The Arkansas Buffer
I first discovered Eureka Springs while searching online lists of Hurricane Katrina survivors posted by the Red Cross. I was frantic to find my parents, who’d been living on the Mississippi Gulf Coast at the time of the storm.
During my search, I came across a message from Dani Joy, then mayor of Eureka Springs, welcoming gays and lesbians displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Given the national prejudice thwarting LGBTQ citizens, this public pronouncement signaled to me Eureka was an open-minded community I might want to live in.
So, once my parents were rescued from the rubble and moved to safety near our New Mexico home, my husband and I traveled to Eureka Springs. It was love at first sight. And a year later, we were Carroll County residents—with my parents following not too far behind, and our grown children thereafter.
After my parents and husband died (in Arkansas), I felt the call to move on—but two of my three children remain Arkansas residents. I recently traveled to Eureka Springs to visit my offspring and my old friends, bringing a new pal who had never spent any time in the Ozarks, let alone the town of Eureka. I got to see the territory anew through her eyes: The steep hills (she walks miles every day, but said the inclines were delightfully challenging), the colorful shops, good restaurants, and friendly people. As musicians, we enjoyed several music jams that had a distinctly different flavor than the jams in our Yankee town.
We stayed in a rustic house in a woodsy setting, and during a thunderstorm, my companion said she felt like she was in a rainforest. Likewise, when we sat out on the deck in the evening listening to the loud chorus of frogs and birds.
But the rental house contained faulty lamps and unstable furniture, as well as specks of… something… in the theoretically clean linens stored in drawers. My friend reflexively attributed these undesirable attributes to the geographical region. In other words, the Ozarks are… well… quirky? Except this didn’t fit with her view of the sophisticated shops and restaurants.
On our last day, we discovered clear evidence of rodent infestation behind the microwave, and saw a live mouse scurry across the kitchen floor. “Quirky” became unsanitary at best—and potentially deadly, given recent national news of a hantavirus outbreak.
I didn’t want my friend thinking this was the norm in Eureka.
But, truth be known, my experience with Eureka rentals is minimal. My husband and I spent our 20th anniversary at the Crescent Hotel, and months later a few nights in a now defunct Best Western. Both were lovely experiences—roughly two decades ago. How do I know what the current norm is? I lived in the Arkansas woods for 18 years. I saw ants, mice, spiders, and even a snake in my home. It comes with the territory. But I kept cupboards clean… and dealt with invasions as needed.
I don’t know how Eureka Springs regulates rentals occurring through online marketplaces, but I’d sure like the city to up its game in this arena. I would think $280 a night would guarantee a certain degree of cleanliness.
I love Eureka and I’m glad I could be the go-between protecting my friend’s first impressions of this beautiful town. I want to believe—I do believe—one bad apple doesn’t represent the whole bunch. But if one tourist sees the town through the rustic lens of instability and uncleanliness, and spreads the news that Eureka is in some way bad for one’s health, the entire community suffers a blow. Not everyone visits with an ex-Arkansawyer to buffer bad experiences.