The devil is in the details when it comes to familiar things

We take so much of what's around us for granted.

And there's so much around us that we either don't know about or are surprised to find out about.

Let me tell you about three recent surprises.

Surprise No. 1: Actually, this one isn't so recent. A while back, my wife heard from someone she worked with at the time about an artesian well near Patton. My wife grew up with an artesian well in the city park of her hometown.

There's a big difference between the well near Patton and the well in Sweet Springs. In spite of the town's name, the artesian well in Sweet Springs spews water laden with sulfur. The locals swear by it. They claim it cures just about anything that ails you. I have come to accept the truth of that claim -- mainly because I'm convinced no one suffers too long from most ailments before the sulfur water from the well kills you.

The artesian well near Patton, on the other hand, has good-tasting water -- at least that's what we were told. The day we were there we didn't take a drink. But just finding the isolated well made for a fun day.

Most everyone around Patton knows about the artesian well. But so far we haven't found anyone who can tell us the facts about how the well came to be.

I know someone who could tell me, and one of these days I'm going to ask O.D. Niswonger about it. But it wouldn't be fair to Niswonger to ask him unless I have time to hear the whole story.

Niswonger, by the way, has gained considerable fame as the official Patton historian at Rotary Club of Cape Girardeau meetings, where he regales members and visitors with stories about his ancestors and the settlement of Patton.

Surprise No. 2: Last week, my wife was told by someone she works with about a waterfall on the Diversion Channel.

As far as I'm concerned, seeing is believing.

We were given directions through Delta and points west leading to a turnoff to a parking area next to the Diversion Channel.

Sure enough, as soon as we got out of the car we could hear cascading water, even though we couldn't see over the high banks of the channel.

At that point, there is a sudden drop in elevation, and the water goes roaring down into a large, rounded-out area that is knows as the Block Hole. There were several fishermen there around noontime on a sunny day, but I didn't see many fish being caught.

If Larry Dowdy from the Little River Drainage District office had been available yesterday, I would be telling you all about the Block Hole and the waterfall that fills it up.

This is another one of those things we take for granted. We know it's there. We know what it looks like. We even go fishing there. But few of us know the whys and wherefores. I'll fill you in as soon as I get in touch with Dowdy.

Surprise No. 3: It has been more than 50 years since we moved to the farm in Kelo Valley. There are a lot of things I know about the valley.

And, I found out a couple of weekends ago, there are some things I don't know about.

Here are some things I know:

The old road along the northern edge of the valley used to keep going on down the valley until it came to Black River. A road across the valley to our farmhouse was eventually extended to the highway on top of the hill a mile away, and that became the main road. The part of the old road that went alongside the bottom half (as the creek flows) of the farm was abandoned.

When I was growing up, that abandoned portion of the old road was only used by hunters and loggers. The ruts filled in with grass.

But at one time that one-lane road was the main road between Ellington and Williamsville. Part of it was a toll road. And I'm convinced at least a part of Gen. Sterling Price's troops used the old road on their northern march from Arkansas to capture St. Louis.

Another thing I know about Kelo Valley is there are no springs until you get almost to the Black River. At that point a spring erupts out of a field. Early settlers built a rock wall around the main pool of the spring, and a watercress-filled channel leads the cold, clear water to the river.

When I was growing up, the spring was on what was known as the "Bowles place," even though the land was part of Jess Cole's good-sized farm along the river. The next field past our farm -- also part of the Bowles place, had at one time been a racetrack. Horse fanciers and race fans from miles and miles around would converge on that field -- the railroad was only a short distance across the river -- and have big races with lots of money changing hands.

Every time we worked in the field next to the Bowles place, we would always wander over the to the fence and try to imagine all those horses and buggies and people.

While visiting my mother a couple of weekends ago, we took a ride out to Kelo Valley. We went up the valley as far as we could, turning around at a locked gate near what used to be Paul Cole's farm. When we headed back to town, we turned off the highway just before the bridge over the river and meandered through a settlement of homes that has built up in the last 20 or 30 years along the river. There are enough homes there now that the area, called Black River Retreat, has its own fire department.

We had no idea there were so many houses there, nor how far they extended up the river to the bottom of Kelo Valley.

And imagine our surprise when we saw a well-tended cemetery not too far from the spring. A neatly lettered sign announced: "Boal Cemetery."

All these years, we assumed the name was Bowles, not Boal -- mainly because we knew a lot of folks named Bowles but none named Boal.

Now I'm determined to find out who the Boals were. My guess is someone named Boal probably built that rock wall at the spring.

Who knows what's around the next corner? I don't. But if I find out, I'll be sure to tell you.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.