HATFIELD and MCCOYS in ARKANSAS

It was bound to happen.  It’s not surprising that it happened in Arkansas. It is surprising WHERE it happened in Arkansas.

I was invited over to a neighbor’s for some moonshine a few nights ago. (Actually, it was wine). It was pretty coincidental because I was also invited over to another neighbor’s for desert the same night but a few hours later. Both neighbors are great folks. The neighbors around here were all quite successful during their careers. They are quite easy to get along with.

About the time I was leaving the wine visit, I commented to that neighbor that I had really hit the jackpot because now I got to go visit the next neighbor for desert. My wine drinking friend informed me that I must really rate because he had lived here for over 15 years and he’d never been invited for any desert. I left not giving this comment any real thought, just seeing it as an observation.

While having desert at the second neighbor’s house, I made the comment that I couldn't stay too long because I had really tanked up on a good volume of wine at the first neighbors and wasn't used to doing so. That’s when the second neighbor pulled me aside and said that I may as well know a bit about the neighborhood history.

Down the road a few addresses is a large rambling lake home. It was built by the developer of the town and as the developer of a town of 25,000 people, he did quite well. When the home was built, a tennis court was built in the back of the house, overlooking the dock and the lake. This is very nice property.

A number of years later the home was sold. The new owners of the big house were collectors of exotic birds. As birds tend to do, they roamed everywhere. This wasn't a huge problem with smaller birds like Guinea Hens and of the like, but these folks had a large collection of various birds, including Peacocks.

Because the Peacocks were large and in numbers, the new owners who were not tennis players, decided to convert the tennis court overlooking the lake into a large bird sanctuary for the Peacocks. There was already a reasonably tall chain-link fence around the tennis court to stop the tennis balls from flying into the lake, so logic told the new owners it would also work for the Peacocks. I do not know if they ever did anything about the top of the tennis court or if they did and it just deteriorated over time.

Something apparently happened to the new owners after some passage of time. They either moved away or passed away. The birds didn't go with them. The smaller birds continued to mill around the area until the wild game here in the woods ate them. The same fate was not met by the Peacocks.

Somehow, the Peacocks managed to get out of the tennis court sanctuary and being large birds that can fly a bit, wound up all over the neighborhood. For some reason, they decided that a great place to congregate would be beneath the front deck of the house I bought and now live in. This was before my time.

The late husband of the lady from whom I bought the house became disgusted with the Peacocks which tended to frighten him when he went out in the morning dark to get the newspaper. The big birds would hear the clomping on the wooden deck and create havoc by squawking and pooping all over the place.

So, this fellow, being an avid golfer, decided the best way to rid himself of the big birds was to take his nine iron, or whatever the appropriate number of club would be probably based upon the size of said bird, and clobber them upside the head when they emerged from beneath the deck.

It turns out that my wine drinking friend had been feeding the peacocks for quite some time because he and his wife loved the exotic birds. He lives just next door. At some point he noted fewer and fewer birds were showing up to be fed and made some comment to another neighbor that the Peacocks seemed to be disappearing. At that point he was informed that old so-and-so had been nailing them with golf clubs. My wine drinking neighbor was outraged.

There was a confrontation. Words were exchanged and tempers flared. Sides were drawn up between varying neighboring factions. At that point, no more words were exchanged. Ever!

Being new to the neighborhood, I had been able to walk a fine line between these factions, being invited to this home and that home and that party. As far as this neighborhood goes, I feel very welcome here and like it a lot. But, I shall challenge myself to remain very ignorant when it comes to inquiring about any history here. In the future, when I am invited to one neighbor’s house, no other neighbor will ever know about it. In the meantime, I’m keeping a closer eye on my cat.