Mention the segment of American population in their twenties and some people conjure an image of self-absorbed irresponsible party-animals. Adjust that perception to include a twentysomething couple living on a remote mountain in the Arkansas Ozarks and, for those who are less than kind, an uglier stereotype may emerge. In the early stages of a promising musical career, Patrick Villines and his wife Mattie Speece are industrious moss-gatherers who dispel the negative images and prove dedicated young people can and do work hard to fulfill their dreams.

            Garrison Keillor, host of the popular radio program “Prairie Home Companion,” declared on a recent broadcast that the current population of people in their twenties is an optimistic one. In a show that honored rather than maligned the youthful populace, Keillor said this generation grew up playing Little League where no score was kept and everyone was congratulated on a good game.

“Fred Rogers believed in them,” he stated. With such a bright outlook, today’s young folks have ample opportunity to believe in themselves and their dreams.

To showcase this positive theory, the program sponsored a “Talented People in Their Twenties” competition in March of this year.

John Speece, Mattie’s father, heard about the contest and encouraged the couple to enter. At home in Ponca, Arkansas, they recorded “Honky Tonkin” by Hank Williams and submitted it. From a thousand entries, Speece and Villines were among six selected to compete and perform on “Prairie Home Companion.”

Villines and Speece weren’t home when the call came with the good news a couple of weeks later. They were “mossing” in the Ouachita Mountains of west central Arkansas, a labor-intensive craft where sheets of moss are carefully removed from rocks with enough remaining to renew itself. The moss is then sold to florists and crafts shops around the country. When Villines called home in Ponca one evening and retrieved the message, excitement nearly overwhelmed him.

Speece was less than enthusiastic about the good news. Her eyes are wide and serious as she says, “I wasn’t excited; I was terrified.”

Three weeks later, at the Fitzgerald Theatre in St. Paul, Minnesota, the practice run in front of a thousand people on Friday night scared her even more. She adds, “By the time of the live broadcast on Saturday, we were prepared, and I was OK.”

According to David O’Neill of Keillor’s staff, the radio listeners numbered more than 4.3 million from all over the globe via American Public Media — not National Public Radio as so many people believe. O’Neill explains, “NPR and APM are like NBC and CBS. Local stations can carry programming from both.”
            Villines was more experienced before a live audience, but those multi-million radio listeners intimidated him.

“The staff told us to think of just one person in the car listening to the radio. That helped a lot.”

The couple enjoyed the experience of meeting folks who, until then, had been faceless voices of one of their favorite radio programs. They intermixed with Keillor during a “Guy Noir” skit, in which detective Guy, played by Keillor, seeks talent to play happy songs and cheer up gloomy Minnesotans suffering from cabin fever.

“People took time out to talk to us,” Speece says. “There weren’t any big shots.”

“And Garrison Keillor was great,” Villines puts in.  “He’s a neat guy, exactly what you’d expect from hearing him on the radio.”

Villines and Speece label their sound “indie folk,” a subgenre of folk music recorded by smaller independent music labels. They sang “Honky Tonkin” and “Phoebe,” a song they wrote just for the program. The duo placed second in the competition to a couple from Scottsdale, Virginia, the Honey Dew Drops. According to Keillor, the votes were so close as to be “heartbreaking.”

Seventh-generation Newton County resident, the 29-year-old brown-haired Villines comes from a musical family. His mother used to play saxophone in a southeast Kansas City swing band, and his father plays the guitar, though neither one performs now. Country music legend Merle Haggard is a distant cousin. At age eleven Villines and his twin brother, Joe, began guitar and drum lessons from Jim Smith at Ashley Music in Harrison, Arkansas. Both men continue to pursue music independently, but occasionally perform together.

Speece’s voice blends sweet and sultry tones, giving her voice a unique allure. At twenty-six, she is a fresh-faced, green-eyed vegetarian who was raised rather unconventionally in the Ouachita Mountains. Her artistic parents are “back to the land” type.

“Old hippies,” she says with an affectionate laugh. She obtained a Bachelor of Fine Arts in painting from the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville.

