RECAP OF BRIEF TRIP TO RASPBERRY MANOR B&B
IN MENA, ARKANSAS
--BY KRISTIN PLUMMER
Here on the "eve of" my 59th fete de naissance, I want
to briefly share about a little trip Mother Francine and
I just had to the Raspberry Manor B&B outside of Mena,
Arkansas, near the "mini-opolis" of Ink, Ark. We
left Sunday and got back this afternoon, so 'twas about 48
hours. The Ouachita Mountains were past fall-color-peak,
but they were nonetheless arrayed in soft dense greens and
occasionally boasted a vibrant yellow or orange tree whose
cloakings had stayed past "peak time." The ride was
mostly "away from the madding crowd" of city noises, idling
engines, and auto bumpers squeezed in for unleashing. The
little county roads were strewn with potholes bespeaking
earlier antiquities in the road system, but in Arkansas these
things are not surprising. With many a joggle and a
bump, we arrived, whole and fairly sane, I must remark. We
were ready for just a little rest out of the norm, and
it truly was.
At first glance, Raspberry Manor does not appear to be
anything other than an overgrown abode stuck in the middle
of the mountain boonies of mid-western Arkansas. It
stands up out of the woody hillsides like Ansel Adams' half-dome
in Yosemite---almost awkwardly not a part of the scenery,
yet there it is, blatantly stuck in the piney surroundings
of nature's softer tones. When once inside, antiquity
and variety and yuletide trappings blend in almost-hidden
comminglings of "Antiques Roadshow," forever-Christmas,
and a raspberry-colored carpet interwoven thru' the whole. The
house is three stories well-knit by staircases and beyond
all this, an uppermost loft connected by a wooden spiral
staircase that would squeeze even skinny people into wild
contortions of dizziness and rail-grabbings. We shall
not report the effect of said staircase upon those of us
less miniscule in girth...twenty-four steps or so to the "eagle's
nest" with windows all around. The housekeeper later
commented, "Ya' oughta' try it carrying a vacuum cleaner!" In
addition to the many staircases is an inter-floor elevator,
historically known as a "dumb-waiter," I believe. We
rode up and down in that a number of times to save Mother
Francine from too many stair-steps, and as we bumped up to
the 2nd floor and later back, she clung to me like a startled
cat as we both hoped the dumb-waiter could bear our weight.
Christmas shines and gleams and sparkles with shiney outcroppings
of yuletide bliss from every little nook and cranny. The
Raspberry Manor hosts had moved to Arkansas with 10 Ryder
trucks and 123 antique car-fuls of acquisition a number of
years ago, and one can tell that it couldn't have been less
than that amount of a mobile fleet. What Pennsylvania
lost, Arkansas gained, and the collection is most likely
a continuing amassment of gleem and treasure. Like
one would find at a proverbial North Pole, plates and bowls
are scattered around, filled with cookies, candies-- "snickey-snacks" of
all sorts--and one feels that one has stepped into a story-land
setting abounding with delights. Of course, there are
more rooms to view, after one has taken in the full-spectrum
view of the upstairs main-room. There are three elaborately-decorated
guest rooms with frilly bath access and floral-accented walls. Large
feather beds like unto those pictured in "Better Homes and
Gardens" loom up like plush, overgrown marshmallows, covered
with duvet and layers of propped pillows. Colors of
bold blues and reds and greens and softer hues of pinks here
and there speak of the bold lifestyle of those who live there
and of those who are guests, coming and going. A separate
plant room embraces pots and assortments of big green plants,
living and inhaling the jovial ambiance of Raspberry Manor.
Downstairs there is a display of license plates from every
state in the USA, all surrounding a pool table around which
a walkway holds antiques again, game tables with jigsaw puzzles,
and a theatre-size t.v. screen. There's a popcorn machine
like the movies use and an old jukebox that still works if
someone hasn't inadvertently pressed its buttons unadvisedly. The
walk-way around the pool table area also displays antique
stoves and cookware and too many other antique items to know
how to write about unless one is an avid antique collector, which
I am not.
Upstairs the kitchen is made for big crowds and much cookings
at once. It is stocked with foods and spices and assortments
of foundational yummies so that one may ideally
never exhaust the supplies. Raspberry Manor's hostess
prepares meals that would not be intimidated by the "Barefoot
Contessa" on the Food Channel. In fact, they would
hold their own before the Queen of England's kitchen staff. Succulent
and tastefully prepared, they are strewn with rich gravies
and sauces and juices; quick-breads and fruit dainties slathered
in whipped cream and caramel drizzle accompany dinners of
layered meats and cheese, breaded and fried, softly and lightly. Aromas
of coffee and cream-filled crepes float around the kitchen
like culinary sentinels, enticing and inviting. Gastronomous
goodies abound.
The main inside guest-entertainer is a fluffy little white Bishon
Frishe pup named Laci whose heart's delight is to sit
in the lap of someone new who will shower her with compliments
and soft head-pats and belly-scratchings. She is calm
and voiceless in her greetings of love until she is allowed
outside in the cold wind and then is brought back inside. As
if on some sort of hepped-up drug for late-night truckers,
Laci dances, cavorts, runs the circle of the main room, and
avidly tears into a stuffed deer toy that is slowly being
diminished in the face of Laci's "in-from-the-cold" zeal....its
stuffing is strangely seen a while later, tufts of white
polyester that look like cotton candy. Laci has
triumphed again over the toy, and her excited display is
finally interwoven with soprano dog-yips of modified barking. She
has everyone's attention, and she is in her glory. Laci
is part of the sweet ambiance of cozy-mountain'd wilderness
comfort.
The complete property setting of Raspberry Manor is also
the display area for the host's many antique cars, but due
to the inclement weather that blew in yesterday from the
West or the North, I couldn't get a look at them but will
have to wait for another occasion, as I had not taken enough
warm layers to brave the winds and the drop in temperature. We
were a barbed-wire fence away, somehow, from the North Pole
on this visit, no Christmas pun intended. It was unplowable
and unthinkable to stay out for the length of time it woulda'
taken to see all those antique vehicles, even tho' the day
before I had hiked from the house to the mail box, about
2 miles or so of mountainous gravel road, and my muscles
in certain places can definitely attest to my having
done so. But yesterday was no day to hike or to see
much of anything outside, including the family's sweet outdoor
dogs---Pyrenees, Labradors, Golden Retriever---five of the
friendliest and gentlest dogs one would hope to find anywhere. They
greeted us as we were leaving, and of course Laci moped and
hung her head as tho' we had known her for many years. The
animals, too, are a part of the hospitality and warm-hearted
home of Kathy and Don Rook of between-Ink-and-Mena, Arkansas: Raspberry
Manor.
