eureka!

It's finally starting to warm up around here (!). Last week was in the 40s and this week, while windier than last, is sunnier and steadily getting warmer. . .which means SPRING! And Spring leads to Summer, which is by far the best of all the seasons. Not just because it's my birthday (August) or because the sun sets super late and it leaves more time for porch-sitting (the best) or even because summers in the south are generally hot, sticky and outrageous.

Okay. Maybe I jumped the gun a little bit there. It's still February, after all. But I can't help it -- I LOVE SPRING. I love wearing skirts and dresses and the rosy buds on the trees and how everyone perks up and is all cheery and sweet to one another. And my legs love the freedom in aforementioned skirts and dresses after being encased in jeans all winter.

Something I hope I get to do as soon as the weather hits the 70s is trek down to Eureka Springs.

Eureka Springs is the quirkiest little village in the Ozark Mountains, a little over an hour away from where I live (well, depending on who's driving). Way back in the 19th century, the village was known for the abundance of springs and wells -- many of which people claimed had magic powers, capable of curing ailments from eye sores to crippling diseases. Eureka Springs quickly grew into a resort town and several hotels were built to accommodate the thousands of visitors each year. The Crescent Hotel is by far the most famous of them all.

The Crescent is still in use today; however, its seen its fair share of different guests over the years. As I can remember from the last time I was there, the hotel has been used as a war hospital (complete with morgue in the basement), a women's college, a boarding house and the site for hundreds weddings and banquets. Of course, all of the activity surrounding the place leads a lot of people to believe its haunted. I've never spent the night there (just grabbed a beer on the rooftop restaurant with some friends during my visits, but I'm crossing my fingers we can spend a night there sometime this spring) but I could see why everyone thinks its haunted. The halls are long, the staircases creak at each bend and the place is overrun with lazy, fat cats.

The streets in Eureka are completely nuts. They crisscross up and over the town's stubbly hills with absolutely no form whatsoever, patterning in wild forms similar to outdoor racetracks (think European, not Nascar). Most of the houses are either grand Victorians or little gingerbread cottages; nevertheless, each is defined by the bright palette of the home's exterior and the sprawling garden. Both are necessary in Eureka.

I've been three times: once, right at the peak of August when the air was too hot to breathe and the beers at the top of the Crescent were frosty and just right; again, in early October, when I met up with my cousins and aunt; and the last time was with J. That last time is the freshest in my mind. The leaves had just begun to change and everything was crisp all-around. We had just missed a wedding. Rows of wooden white chairs still sat on the lawn of the Crescent; it was here that I took my first (and my favorite) photograph of J.

And, for the record, I still get that look quite frequently.