The pace of life in the Ozarks has taken some getting used to. Not even the sun is in a rush here. Its muted light trickles through the moist morning air slowly, like golden honey that washes across the beaded brightness of morning dew on flowers and leaves. It is often mid morning before bright shafts of sunlight pierce the green canopy. Even then, nothing seems to be in a hurry. Black butterflies flash blue patterned wings as they glide from one flower to another and wasps trace languid patterns as they probe here and there.