Villines, his brother and a couple of other young men were in a bluegrass band, Wildwood, during the time Speece was at the University. Wildwood had a lot of good energy and drew large crowds. Speece’s roommate dated a member of the band and introduced Speece and Villines. The couple agrees their connection was immediate.

“I was into her painting. It’s a combination of realism and mixed media on canvas, and I was drawn to it,” Villines says. He adds with a teasing note, “She liked that.”

Speece gives him a warm smile. “I was able to talk to him about painting the same way we talked about music. We understood each other right away.”

While Speece declares painting is her first love, the appeal of a singing career grows daily. For Villines, who sings both tenor and baritone, “A life of music has always been my dream.” Even though Wildwood “fell apart after a time, the way bands do,” he and Speece have been building their singing profession as a duo.

Since their performance, Villines and Speece have seen a boost in their fledgling career. In addition to singing every second and fourth Friday night at the Ozarks Café in Jasper, Arkansas, they opened for Mark Bilyeu from the popular Big Smith group in May at RiverFest in Little Rock, Arkansas. In June, they performed at the Green Door in Fayetteville with Paul Boatwright, a fifteen year veteran of the funk band Pumpkin Head. They’ve opened for 3 Penny Acre at George’s Majestic Lounge in Fayetteville and were May’s featured artists for folkalley.com. This July, they will be touring with the first place winners of the Talented Twenties, the Honey Dew Drops.

How have the lives of these two young people changed in the weeks since national exposure?

“It’s been crazy,” says Villines. “Life went from mossing, working on our house and in our garden to pursuing music more than ever.” 

Some things have not changed. Speece and Villines do not own a television. “We get our entertainment from public radio and the Internet.” They continue to gather moss for a living, grow a huge garden and have built their own energy efficient house with little help from anyone else.

The dedicated example from this “Talented Twenties” couple encourages the rest of us to view our familiar world more closely, and to examine our worn-out perceptions with a fresher, more youthful vision.

If you wish to attend a concert, learn more about Pat and Mattie or have them perform in your area, you can contact them at (870)861-5572 or at www.myspace.com/mattieandpat

To view Mattie’s art work go to www.speecefineart.com 

I believe Cousin Merleen is trying to starve me to death.

I noticed right off that she set a skimpy table and of course she has never offered second helpings, even when I hinted that two scoops of mashed potatoes were hardly enough to keep a bird alive. Her refrigerator and pantry are practically bare. She’s not a little wisp of thing, so I know she doesn’t usually eat so modestly. In fact, I’m pretty sure she slips out in the evenings for dinner. (I’ve seen fast food wrappers in the trash!) Not once, in the five and a half weeks that I’ve been her guest has she taken me out to eat or served me dessert. A hamburger does not cost that much. And how hard is it to whip up a pudding or slap some ice cream on hot apple pie? I’ve done it, many a time, at Uncle Jack and Aunt Pansy’s. Hostesses like to serve their guests, I know, but I could hardly expect Aunt Pansy to get up off her sick bed and do it, now could I? Every day for those three months I was at their house, I made sure we all had nice dollops of ice cream or fresh cinnamon rolls or whatever Jack had a mind to bring home from his daily trips the store.

Good food helped Aunt Pansy, I think, because on the day I left, she got out of bed for the first time since my arrival and stood at the front door to wave good-bye.

            But Merleen is mean-spirited. She hasn’t said a word to me in over a week. I don’t know why, unless it’s because I very casually suggested to her that, if she was going to use my dental floss, the very least she could do was buy more to replace it.

            Here’s something else. For the last four days I’ve found my suitcases on the floor by the bed instead of under it where had I put them. Merleen has a little frou-frou dog, a poodle or pug or some such, and I assume the foolish thing has been hiding amongst my American Touristers so that my cousin had move them to shoo him out from under there.

            “I hope Twinkie doesn’t decide to chew any of my suitcases,” I told her last night, just to get a conversation going. “Maybe I should move them all up to the attic. You know that luggage is antique. Mama bought them brand new back in ’61 and we used them all the time. They’ve been good sturdy suitcases. It would be a shame if any of them were chewed by your dog.”

