A placid August afternoon in the Queen City of the Ozarks: sunlight through stately walnut trees casts dappled shadows on an empty park. Sidewalks are silent in the normally bustling downtown. Front porches, reliable sources of neighborly smiles or a cool glass of lemonade, are bereft of both. Underneath the silence some quiet menace thrums. What ominous force has driven the residents of Springfield behind locked doors?
Somewhere in the city, just out of plain sight, slithering in the periphery, an unknown number of Indian cobras are laterally undulating their way into the collective nightmare now remembered as the Cobra Scare of 1953.
The residents of Springfield were not cowed for long. Armed with guns, garden hoes, and the gumption inherent to natives of hill country, they resolved to reclaim their city from the serpentine threat. In mere months, their vigilance had dispatched eleven of the hooded herptiles. And again, the sidewalks, parks, and porches of city rang with the clamor of life in the Ozarks.
The Great Cobra Scare of ‘53 is an Ozarks style wheat ale with a bite. Refreshing and invigorating, it is as well suited to cobra hunting as it is to lazy afternoons in a hammock. A beer to enjoy when swapping yarns, telling tall tales, and reveling in the stories of your home town. A beer named in celebration of the sometimes surreal lore of the people whose spirit and resilience were displayed during the Cobra Scare. With the same intrepid spirit of our forbears some sixty years ago, rise to the occasion: slay one pint. Then slay another five. And let our cities evermore ring with the clamor of life in our Ozarks.