A Tour of Rob-Bell

Painting by Laura Raborn

Got some writerly friends coming in during early September and I'm putting them up at the lakehouse. I don't think they know quite what they're getting into, yet, but they will soon. But I figured I'd give them a little preview of the lakehouse and they can call dibs on bedrooms and whatnot.

The lakehouse is in Arkansas. It is called Rob-Bell, a funky portmanteau of my family names, Robinson & Campbell. It's my favorite spot on earth (except when the mosquitoes are really bad). It's been in my family since before the Civil War, but the "clubhouse" has been at this location since 1928, the year after the Mississippi and Arkansas Rivers flooded. And that flood changed the face of the nation, truly. A series of damns and levees were created from upper Ohio to Minnesota and Kansas all the way south to the mouth of the Mississippi. We're reaping the rewards of some of those decisions now, the loss of wetlands in Louisiana and lower Mississippi. At the time it was a good idea.

The effrontery of man. We reshape the world to suit our ends and a mere 74 years later, it comes back to bite us in the ass in the form of Hurricane Katrina. Sheesh. I can't wait to see the rewards two centuries of the oxymoronic "managed wildlife" brings us. The story "When the Bears Discovered Fire" might be a tad prophetic. Maybe armadillos will spread leprosy like it was the common cold. Huh. Good times.

Okay. Back to Rob-Bell.

So, when the flood of '27 occurred, this lake, Old River Lake, was not a lake at all but a tributary of the Arkansas River. Plum Bayou would empty into the Arkansas and farmers would float their cotton or grain on the bayou waters to meet steamers to take it down river to sell in Helena, Greenville, Natches, or New Orleans. Before that it was home to one of the oldest cultures of Native Americans, the Plum Bayou Indians. Some folks call 'em Toltecs, but they'd be wrong. Anywho, they lived here at the same time Romulus was marking out the borders of Rome, I think. Google it. "Plum Bayou Culture." The Toltec Indian mounds are maybe two miles from here. They're some of the oldest structures in America.

Obscured by the bushes to the left - right beyond the diving board, is the old opening to Plum Bayou. It was truncated when Old River Lake ceased being a part of the river - the Corp of Engineers capped the ends - and it became a lake.

The house was not built in 1928. It had been built before 1917 - out of massive planks of cypress - as barracks for an US Army base from south eastern Arkansas - I don't know quite where, honestly. My great great grandfather bought the small out-buildings for a song - or so I've been told - because the government was planning on burning them. Great-great-gramps Gordon Campbell put them together for a larger dwelling. Then he had a wraparound porch added. All of this was intended as a temporary building to only remain for a few years until a more permanent residence could be constructed. That was 83 years ago. Kinda speaks to the longevity of good construction materials and craftsmanship. They don't make 'em like that anymore.

When my mom and aunts were kids, they'd spend the whole summer out here. No air-conditioning. AT ALL. I don't think you yanks realize the magnitude of that. The heat you felt earlier this summer on the east coast - multiplied by the humidity? That's what we've got every summer. Sometime in the mid-fifties, they bought a air-conditioning unit that was the size of a credenza and sat in the corner of the above room, its heat exhaust pipe running out the window. My mom tells me they'd close all the doors, pull the shades, and spin records or listen to the radio, playing cards, all day, until the sun fell and her father, James Tappan Hornor but referred to by his friends and family as Big Tap, returned from working in Little Rock. No television out here until the 1980s. Neither reception nor inclination to purchase one. But don't worry, future guests, we got an HD entertainment center kicking.

They'd eat dinner here. Banquet style. I can't even begin to imagine the amount of booze that's been consumed in this house. It might not be able to float a battleship, but it surely could drown an elephant.

So, you're probably thinking, "Yeah, all this history crap is cool and whatnot, but where the hell am I gonna sleep? Get my freak on?"

You'll have your choice of one of three bedrooms in the clubhouse, or the guest house. Guest house is pretty awesome. Built in the early 1960s, it feels like you're stepping back 50 years. The decor has not changed in all that time. Unfortunately, no pics of it on my computer.


Side bedroom. Comfy and I just put in a new air-conditioner for you. The floor slopes to the east, dramatically.

The back bedroom. It has a vanity - so the ladies will probably want this one.
Hell, I'll let you guys sort out where you stay when you get here. Meanwhile, here's some more pics.
Moms is chilling on the dock, sometime in the 80s, I think. The small house overlooking her is the guest house.
My kids and friends partying on the dock 30 years after the last pic.
My mom partying on the dock in the late 1940s or early 1950s.

Did I mention the golf-course? It used to be a cow-pasture but great-great-gramps converted it to a golf course. Private. Yeah, I know. The John H. Jacobs Professional is so NOT ME. My dad had these made. His name is John Howze Jacobs. If you've ever seen me play golf, you'd know that I would never - NEVER EVER - put my name anywhere near the word "professional" as it pertains to golf (and, honestly, Dad ain't that great either).

Yes, I realize that I did nothing to earn this wonderful place other than be born into my family. I did, however, outswim millions of other sperm. So, there's that.

I've written large chunks of all my novels here and typed the words "The End" on This Dark Earth sitting right there. I'm considering doing a writer's retreat here and inviting some of my favorite authors to visit. It's a thought. I mean, I have this place. I might as well use it.
The old plantation bell. Ring that bastard at dinner time and you can hear it miles away.
Did I mention there's a bar? With booze? There is. That's just the extra level of service I like to go to for all my guests.
Anywho, we're waiting for you to visit (you know who you are). It's gonna be a big time.