I recall a very warm day this past summer. It was a day, an afternoon as I recall, when the soft breeze came from the south as it often does in the hot summers of the southwest Missouri Ozarks. Main Street Noel was bustling with cars carrying passengers to places I didn't even consider, and pickup trucks with their beds full of undisclosed farm-related supplies were taking their occupants to their rural farms and homes.
I never before gave the traffic much notice. The cars and trucks slowed to a crawl while they rolled and bounced over railroad tracks that crossed the narrow town street, dividing the small village into what almost seemed like two distinct, unique pieces. As I stood near the railway tracks, that soon a simple question would be posed to me which would cause me to think about a time many years ago.
I waited for a small break in the procession of the slow-moving cars and trucks, which would enable me to pass between the vehicles and cross to the other side of the street. The café, you see, was two narrow lanes and a sidewalk of broken concrete away from where I stood.
As I looked up the street and toward the narrow bridge that crossed over Elk River, I saw that the traffic seemed to end after the passage of a small, red convertible. I readied myself for the crossing, but, rather than passing, the car slowed, then stopped alongside me.
"Excuse me," the female passenger said.
I couldn't help but notice that she was a young, blond-haired and very attractive woman wearing a smile on her face.
The driver of the two-seater convertible traded glances between the car's rear-view mirror, the woman and me. I don't know why, but my mind started to analyze the relationship that the two may have had. Possibly married, I surmised, but if not the two were most certainly boyfriend and girlfriend.
"Excuse me, sir," the woman again spoke to me. "Can you tell us what the fastest way to Pineville is?"
That's when the strangest of thoughts came into my mind. I wondered why anyone would want to travel to Pineville expeditiously on such a beautiful summer day. The thought of a casual drive along a winding road with beautiful tree-filled bluffs on one side and the slow-moving river on the other seemed far more attractive.
"Sure. Go to the end of the street and, once you pass the funeral home, turn left on Highway H. Follow that road and it will take you to Pineville."
"Thanks a lot," she said.
The male driver echoed her words. "Thanks a lot."
While I crossed the street, my head turned several times as I watched the car rapidly travel up the Main Street hill and then turn left onto Highway H.
Then something odd entered my thoughts. What was Highway H called before it received that designation?
Nary had a moment passed, and then it came to me. It was simply an old dirt road referred to purely as the "Noel-to-Pineville road." Why was it called that? Well, it was obvious as that patch of uneven dirt with ruts carved into it traversed the Ozark hills and valleys between the towns of Noel and Pineville.
I wondered what my instructions may have sounded like some 60 years ago if I had conveyed those Noel-to-Pineville directions to some wayward travelers. I began to think about that old dirt road as it said goodbye to Noel. I recollected that it crossed over the narrow bridge on Noel's outskirts. As travelers bounced over the uneven road, an occasional glance to the left captured a view of the steel railroad tracks. Just beyond the tracks, one could see the Elk River as its slow-moving waters journeyed from Pineville to Noel. A glance to the right brought into view the tree-covered Ozark hills. I think my directions to a lost traveler may have sounded somewhat like this.
"Go to the top of the hill on Main Street and turn left on the old Noel-to-Pineville road. You can see the turn from here. The road isn't paved and is really not much more than a cleared patch of dirt, but the drive will take you through some handsome Ozark scenery, and the road will lead you to Pineville.
"As you're heading northeast on the old road, you'll come to an area known to the locals as 'Crazy Hollow.' There's not much there -- just a secluded cabin set back in the woods where Cedrick McKnight lives. He's a strange sort who some refer to as the 'Hermit of Crazy Hollow,' but that's a story for another time.
"You'll then pass the Sparks cabin. Cleva Sparks lives there with her husband and two children. It's a small, one-room cabin that's about 2 miles east of Noel. The cabin has a dirt floor and a crudely constructed lean-to which is only loosely attached to the rear of the structure. The cabin was depicted as Jesse and Zee's cabin home in the 1939 motion picture, 'Jesse James,' that featured Tyrone Power, Henry Fonda, Randolph Scott and Nancy Kelly.
"After a short piece, you'll go up 'Burkholder Hill' and you'll see Riverside Inn on your right. You'll notice that the property has a two-story building and eight small cabins that are scattered about the grounds. A separate structure rests behind the resort's main building that is used as a dining area. In the old days, this was called Riverside Station and it was used as a rest stop on the old Butterfield Stage Coach Line. That was when the county was wild and villainous highwaymen were known to ride the road in search of unsuspecting victims.
"You'll know that you're headed toward Pineville if you pass the Crowder farm. There's not much there, but the house was also used in the Jesse James movie. It was represented as the home where Jesse and Frank James grew up.
"Pineville is not much farther and you can't miss it. After all, it's the county seat for McDonald County.
"You can't drive very fast on the old road, but it's about the quickest way to get to Pineville. Maybe someday they'll pave that timeworn road, but then maybe not.
"I kind of like it just the way it is."
-- Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan's connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions are those of the author.
Community on 11/24/2016