Author: Michele Broxton

Those white dogwood petals aren’t petals at all — they’re bracts, and the real flowers are the tiny yellow cluster hiding at the center.

I watched a white-breasted nuthatch climb headfirst down an oak trunk, and it changed how I see every tree on this land.

The Phelps County courthouse was a Union hospital before a single case was ever tried inside — I’ll tell you how that happened in Rolla, summer of 1860.

Northern Parulas are passing through the Ozarks this week—I’ll show you how to spot these thumb-sized warblers and hear the zipper song they’ve carried here since 1865.

When the snakes come out in April, I know the Ozarks has finally turned the corner—here’s how to read the land the way the old-timers did.

The Ozarks hide seven thousand caves beneath our feet, carved by the same patient chemistry that shapes our springs and bluffs—here’s what’s really under there.

The Phelps County courthouse was finished in 1861, just as Fort Sumter burned—and I keep thinking about whoever laid those final stones anyway.

When the bats come out over our Ozark hollows, I’m watching a thousand-mosquito-an-hour partnership that’s older than the Civil War camps below.

I’ll walk you through Missouri’s Ozark glades — those rocky openings where prickly pear and collared lizards thrive, and fire has kept the forest at bay for centuries.

Missouri’s hilltop glades are deserts hiding in plain sight — I’ll show you the native cacti, collared lizards, and simple soil tests that reveal why they exist.