A Lazy River, a Man from Quincy and Hidden Town: Medicine Park

Some of my favorite places in the world are places I never meant to find at all.

Steve & I had found ourselves on the very top of Mt. Scott, the tallest peak in all of Oklahoma. The red rocks sprawled under us and eagles drifted across up drafts in between clouds and sunbeams higher than our eyes could tolerate looking.

It was gorgeous, and stunning, and we had driven over an hour to get there while looking at completely flat everything before we had managed to get there and I was fidgety and absolutely starving.

My hunger was eating at me in a way that made me mean spirited and grumpy, so Steve threw me into his fathers pick up as fast as he could and we hit the first town we found on our way down the mountain, and how lucky we were.

After hours of flat red rock plains I flipped around trying to take in everything at once. There were trees, houses, galleries, and right smack through the middle of this little town, a sparkling beautiful river, full of people playing and laughing.

Steve and I had found Medicine Park, Oklahoma’s very first resort town built in 1908 that had hosted everyone from presidents to outlaws, and still to this day was paved with beautiful cobble stones, teeming with all kinds of visitors.

A poster of a beautiful river maiden caught my eye and I demanded that is where we went in search for food. A heaping plate of whatever kinds of meats and a side of their sweetest sauce is what I found myself begging for, before I settled into trying to make small talk with the man at the window.

Small talk in the South is almost like an art in my eyes. When you are in Boston, a simple ‘hey how are ya’ good’n’you’ will suffice in most situations with people, if they even actually bother to talk to you, however in the south it is not uncommon to have a full blown conversation with a complete stranger who you’ve never met. With eye contact! Almost unfathomably to a Bostonian.

I had been trying to brush up on my southern charm, and tested it on the man at the register by off handedly saying to him, “Well jeez, I’m just visiting but with food as good as I’ve had around here, it’s gonna be awfully hard to get home.”

Humoring me, the man just asked where I was from, and when I replied Boston, he asked where specifically in Boston I was from, with just the slightest accent.

Instantly, I lit up, and said right back, dropping all pretense at southern charm, as well as all the R’s in my conversation, telling him which neighborhood and asking him where HE was from in Boston.

It turns out, the man, who was also the chef, was from Quincy.

“I saw this commercial that said ‘BE ALL YOU CAN BE’ and so I was like, well, yeah, okay, and I just moved out here and became a barbeque apprentice!”

It was probably to this day the best barbeque I’ve ever had in my entire life. Steve and I came back to visit again about a year later.

The man at the register looked a bit familiar but I was unsure if it was him, so after I placed him order I asked if the man from Quincy still worked there.

“Yeah, who’s asking?!” he asked me, looking down and studying me.

“The girl from Boston who visited last year, I came back just to eat his food again.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me,” he said, “I’m actually the mayor now, but I still work here part time.”

I don’t know if he actually was or is the mayor, but his food was still some of the best I’ve ever eaten. If, for some strange & sad reason, barbeque isn’t your thing and my tale of Riverside Cafe wasn’t enough to entice you, the sound of the water spilling over smooth river stones, children shrieking with laughter and music of all tempos spilling from mud walled art galleries lining the streets should.

As I lounged there on the slick rocks of bank, skin being cooled by the stream’s crisp clear mountain water, happily digesting my Combo Platter, I found myself utterly smitten with this tiny town full of outlaw folklore, local artists, rock shops and posters boasting upcoming music festivals and gatherings of all kinds.