They have a pick-your-own-diamond park here. Really! It’s a state park with a big dirt field and you can root around looking for the little gems. They rent you the shovels and screens and you go sit and sift through the soil. You might be skeptical, but know that there were 673 of them unearthed here last year alone. Holly and I were confident we were gonna find at least one. Not to be, though. After fifteen minutes of searching, my ADD-like tendencies kicked in, turning me into a lost cause. Holly was much more diligent and found some nicely colored stones, but none of the valuable sort. Boo, that.

Hot Springs is a town we’ve always heard of, but knew little about. The way this whole “hot springs” thing works is that the rainwater seeps deep, to a lower part of earth’s crust where the temperature of the rocks is high. It’s forced up quickly enough that there’s little loss of heat when it comes to the surface. The result here is 47 springs releasing 143-degree deliciously tasteless and sterile water. Back in the 1700s someone claimed their heath was remedied after a long soak in it. Word got out and after no time this place became highly populated. Numerous bathhouses were built side-by-side at the base of the big hill, many of which still stand, but only two have been fully restored. One is the State Park Visitor Center; the other still operates as a fully functioning bathhouse. We didn’t scrub up ourselves, but we did fill a bottle at the “Thermal Water Station” for when we later got thirsty.

Down the road a piece is Eureka Springs. Here too, the springs were thought to spew medicinal waters, but this town has a different resort-y personality, tucked away in the cliffy, mountainous terrain. There’s some splendid restored historic houses here shaped to harmonize with the sheer drops. You can enter through their street-level front door and then exit out the back door, three stories above. Just out of downtown is the amphitheater for The Great Passion Play, a grand summertime affair employing 250 actors and countless livestock. Part of their curb appeal includes Christ of the Ozarks, a 500-ton statue which from afar looks like a mammoth cross and from nearby looks like it may have been created by South Park cartoonists.