Mena, Arkansas

On November 10^th, my family and I took a short road trip from our home in Atlanta, Texas to the mountains of Mena, Arkansas. I went with my Mom, Dad, and my Grandma, who we call Granny. The drive was pretty much a straight shot north from Atlanta, and it took about three hours to drive there, then another half hour to make the drive up to Queen Wilhelmina State Park on the top of Rich Mountain.

This trip was only the second time in my life that I had been to Mena. The first time was when I was a lot younger. I couldn’t have been any older than 10 or 11. My Granny, however, has been more times than she can count; Mena was one of her family’s favorite destinations when she was younger. During the drive, Granny told us stories from when she was younger and how much the small towns through much of Arkansas had changed.

Every time we make the drive north, whether it be to Mena, Hot Springs, Fayetteville, or Branson, it always astonishes me at how quickly the terrain changes from flat Texas countryside to a hilly and mountainous region of Arkansas. Most of my younger experiences were throughout Texas where everything is relatively flat compared to Arkansas’ Ozarks. On the way home, I tried intently to notice when the terrain changed, whether it was sudden or more of a gradual change. I found that about halfway in between Atlanta and Mena, things started to change drastically. There is a mountain range that borders the town of Mena, so the landscape goes from mountains to hills almost immediately upon leaving the area. But about halfway, there is a road that winds around what feels like a large hill then as you approach the other side, the land is flat for as far as the eye can see.

My love for mountains is probably due to my being raised in the piney woods region of Texas where everything is flat, and I spent at least 10 years of my life before actually seeing a mountain in person. And that was just the Ozarks. When I was 15, my family and I drove to Tennessee to the Great Smoky Mountains. That was when I found out what real mountains are. We got a cabin in Pigeon Forge, and I sat out on our porch for hours just sitting and staring off into the distance.

Compared to the Great Smoky Mountains, Rich Mountain in Arkansas might as well have been a small hill, but to me, it was still just as captivating as it was when I was 10 years old. The fact that I could experience the trip again with my family made it even more enjoyable.