The sound of horn is a sound that brings back memories and creates new ones for me. It reminds me of family, nature, and gives me hope.  This horn is different than all others, though.  I could tell it apart from a thousand different horns. This is a horn that goes off at exactly 6:30 AM every single morning and 8:00 PM every single night. The purpose of the horn is to start and end the official fishing hours at this small town campground and trout spring. And when I say small town, I  mean a small town.

St. James, Missouri to be specific. It’s quite a drive, hours and hours of small towns and country roads is all I see outside my window. Some people would call it Misery, but I call it Missouri.  In fact misery is the last thing I think of when I think of this place. It seems to me that I feel more at home when going through these towns and backroads, which is weird because my real home is in the city. Sometimes I just think those kind of places are really where I belong, almost like i'm destine to be there.

St. James is one of those types of towns, it means a lot more to me than the average camper or fisherman.  My mom grew up here, on almost a movie-like scenery. Right inside a small blue house on the top of the tallest hill in the park right next to the river. My grandpa was one of the head men who ran the park. My mom’s whole family lived there and grew up there. I’ve  heard enough stories from the park that I could write a novel.
The value of tradition and passing on memories and creating new ones is something my family and I value extremely. We didn’t let the traditions stop once her family all moved on with their lives and out of the park.  My family and I, along with neighbors and friends, spend at least one weekend a year there camping, fishing, and rafting down the river.

Every morning starts with the long belching sound of the horn that can be heard for a mile around, sparking hundreds of fishermen to cast their lines almost simultaneously into the frigid spring water. Fish after fish splashing and being reeled in almost instantly after the horn sounds. The horn not only results in my dinner, but new memories every single time.

This is a time I yearn for all year long. It’s  a place that gets me away from reality in a way--doing some of my favorite stuff with people I love to do it with. I consider this campground my second home in a way. The  small-town people my family has grown to have relationships with are like family and welcome us “home” every year. When things really suck in life it always relaxes me to imagine the horn and the memories it has provided me. It seems like the place is kind of a safeguard for me as well. If everything went wrong for me in life it seems like a place I could go to stay and be welcomed and happy no matter what. Sometimes when life is kicking me in the ass all I have to do is remember there's always this place where I could go and be happy. Even if life were to go perfect for me there is no doubt in my mind I’d still visit the town and continue to make great memories.
Not only does it produce new memories for me, but also remembrance of my grandpa--a  handyman who loved nature, the park, and most of all his family. His ashes are spread through the same soil and water that I fish and camp every year. He was the man that helped make the park what it is today. my grandpa prided himself on running the historic campground and raising his big family on it in such an environment. He even helped raise a baby deer as the family pet.

The stories of pet deer, and the thousands of other stories i’ve heard just add to the family history and legacy that my family continues and I will continue with my family some day. History has never been a subject I really enjoyed, but the exception is the history of this town and its campground.  It has been called by many the most beautiful place in Missouri, in my opinion it’s the most beautiful place in the world. Ranging with deep caves and right inside the park a bitter cold spring going miles down. Because of the spring a man known as Mr. James started the first commercial iron works West of the Mississippi. Now a National Natural Landmark; the spring as well as the mine, caves, and old iron work houses are open for the public to see their stunning beauty. Every year I find myself touring these beautiful landmarks and wanting to know more and more about the place. In a way I find it as part of my family history and the legacy my grandpa and the rest of my family carried on. I never related beauty to history, but this campground and the people and memories from it are some of the most beautiful things i’ve ever witnessed.

Many times through the year I wait for those summer days at the park. It’s 6:29 AM, the spring water feels like knives stabbing me as I run my hand through it and the small ripples vanish. I’m standing in my camo waders next to 20 other fisherman in the middle of the spring as I hear the roaring of the small waterfall just feet behind me. A dense morning fog covers the spring as I swat mosquitoes left and right. The old wooden swinging bridge over my head squeaks as I bait my hook. In moments I would be catching shiny rainbow trout as a huge grin comes over my face. The horn would sound like a siren and soon I’d have my limit. I would then walk back to camp with dinner to share with my family and best friends.

Those are the kind of times I live for. The horn starts a new day, just as it starts new memories and the remembrance of old ones. It gives hope, the safety of home, and most of all happiness to me. Something as simple as the sound of a horn can put every worry in the world to rest. Sometimes I find that true happiness and beauty can even come through simple things, like for example sounds. For me it’s the sound of a horn.