Old Man Ford’s Place
In the nineteen-sixties, Old Man Ford was well into his eighties. He lived alone in a faded-white, three room shack. His place was out of sight – a quarter mile off of Pink Hill Road on the ridge of a timbered hill in eastern Jackson County, Missouri. The driveway to this secluded dwelling had never been graveled and was simply a wagon trail that had been entrenched up a steep hill years earlier, with two deep ruts exposing the underlying reddish–brown clay soil. A dingy, unpainted outhouse stood twenty yards from his home. His water came from a nearby well. Neighboring rural children hiked through fields and forests to visit him. They plucked peaches, pears, apples and apricots from his orchard. At this time, he was frail and sometimes bedridden, but he always welcomed children into his home. He spoke of days gone by and the wild creatures he had seen and hunted. The children loved hearing his stories, whether true or embellished, of Jesse James, the Ford brothers, and an unrecovered stash of gold hidden by Quantril’s Raiders in the vicinity. The old man died decades ago. His humble home later burned to the ground. The land he farmed and hunted is some of the most spectacular in the state. The Missouri Department of Conservation acquired Ford's, and adjacent parcels, in 1978. The land is now known as Burr Oak Woods Urban Forest and Nature Center.
For the majority of Mr. Ford’s life, Pink Hill Road ended at the entrance to his property, one mile west of 7 Highway in Blue Springs. Forty-five years ago, urban sprawl necessitated the completion of this road to Independence, thus dissecting the northern and southern halves of what would later become the preserve. Pink Hill is an apt name for the road that is ablaze with Redbud blossoms in April. The winding road slashes through some of the most impressive areas of the forest. Viewing this geography through a car window is best appreciated in winter’s absence of foliage. At this time of year, huge gorges, rocky creek beds and massive limestone bluffs – all so inherent to the entire park – are unveiled. The meandering creek passes under the road twice. Flowing gently westward, this waterway, except for an occasional field, is enveloped by pristine, virgin hardwood forest. Numerous oak species prevail, both in size and frequency. Many are quite gnarly and rugged looking. Shagbark hickory, walnut, and locusts with thorns sharp and stout enough to punch eight inches into a man’s chest cavity are also common. Magnificent, stark-white sycamores grow on slopes above the creek, enticing the eye away from the comparative drabness of the surrounding environment.
Spring affords rich, rapid growth for roadside plants. By early May the redbuds, like the rest of the trees, are completely green and leafing out. Several hundred yard visual revelations are no longer available to passing motorists. The trek through this bottomland will be much the same until late June when a different sense will be stirred. Ripening vegetation along the slow moving and sometimes stagnant waterway emanates a heavy, dank, organic smell that is certainly earthy, but by no means aromatic.
The best way to experience the park, however, is to explore by foot. The north side of the park (Mr. Fords side) has no man-made walking trails. Seldom will a person see another human. If solace is yearned for, it can be found here. If a one-on-one encounter with a wild beast does not occur, your wild side can still be tantalized and preached to. To the trained eye, signs of deer, turkey, coyote, fox and bobcat are everywhere.
The south side, in one solitary man's opinion, though scenically quite grand, no longer equally captures the glory of the place. Man-made walking trails and shelter houses have been constructed. Foot traffic is regular and animals will be seen, but so, most likely, will other humans. What the south side lacks in regards to a person’s potential solitude, it makes up for in ease of travel. Staying on the trails, a person is spared the physical anguish of stomping laboriously through the brush and being ensnared by blackberry and gooseberry briars or contacting poison ivy.
A main attraction to Burr Oak is the Nature Center. This expansive, ruggedly handsome building has a modified cabin look. It contains an auditorium for outdoor related events. A huge aquarium holds indigenous aquatic species such as turtles, bass, crappie, gar and catfish. Numerous mounts of native mammals and birds are on display here. The back wall of the facility was designed with ample, large, glass windows, which provide bird watchers an up-close and personal view of the numerous nearby bird feeders. There is always a large and varied array of birds to be seen as one looks to the north.
The north was special to Mr. Ford. It was not only his haven but his livelihood. Eighty-year old men remember former days when the baying of the hounds and the crack of the rifle meant Ford had another coonskin to sell or that he was putting dinner on the table. One middle-aged man that lived in the vicinity at the time can still remember his own childhood – falling asleep to the comforting, yet strangely eerie and soul-stirring, melodic vocalizations mustered by sixty pound Red-Bone and Walker Coonhounds. By that time, too old to hunt, Ford was living vicariously through his dogs.
Today, Old Man Ford’s fruit trees have long since decomposed. Now, others steward his land. Strangers invade his stomping grounds. What used to be his for sustenance, enjoyment and solitude is now the public domain. State sponsored special hunts reduce the numbers of turkey and deer. Mushroom and blackberry hunters pick him clean. But those that new the old gentleman are sure he would be pleased.
