My intent was to stay in Magill Oklahoma for two days in order to get a little rest from driving, give myself a little time to just relax and think, and perhaps practice some art in the form of pencil sketches of things of interest. However, by the time morning rolled around I found I once again had itchy feet and that the hotel was just too depressing for me. I ended up pushing off earlier than usual, heading a bit north-east to Poteau Oklahoma.

It was clear that I had at last left the wide open spaces of the deserts and plains, I was now traveling in wooded areas containing muddy rivers and streams. Many of these included the word “mud” in their names. Apparently being muddy isn’t a modern phenomena – these streams have been removing large loads of dirt from the area for hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of years. It is a wonder that there are still hills and mountains in the area.

Perhaps the most striking thing about the trip was that it was almost all through various “Indian” nations. Poteau is either in, or next to, the Choctaw Nation. There was a Choctaw casino down the street a half mile or so. For some reason it felt very comforting to me to know that I was in Chickasaw or Choctaw territory – I felt safe there. I am happy that they have such large tracts of land, but sad that these aren’t their original lands, they had been displaced from their homelands and forced to settle in new ones – sometimes displacing those who were in their traditional homes in Oklahoma. It is all very confusing, frustrating and sorrowful. I only hope that they have created good new homes in their new territories.

Having driven another five hours, I arrived to Poteau in the early afternoon, having time to look around the area to see what I could see. My first goal was to find the town of Poteau. The original old towns are sometimes hard to find now that the freeways have bypassed them, draining much of the economic vigor from the town centers, leaving behind economic “ghost towns.” This appears to have happened in Poteau by forcing the businesses to relocate along the path and intersections of the new roads. I found the old town of Poteau off on a side street a few miles from my motel. I expected to find an active town since it was Saturday afternoon when people should be out and about. However, the streets were empty and the stores were all closed. I found another imminent ghost town. There was an interesting restaurant that billed itself as the eatin’ and drinkin’ place – Warehouse Willey’s. It was only open in the evening, which was disappointing because I was hoping for lunch.

I checked into my hotel and found a sheet of paper with “things of interest” listed. One of these was Spiro Mounds Archeological Center located about fifteen miles away on the banks of the Arkansas River. The archeological center had been neglected for a few years because of Covid, and was in the process of being renovated. A nice lady was watching over the interesting displays of the reconstructions of the life and culture of the early peoples who had made the mounds from around 900 AD to 1300 AD. A walking trail took me to the mounds themselves, one of which was reported to be about 300 feet long, 120 feet wide and 34 feet high. There were several large mounds and a number of ancient house sites, all overgrown with brush and trees. I thought about taking a photograph for this posting, but all it would have been was another forest – there was nothing very photogenic to make an interesting photograph.

Apparently the mounds are a bit of an enigma in part because in the 1930s treasure hunters dug up much of the site, taking many artifacts that were then sold to collectors around the world. The disruption caused by their mining operations resulted in making future archeological investigations very difficult. What is known is that the site was very important to the local culture when it was active, but it is difficult to know exactly who these people were or what the purpose of the mounds might have been. Some of the mounds incorporated graves but it is unclear whether the main purpose was as graves or perhaps something else.

It continues to amaze me that activities such as the mining for archeological treasures in ancient sacred sites is somehow considered acceptable. I am continually struck by the belief that anything that can be taken is fair game. Those who can get things do so, with little or not consideration of the consequences. We play a big game of “finders keepers” without regard to the idea that just finding it might not be equivalent to owning it taking it. While the archeologists feel that they are free to dig up old sites because it is in the name of “science” – in reality they are doing the same thing. A few hundred years from now the “new” archeologists will undoubtedly complain that the sites had been destroyed by the “old” archeologists – those that are currently doing the digging.

I returned for dinner and found Warehouse Willy’s packed! The restaurant seats perhaps 100 people and had a line out the door onto the street waiting for a table. I waited in the little bar that could about 20 people. A customer came up to me and asked if I had been there before, and then said “The food is worth the wait, you won’t be disappointed.” I was seated after about a half-hour later by a very nice, friendly, waitress. I ordered a chicken dinner with the fixin’s. It turned out to be very much less than I had hoped for – I was disappointed. Dinner consisted of a small piece of dry tasteless chicken with a bowl of mashed potatoes – served with a piece of toasted white bread. I don’t know what the gentleman had been referring to, perhaps it is just better than the other options of fast food joints.

I was finished with dinner at around 7:00pm. Not feeling like crawling back into my cell at the hotel, I opted to stop in at a place I had noticed called “The Watering Hole” located in an almost empty strip mall near my motel. There was plenty of available parking. The only reason that I could tell that The Watering Hole was an active business was the cluster of cars near the front door. Otherwise It looked like just another one of the shuttered businesses in the mall.

The Watering Hole was a bare-bones bar with a few tables and perhaps 15 stools lined up at the bar. Six or seven young guys were sitting at the bar, flanking on both sides the one female customer. I took a seat at the far end of the bar, next to a very large thirty something black man. I was immediately informed by the “bouncer” that I needed to pay a $5 cover charge for the band. When I pointed out that there was no band, they agreed to drop the charge as long as I didn’t stay past 9:00 when the band was scheduled to start playing. The shaven head middle-aged bartender made the obvious point that he intended to ignore both of us. He continued talking to the young guys, and the girl, without so much as a glance in our direction. I wondered if I would even get a chance to order a beer. Eventually a nice female bartender came from the back room and took our orders.

The two of us eventually started up a bit of a conversation. He told me that he had originally come to Poteau to attend college, saying “My Momma told me I had to get some education, but it didn’t work for me, I dropped out once I got an AA degree.” He got a job driving truck in the region. He was happy that he gets paid by the hour rather than the mile, but wishes he could find a job where he could be home more than one night out of three. He misses being with his wife and family, cruising the interstates has gotten old for he.

He asked why I was in the area. When I told him I was just drifting along seeing what I could see, he offered me a piece of advice. He told me that he has learned to be very careful when going to strange bars. He said he walks in, judges the “feel” of the place, and if it isn’t welcoming he just walks right on out. He suggested that I check out the vibes quickly and act accordingly. My guess is that he knows what he is talking about in this neck of the woods. Obviously I have been a little lax with following his recommendation given that I stayed in the bar even after being “threatened” with a 38. Actually, I wasn’t being threatened, I was being tested, but it could have gone either way I suppose. I bought him another beer, and headed back to my dismal hotel room.