            She muttered something about dogs and chewing and biting, but when I said, “I’m sorry, dear, but I didn’t quite catch that,” she harrumphed loudly, scraped back her chair and stumped from the room.

            Merleen is moody.

            So, for that reason, and the fact she simply does not know how to feed her very own second cousin twice removed, I decided to leave her domicile in Iowa and pay visit Max and Celia in Cooper City, Arkansas. Max and Celia are the in-laws of my uncle Duff on my father’s side. Uncle Duff’s wife’s great-niece’s stepdaughter married Max and Celia’s son.

            As I cleaned out the dresser drawers — Merleen had given me two small ones, but I told her right off that I would need much more space than that and offered to store the contents of the other drawers in my biggest suitcase; she didn’t appreciate the suggestion nearly as much as she should have — I heard my cousin in the kitchen bashing pots and pans in what she probably thought was a musical rhythm, but in reality was simply loud and annoying. I assumed she was cleaning out her cabinets again. She’d done this same routine at least three times in the last two weeks. She’s probably latent OCD, but far be it from me to point it out to her. No wonder she’s an old maid.

            I tiptoed into the bathroom and took her container of dental floss from the medicine cabinet. A half-empty floss dispenser was the very least Merleen owed me after using so much of mine.

            By the time I’d loaded all four suitcases, six shoe boxes, twelve Wal-Mart bags full of my dirty laundry(Merleen never once offered laundry service so what does that say about her?)and a large plastic box with my knitting projects (see if I knit Merleen a pair of mittens this winter)she was outside raking the lawn.

            “My goodness, Merleen,” I said as I lugged the biggest suitcase to my car, “you’ve raked this lawn bald. If you want to do some hard physical work, you should trim down that wisteria vine from your patio trellis. No one likes a dark patio. I’d give you a hand with that, but you know my back. Plus, I need to get on the road.”

            She stopped raking and looked at me. Her faded brown hair stuck out in all directions and her brown slacks could have used a good ironing. She’ll never catch a man.

            “You’re leaving?”

            I stuffed the big suitcase into the trunk of my 1990 Ford LTD. Thank God they made big trunks back then. Uncle Jack and Aunt Pansy’s Corolla would only hold eight bags of groceries at a time. I’m not sure what Merleen’s Honda Civic held. She never hauled anything for me.

            “I think it’s best,” I told her diplomatically but with a significant look that spoke volumes about her lack of hospitality.

            She dropped the rake with a clatter. “I’ll help.”

            I’ve never seen anyone move that fast since Great Uncle Grover Dawes took off in his pickup twenty years ago when Mama and I dropped in for the second visit that year. I heard later that he didn’t come home until three days after we’d left. I remember Great Aunt Virginia staring wistfully out the door toward the road.

            I’d comforted her, saying, “You said he’d never been gone this long before, so he’ll be back.” She’d pulled away when I tenderly kissed her cheek. Great Aunt Virginia never was much for outward displays of affection, a trait that seems to run in our family except for me.

            Merleen toted out all of my remaining luggage in one haul. I still don’t know how she did that. In two shakes, she had every piece packed snugly into the trunk then she closed it with a loud, firm whomp.

            “Goodbye, Cousin Polly,” she said. I did not hear a bit of wistfulness, but Merleen is good at hiding her feelings. She has lived alone for the last twenty years so I’m sure she’ll miss my company. I was good for her, taking her mind off herself for a while. You know, people who live alone tend to be self absorbed.

I could not forget the fact she did not feed me as she should, but the charitable thing to do was forgive her.

            “I’ll call you,” I reassured her warmly as I gave her a hug. She seemed stiff, but as I said, Merleen hides her feelings. She made a funny little noise in her throat. I patted her arm. “It’s OK to cry, honey. And don’t worry. I’ll be back…maybe in the fall.”

            She howled and took off to the house before I was even in my car.

            “Goodbye,” I called after her. I’m sure the neighbors two blocks away heard her front door slam.

