

Clearing memory sticks so I could take more pictures of the dogs and the new writing spider in the back yard, I found a batch of photos left over from a trip, two Thanksgivings ago, to Branson Missouri.

It was a trip that Fuzzy’s family organized, and I remember really dreading it when we were on the way up. I wanted to be home in our cozy house, and at the time, money was tight, but we’d bought a friend’s timeshare stay, so we had a cushy place to stay, that even had enough room for us to give the fold-out couch to my sister-in-law’s foreign exchange student, a lovely young woman from Switzerland with a smart-ass sense of humor, and a mischievous streak we really appreciated.

I wasn’t expecting to have fun on that trip, but we did, even seeing a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, that was quite good.

I also wasn’t expecting to fall in love with the Ozarks. I thought my mountain appreciation was all centered in the Rockies and Sierras, but there was beauty in those lush green hills, and starry skies.

I remember telling Fuzzy that I wanted to go back, maybe do a weekend in a B&B and go quilt shopping.
I still want to.