  Hog Scald, ten miles south of Eureka Springs is an undiscovered country, so far as tourists are concerned, but for riches of tradition and excellence of scenic beauty it cannot be surpassed in the Ozark highlands. It is a land of clear, gushing springs, laughing brooks and tumbling waterfalls; water everywhere, spilling over rocky ledges and twisting happily through granite-lined canyons. It is a land of massive oak, stately pine and verdant cedar, of purple grapes that cling to broad leafed vines and red berries that tinge the cheeks of the hills with romantic blushes. It seems a land of divine favor and it is indeed fitting that the early pioneers of the thirties and forties found here, in a temple not built with hands, the ideal place to worship God. Under a giant ledge overlooking Hog Scald creek they held worship for more than three-quarters of a century. The sturdy people who trekked into these hills from Kentucky and Tennessee were the salt of the earth in character. And like their Puritan and Cavalier sires, they did not forget to give thanks to God for the Promised Land of the Ozarks. The visitor who loiters for a season in this Eden of beauty will realize, a little, the influence of such an environment upon these sturdy pioneers who had their feet deeply set in the soil of mediocrity, so far as learning is concerned, but who saw the thumb prints of God in every work of nature. The spacious natural shelter below Auger Falls on Hog Scald creek attracted these settlers as a suitable place to hold religious services. Here was an auditorium on one side of the stream with pulpit of rock for the minister, and choir stalls for the singers, in a convenient shelter opposite. Between audience and minister was the immersion pool where the rites of baptism could be administered without leaving the sanctuary. The drone of falling water from Auger Falls was just loud enough to be the grand piano divine, never out of tune, always doing its part to make the service effective. When the minister prayed, these musical waters seemed to echo, “Ho, everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money, come ye and buy and eat—without money and without price.” In later years Hog Scald became an active community center. It was a meeting place of the settlers for such activities as butchering hogs, canning wild fruits and making sorghum molasses. The idea originated during the Civil War when the entire valley was a Confederate camp. The inviting springs and cozy shelters made it an ideal camp site. The shut-ins at the elbow of the falls now called Fern Dell offered opportunity to hem in herds of wild hogs and kill them in a cove convenient to the butchering grounds. Hog Scald creek secured its name from the practice of soldiers in scalding the wild hogs in the kettle-like holes in the rocky creek bed. The water was diverted from its regular course into these holes, which are four or five feet deep and averaging six feet in width. The method of heating the water to the scalding point was done by dropping hot stones into the pits. The hogs were then immersed in the hot water until their hides were soaked sufficiently for the removal of the hair with a knife. When the war ended, natives of the community continued this practice and enlarged upon it. Families would drive many miles through the hills to camp at Hog Scald, butchering hogs, canning wild fruits, and enjoying a few days of social contact. And always there was church on Sunday. The young folks might play party games on the rocks Saturday night, but the fun ceased at midnight. Sunday was set aside for the good things of the soul. It has been said that the mills of the gods grind slowly, but the results of grinding are sure. The customs of these sturdy pioneers of the Ozark hills have borne fruit in a sober, righteous and contented people. Who can doubt the influence of this quaint sanctuary of nature in the lives of these hillfolks? A number of tall tales have been told about Hog Scald. An old-timer told Vance Randolph that he lived near there in the early 1880’s. He said that there used to be a bramble thicket near the potholes, where the road is now. “We used to get the water good and hot,” he explained, “An’ throw the hogs in alive. They’d jump out a-squealin’, an’ run right through them bramble bushes. The thorns would take the bristles off slicker’n a whistle, so we didn’t have to scrape ’em at all.” Another tale about Hog Scald was told to me recently. It is said to have happened about the turn of the century. The lay of the land is pretty rugged in the Hog Scald neighborhood and one farmer had planted corn and pumpkins on a steep hillside above the hollow. He said he did the planting with a shotgun, shooting the seeds into the hillside. About the time the planting was completed one of the farmer’s brood sows wandered away and he didn’t see her all that summer. When it came time to harvest the crop that fall, the farmer climbed the hill, holding on to the corn stalks and pumpkin vines to keep from falling. The pumpkins were so big that it took only about a dozen to cover an acre. In pulling himself up, he accidentally tore a pumpkin loose from its bearings and it started rolling down the hill. At the foot of the hill it hit a low ledge of rock and burst open. Much to the farmer’s surprise, out jumped the lost sow and thirteen pigs. I was telling that story down in the Basin Circle Park at Eureka Stafford Photo |
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