Janis Joplin meets the Marlboro Man

My first meeting with our relocation specialist, Ted, was arranged for 10:00 a.m. in the lobby of our hotel in Rogers, AR. Hub was already off to his new office, and Ted was going to introduce me to the area. The only thing I knew about Ted was that he was a realtor (spy) that hub's company provided, to put their best foot forward. Oh, and that Ted had been here for years and was a 60-ish. So I conjured a silver-haired southern boy in a suit and impractical dress shoes (in spite of single-digit temps) probably driving a Lincoln or a Caddy.

I had on jeans and a bulky sweater, my harness boots and a handwoven wool serape that I got in Mexico a hundred years ago. My unruly curls were forced into a ponytail at the back of my head. I had no makeup, no purse, just a cellphone and my wallet bulging in my front pocket. I wasnt exactly enthused, but I would be polite and appear interested, as Hub asked of me.

I bounced down to the lobby at 9:50 a.m. to look for the suit. I took a quick glance around and saw no one that screamed realtor nor spy, so I went outside. The sun shone brightly (!) but it was only 4 degrees out and everyone in Arkansas was apologizing for the weather. I lasted a few minutes, but Ted did not pull up before I decided that frozen tears and a runny nose would not make a good first impression. So I went back into the lobby and told the clerk that I was meeting someone, but they werent here, and would he kindly ring my room when my party arrives? Then I heard a voice in back of me say, "Tara?" I wheeled around to see a cowboy standing there, in a canvas shirt, a worn leather bomber (awesome), brown cords and boots.

"Ted?" ::::blink blink::::

He looked at me in the same uncomprehending way I was looking at him. He was expecting a bejeweled, Barbie, executive wife, coiffed, with perfect acrylic gels and an over-sized coach bag. Instead he was staring, gap-jawed at Janis Joplin, while I was staring, gap-jawed at the Marlboro Man. Then we both broke into wide grins and shook hands.

Ted was polished indeed. We first went to his office and he oriented me to a map of the area. On it I learned that Bentonville was furthest north, then came Rogers, then Springdale and then Fayetteville (Pronounced FAY-et-vil, not fay-ET-vil as us yankees say it) where we flew in. I took particular note of the large reservoir just to the east of where we were. Ted told me that was Beaver Lake, a two-dam valley reservoir with 550 miles of shoreline in the Ozarks. He handed me a welcome packet with data sheets on houses he picked through. At a glance, I could see that they were all McMansions in posh, treeless subdivisions. Then we got into his practical car (an SUV) and he began by showing me where Hub would be working, and the best of Bentonville. He drove by major shopping malls, Spas, Golf courses, Country clubs, the regional airfield (at which Hub's company keeps several private jets and pilots ready to go on a moment's notice) and some other luxurious amenities. I could feel my heart freeze solid.

"Jack," I began (I nicknamed him Cowboy Jack), "tell me something. If you were taking a vacation from work, just to hang around and not travel, what recreational activities would you be doing?" He replied, "Well, I would be up at Beaver Lake, either duck huntin' or fishin'." And that is where we headed next.

As we left suburbia, I could feel myself relax. Two lane roads made ascending pathways up into the higher regions, and the landscape changed from the overtaken pastureland suburbia, to hilly woodlands dotted with unique homes sprouting right out of the hillsides. I began to breathe normally as Ted again apologized for the weather, the winter, the leafless trees and brown fields. "You really are visiting us at the worst time of the year, you know. And we havent had a winter this cold in more than 20 years. It's beautiful here, really. You just cant see it now--- how beautiful it is most of the year." But that is just it. I could see it. I am from the mitten, where 7 months a year, my Harley sits in storage. Where six months a year, there are no leaves and you have to wear a heavy coat. Where five months a year the sun doesnt shine. Where four months a year you have to have the driveway plowed. What I was seeing, stretched before me was a large body of water that wasnt frozen solid in January. I saw forested hills roll endlessly in all directions. I saw two-laners without a single crack or pothole. I saw blue skies and the sun. The sun. The sun made me squint and wish I had my sunglasses, often forgotten and seldom really necessary in Michigan.

Ted drove along the reservoir to take me further up and show me his fishin' hole, but the roads became too icy and we headed back down. I chatted about our interest in firearms and how we has set up a shooting range when we owned 26 acres in western Michigan. With a twinkle in his eye and a more pronounced accent, he said, "Girl, I'm gettin' the feeling that what you need is some land out here. Maybe that is what we should be more focused on."

Finally, Ted and I were on the same page. The sun burned even brighter. I could feel the icicles around my heart start to drip, drip, drip.