I filled up the gas tank at the corner station and bought myself some snacks for the trip. It’s surprisingly economical to live on the road, and I’m still living off the interest of Grandpa’s real estate investment, just like Mother and I did my entire life. Mother always told everyone she simply was not cut out for the dreary life of working nine to five. I take after her in all ways, right down to naturally curly dark hair, broad round face and light brown eyes. Unfortunately, I also have an ample pear shaped derriere just like hers.

            I stopped at McDonald’s on my way out of town and wolfed down two Big Macs and super-sized fries. The 48 ounce diet Coke made me belch so loud three old ladies and an entire family of five looked at me.

            “I’ve been starved,” I explained with an apologetic smile. The only one who smiled back was the toddler who was trying to stick a French fry up his nose.

            With my stomach full for the first time in nearly a month and a half, I took my bedraggled atlas from beneath the driver’s seat. Cousin Lonnie bought it for me back in 1993. He said it was a “going away present.” It surely came in handy a couple of weeks later when I left his home in Oklahoma and went to California to see a whole batch of relatives up and down the state.

            I looked at the collection of maps and studied ways to get from Dubuque, Iowa to Cooper City, Arkansas. From the looks of it, I’d be navigating some twisty, narrow roads down south, but luckily I am an experienced driver of all sorts of roads in all kinds of weather. After Mother’s eyesight began to fail, I did all the driving. There is not a state in the union except Hawaii in which we haven’t found relatives to visit. Now, I do admit it took some doing find our fourth cousin Bernie Tidwell up in Alaska. We tracked him down in Nome but when we decided on a return visit, he’d gone off on a dog sled race or moved into an igloo or something. Anyway, he was nowhere to be found.

            I used to think that perhaps we should have called folks ahead of time and let them know to expect a visit, but Mother always said everyone enjoyed life’s little surprises. She said it gave color to their days and it was our duty to brighten the lives of as many people as possible. So, even though we sometimes had to sleep in the car when no one was home, we always just dropped in for our visits.

            I looked at the speck on the map that represented Cooper City, Arkansas. They didn’t know it yet, but Max and Celia were about to have their days brightened.

I wondered if they remembered me.

A half-mile east of Seymour, Missouri, Uncle Rooster’s offers Chicago-style fare prepared by Illinois native Wayne Dunning. The colorful café was an abandoned liquor store until Dunning honored a lifelong dream to operate a hotdog stand four years ago.

The cheery restaurant is filled with Ozarks-made handcrafts. Customers order at the counter but do not serve themselves or bus their own tables. Friendly staff brings food on paper plates with plastic dinnerware. First-timers are handed a marker and asked to sign the concrete “guest floor” where hundreds of names are scrawled.

Once you taste the savory Philly cheese steak with sautéed onions and peppers or the house specialty — a Chicago Dog tricked out with onion, tomato, relish, sport peppers, dill pickle, and celery salt on a steamed poppy-seed bun — you’ll want to return to try the Italian beef. Sliced thin and cooked in Italian seasonings, it’s served on a French roll with au jus, sweet peppers and mild pepperocini. Desserts include fresh baked pies and cookies.

Prices range from $1.00 for a puppy dog to $5.70 for a double cheeseburger.

Dunning has purchased the Murphy Orchard west of Seymour and plans are underway to move Uncle Rooster’s into the old apple house. Dunning says he’s not sure when that move will take place. For now, if you hanker for some Chicago-style food, turn south off Highway 60 at the stoplight in Seymour and take the first left to 1582 E. Clinton. Hours are Monday-Saturday, 10 a.m. to 7 p.m.

Owner/operator: Wayne Dunning, 417-935-4120

A Mountain William denies his heritage.  He labors to become generic. He has lost all trace of any accent and listens hard to police his grammar usage. A visit with the folks back home is rare. “Mama and Daddy” have become “Mom and Dad.”  His clothes are classic or trendy. Blue jeans? Are you serious? A Mountain William might say he’s a country boy, but as close to the country as he cares to live these days is a restricted subdivision on the edge of town. He’s ashamed of his roots, his family, and his home and if any of these are brought up in conversation, he’s bound to shamefacedly admit “Yes, I’m from there.” Then he adds, with pride, “But I got away.” He’s no hillbilly; he has stepped up in the world. Mountain William to the core.