The Moore Spring
The spring is an enchanted place for me, nestled on the gentle slope of oak and hickory clad hills in the Southeastern Missouri Ozarks. It speaks untold stories of drama and everyday life of my Moore and Wilson ancestors. And I feel their essence and their gentle spirits every time I visit there. I imagine the first person to drink from the spring beside the hill where the house of John W. Moore would come to stand, was virtually naked and drenched with sweat. The tribal name by which his people called themselves certainly is lost in antiquity. Hunting big game now extinct, the crisp, coolness of the water probably shocked and satisfied as surely as it still does today. It is staggering when you think about it, how many of our family have found solace and comfort here. John W. Moore and Eliza Berry Moore and sons arrived just prior to 1850 from Tennessee and whatever reasons for settling in this remote, rocky, place, the spring wou...