Arrowheads and persimmons

By LEON YOUNGBLOOD

When I turned off 75 on State Highway 43 (a thoroughly horrible intersection) at Stringtown, I was in a pretty good mood.  I noticed some sign or other that warned of a road closure, but I did not quite give it the attention it needed.  I drove 20 miles or so through the unincorporated community of Daisy, then another 20 miles to the spot where Highway 43 was closed.

BRIAR CIRCLE

Curiously enough, my mood was unaffected. I merely turned around and found a place by the road to check the GPS app on my phone. There was no signal available.  I started back west, saw a sign that said The Narrows, and as some professional hobo has said, “If you don’t care where you are, you ain’t lost.” That described my sentiment exactly.  I turned down the road to The Narrows.

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After a couple miles, it seemed the wise thing to do would be to try something else, I decided to go back to Daisy, and as I did a U-turn, I noticed a persimmon tree with fruit!  This is no big deal to most people, but it was to me!  I’ve wanted persimmon trees at Briar Circle for years, and stopped to gather some for their seeds.  A woman came by on a side-by-side, and seeing me, stooped.  “Are they ready yet?” she asked.

“No ma’am,” I replied.  “I think we need a few more cold nights before they’re ready.  Actually, I’m hoping to be able to grow some trees from seeds.  Ma’am, am I trespassing?”

“No, not at all!  You help yourself to all you want,” she said, and then lauded the virtues of Oklahoma native persimmons: her kids like them, as do horses, cows, birds, deer, ‘possums, raccoons, bears, hogs, and most other creatures that had access to them   She was as nice as she could be, and a good spokesperson for this humble fruit.  Of course, this left me feeling good about persimmons, but I needed to be making my way to Briar Circle.  With no signal for the phone, I got back on Highway 43 and drove to Daisy.

You can’t miss Daisy. With a population of around 200, its business district is right on Highway 43, and all its enterprises are conveniently located in one building, namely the Sacred Grounds general store.  I stopped there for a bag of ice and directions.  By the cash register was a small box of flint arrowheads, and every one of them was perfect.  They were not artifacts, however; they were made by a local fellow who knew the art of flint knapping, and sold for $1 each, a bargain for people who like that sort of thing.  As I selected 3, the gentleman tending the store told me about a child who recently wanted, but did not have the necessary $1.  He told her to get any one she wanted, no charge.  I asked, “Does the child still come by?”

She did, in fact.  I gave him my $2 change, and said, “When you see her again, let her get two more arrowheads.”

He smiled broadly, but refused my money.  “I’ll see she gets two more,” he said.  “Have a blessed day,” he said as I left, and I knew the man was a brother.

The directions I received from the man to get around the barricaded highway were simple: Go east for 18 miles, then turn left at The Narrows (!), cross the lake, bear right at the first bend, and I would quickly get to Yanush at Highway 2!  He asked if I was familiar with the area.  I told him I had just recently explored that region, but I did not tell him it had been only an hour ago.

There’s more to tell.  We will take it up next week.