In our fast paced, results oriented world we routinely expect immediate gratification. With this kind of mentality it’s no wonder few things stand the test of time. Our society has evolved into a bellyaching, judgmental, political, dog-eat-dog world where the “Golden Rule” has been distorted to meet the needs of evolution. “Do unto others before they have a chance to do unto you,” has become the mantra of today’s corporate world.
In our present day world of Enron, WorldCom and Martha Stewart it’s refreshing to think that somewhere in this vast wasteland of corporate greed Mayberry still exists. It’s a place where you know everyone by their first name. That place for me is Iconium, Missouri.
Formerly named “Toadsuck,” Iconium changed its name in the late 1800’s and the general consensus from folks around these parts was, “That was a very good move!” No one at that time wanted to be associated with a town called “Toadsuck.” However over 100 years later they would come to embrace the name, erect monuments to its past and even name a restaurant after it. Steeped in tradition, Iconium is truly Mayberry revisited. As you drive thru the small town lined with beautiful well maintained country houses you get the sense that the local people still have that pride of ownership that in the years gone by made this country great. It is my humble opinion that our world would be a much better place to live in if we all had a little bit of Iconium in us. Since that is not possible, the next best thing to do is for me to share my Iconium with you.
Now, don’t blink if your traveling faster than 20 mph or you’ll miss it. The town is so small that even the city limit signs don’t post the population, but this little wide spot in the road in south central Missouri has indeed stood the test of time and has emerged stronger because of it! Some of my earliest memories include ice cream and soda pop on the front porch of the Iconium General Store. I can still feel the bittersweet pain of an ice cream headache as we drip-dried in the summer sun after a swim in Bear Creek. Memories of Pie Suppers, Quilting Bees and 4-H meetings held at the old one room Iconium schoolhouse where our parents and grandparents went to school still flood back in my dreams at night. I reminiscence of being a young boy sitting with my friends in a circle on the front porch of the old schoolhouse playing spin the bottle under a bright summer moon and hitting the jackpot when it stopped on Sherrie Gilman, the prettiest girl in school. These kinds of wonderful childhood memories will remain with me my whole life and I cherish them more than any worldly possession I could possibly ever attain.
Uncle Bill is the Fire Chief and he volunteers his time keeping his family and neighbors safe from harm. Once or twice a year, he and his fellow volunteer brethren roast a hog or fry up a mess of fish. Folks arrive from all over and add to the feast by offering their cherished family recipes for all to enjoy. Good food, great friendship and a little pickin’ and grinnin’ provided by local musicians is the plan of the day and all the fireman ask in return is a small donation to keep the equipment running.
Down the road apiece and on the other side of town stands an unassuming little white country church. Across the road is a modest rural cemetery where granite grave markers, old and new alike, mark the final resting place of loved ones who have gone on before us. Driving by and reading all the familiar family names, gives us a sense of tradition as solid as the Rock of Ages and as deep as the Ozark Mountains themselves. Next to the church in the parking lot is a stump where a mighty oak once stood. Unofficially nicknamed the “Crying Tree,” the proud old tree diligently stood tall for many years as a sturdy shoulder to cry on for relatives as they gazed out over the humble grounds and pondered on family and opportunities lost that would never be. Legend has it, the old tree stood tall and distinguished as long as it could but eventually succumbed to the tide of salty tears shed by the broken hearts of family and friends still left to carry on without them.
In the center of town, an old building stands as old as the town itself. Iconium General Store, now named Scott’s General Store in its third generation of family ownership, is and has always been a beacon in the wilderness. A historic place of commerce, trade and friendships nearly as old as the store itself, it now offers modern conveniences with old world charm.
During hunting seasons, Iconium is a hunter’s paradise. One can usually find homemade biscuits and gravy cooking and a hot cup of coffee brewing over at the Firehouse. After a cold morning in the woods a friendly face, a hot cup of Joe and some hot biscuits with stacking gravy is just what the doctor ordered. Once your belly is full, head on over to Scott’s General Store, relax by the fireplace and see who’s crying’ and who’s bragging. A wall of pictures containing the happy faces of fellow hunters successful in their craft meet visitors as they walk into the quaint little country store.
A well-worn path, polished slick by the boots of many generations of boy scouts, leads along the road from Iconium to the historic H. Roe Bartle Boy Scout Camp. A decades old tradition, walking from the scout camp to the Iconium Store still continues just as it did for their fathers and their father’s fathers. The Ozark hills to this day still echo every summer with the laughter of young boys spreading their wings and becoming men as they learn the age-old values of respect for nature, the love of God and cherished friendships.
This is my little slice of heaven far away from the hectic pace of progress. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and still do as often as possible! Just turning off the four-lane highway and heading out across the Truman Lake bridges, I feel my muscles relaxing and my blood pressure lowering. I always pause for a minute when I cross over Bear Creek Bridge, as I feel my worries and cares float away downstream like the occasional leaf bobbing in the swift current. Stopping, if only for a moment, allows me to appreciate the simple things in life that make the struggle all worthwhile.
In my years in the Navy I visited many wonderful and exotic places in the world but I eventually realized that all roads do in fact lead home. As a father of two teenage boys, I always welcome the opportunity to expose my sons to their heritage. They may not appreciate my efforts now, but it is my hope that one day as adults they will understand what they have and in turn pass it along to their children. Hopefully, that way another generation of young faces dripping wet from swimming can sit out on the front porch of Scott’s General Store and enjoy a delicious bowl of ice cream.
