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extracted text: from http://www.ausbcomp.com/~bbott/cowley/Oldnews/papersup/885_07wc.htm
SUMMERING IN THE OZARK MOUNTAINS.
Winfield Courier, Thursday, July 2, 1885.
Mrs. Ed. P. Greer, who is spending a month at her father's (Mr. E. P. Kinne)
ranch in the Ozark mountains in southern Missouri in a private letter gives the
following description of the country. The many friends and acquaintances of Mr.
Kinne in this city and county will probably be interested in thus hearing from him.
Letter from Mrs. Ed. P. Greer.
Today we rode with papa on his tour to Springdale Ranch. Each week he rides
around the boundary line to pay off the men he has working for him in various
parts. The ranch contains 9,000 acres of land, and the whole will soon be
enclosed by fence: some rail and some barbed wire. We started at eight o'clock
this morning and arrived home at half past five this evening. The first few miles
lay through an uneven rocky valley, then a steep climb up the mountain side. The
whole day has been lovely, cool and bright. All along the road the wild flowers
were in bloom and the air was freighted with their fragrance. The wild roses grow
in great profusion. They are low bushes with small roses, and "climby" ones with
large fragrant blooms which range in color from a very delicate to a deep pink,
with the most exquisite colors I ever beheld. Then the bright scarlet mountain
pinks; the petunia and hollyhock; canary flower; purple and white larkspur;
verbena from the palest pink to deep scarlet; and lilac, to deepest purple; one
with a delicate, bell-shaped white blossom; a bright, salmon colored one, which
blooms in large clumps. All are exceedingly beautiful. Indeed the mountains are
one mass of brilliant and beautiful flowers, interspersed with lovely fern, wherever
there is dampness enough for them. Where it is dryer grow what the natives call
the mountain farren, more commonly known as "tracker," of which there are
several varieties. Everywhere cool, bubbling springs are found. They usually
issue from the shelving of rock projecting from the mountain site. They flow away
in little rivulets over the white pebbles to find their way to the larger streams.
Upon the ridge or summit of the mountain, it is usually quite level. The first we
crossed gave us only a view of taller ones on each side, heavily wooded and
strewn with flowers. Descending to the valleys we passed many farm houses.
The people here have a mania for buildings; there will be from three to eight
houses on a farm but not one will be decent. To use the popular phrase, "you can
throw a cat through the cracks between the logs," even in dwellings, while many
have no floors. The temples of learning are few and far between. In all our ride
we only saw one. Papa is putting up one on the ranch and has hired a teacher to
take the school for $25 per month and take an order on the district when they do
not have the money. This is considered good wages. Many of the people are so
ignorant that they object to their children attending school. They give the same
reason that Huckleberry Finn's "pap" did when he forbid him to go to school.

Indeed, me thinks that Mark Twain must have visited Missouri, or he never could
have written anything which so accurately describes the people I find here.
The Ozark (weekly) News claims this to be the garden spot of the world. Nature
has done much for this country. The land is fertile and very productive. The water
cannot be surpassed and the scenery is lovely, but when we turn to the people
one wonders how such incongruities can exist. Missouri surely rests under a
curse. The people are demoralized and we sometimes would be led to think that
they are very little above the brute in intelligence. Never did I feel so proud of our
sunny Kansas. The moment I crossed the line, I was made aware of it by the
drummers leaving the car and returning with their hands full of beer bottles and
the expression of relief which they gave "to be out of a state where a fellow was
obliged to be thirsty." Gradually, the farther in we got the deeper were the marks
made by tobacco and whiskey. In every garden the tobacco and potatoes grow
side by side. In almost every town; some, if not all, of the occupants were
demoralized by drink. Often the mothers are too intoxicated to care for their little
ones. Every hotel has its bar. You cannot turn without seeing a saloon sign, even
if the town has but half a dozen houses. In conversation with an elderly
gentleman of much intelligence, a native of Ohio, but a citizen of Missouri for
more than forty years, he asked where my home might be. "I am from the banner
city of the banner county of the banner State in the Union," I replied. He looked
completely dazed, and managed to ask where so many banners might belong.
He seemed impatient to know, but I waited a little, and then told him, "Winfield,
Cowley County, Kansas." He looked disappointed--thought Missouri was as
good, yes much better than Kansas. Prohibition did not help her any, etc. Well,
perhaps it don't for him, but it does for me. I will take Kansas every time.
At noon we stopped in a narrow valley between two tall mountains, having ridden
some ten miles. It was a lovely spot. Three springs came from the sides of the
mountains, and, uniting their waters, flowed in a pool across the road. Immense
trees afforded abundant shade. The air was ladened with the perfume of
numerous wild flowers, and from the raspberry vines, which grow wild also, we
gathered enough to take with our lunch. Leaving here we climbed another
mountain, a rough, steep place, requiring all of our stickative power to keep one
going. Everywhere the long, graceful flora trailed over the rocks; the air was cool
and pleasant. On again descending into the opposite valley, we spied an
abundance of fine raspberries. With our dinner pail, tin cup, and hats, all picked
berries and soon had one five quart tin pail full to carry home for supper. Then
after riding up and down for several miles, we ascended one of the highest
mountains. Along its summit for about a mile, or perhaps more, there was a
natural macadamized road. The mountains are all densely wooded, and as we
looked off this one, down into the valley below, then up the side of the next
mountain, there were trees, trees, everywhere. Then as we again descended, we
reached the pinery, where thousands of dollars worth of pine lumber have been
cut. Most of the trees are small, being the new growth. The air was laden with the
peculiar, and to me agreeable, odor of the pine. Farther on in the low valley we

crossed several babbling brooks and small farms. In two fields men were
harvesting wheat. The great fields of golden grain formed a pleasing contrast to
the green walls of trees which rise on the mountain behind them. One thing I
noticed was the change in the temperature. When on the ridge of a mountain, we
sometimes were obliged to use our wraps. On descending to the valleys, we
were more than comfortable without them. After a two miles ride over the worst
road I ever saw, we reached our own gate, having ridden about twenty miles. We
had seen part of the east, south, and west lines, and had traveled almost all the
time on the ranch. It was a long, rough ride, and what with jolting, clinging, and
curtseying (to keep the overhanging branches from tearing our heads off), we
were very tired. This morning as I finish this letter, after a restless sleep, during
which I made the acquaintance of dozens of chiggers, I still think that the
pleasure of my trip and the delicious berries we ate at tea are sufficient reward
for all the little inconveniences I have had.

Part of Springdale Ranch 1885