Back Window Adventures

A few fall leaves barely clung to the tree as they danced in the cool morning breeze. Wispy clouds passed overhead in the deep blue sky. It promised to be a great day for a ride through the countryside. You never know what you might find along back roads that wind through changing landscapes and abut on cultures unique to the area.

As I gazed through the truck window, I was not disappointed. Straight roads that led through flat land bordered with open fields quickly transformed to narrow curvy roads twisting in, out, around, up, and down the hollows and plateaus of Middle Tennessee. Rolling hills were dotted with cattle, horses, sheep and goats. Old barns, log and wooden homes devoured by time, weather, honeysuckle, trees and kudzu crumbled to the ground. Small creeks, some no more than a trickle, curled along the base of the hills and cut their way through the valley. Wide rivers looked like broad avenues leading to who knows where. 

History abounds in this part of the country and comes to life as it tells its own story. Like looking through the windows of a time machine moving back in time, there are glimpses into the lives of those who lived and wandered through these hills. Even now, forgotten memories linger in the shadows of hidden hollows and peek through broken windows and cracks in the chinking of weathering log walls. 

Wind whispers from the valleys and rims of the hills of an age when Native Americans were guardians of the land. If you listen closely, you might hear moans from an era of revolution and groans of civil unrest of a broken nation rise from the blood soaked ground. You might catch the passing sound of footsteps of marching soldiers or the lingering echo of rumbling cannons resonating from hill to hill. As morning fog lifts from the recesses of the slopes, one might imagine a glimpse of shadowy figures of Native Americans driven from the place of their birth, bowing under their heavy burdens as they follow a trail of agonizing tears to a land not their own. Wave upon wave of pioneers follow the westward paths through the mountains and valleys to a land of opportunity as her doors open. As some leave, others come amid bittersweet pains to bring rebirth to expanding communities and cities. Charming old Southern towns are preserved as a lifeline to the past. Even now, those seeking refuge from crowded cities are drawn to rural areas throughout the nation. 

These ridges, dales, and plains hold treasures just waiting to be discovered. Some of those priceless gems are old general stores that offer a Moon Pie and RC Cola, antique shops, city cafes, and quaint charming Southern towns decorated for Christmas. Some nuggets of gold are found in the work of artisans and crafters of the foothills who display their talents. Here, Native American history comes alive through archaeological parks, sacred sites, and museums that give a glimpse into their lives, their respect for the land, their worship, and their survival. Civil War history preserved in National military parks and monuments is available for visitors to learn more of our past. No matter where our ancestors fit, it is, nonetheless, part of our story. Though we cannot change history, it remains as a sobering reality and reminder of the path mankind has traveled.

The promise of a great day was fulfilled – and to think that we saw and experienced all of this on a simple country drive. 

“Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history.” – Abraham Lincoln

Old Stone Fort State Archaeological Park
Foothills Crafts
Wartrace & Bell Buckle
Stones River National Battlefield

A predicted hot summer loomed in front of me. I was too busy with outside activities and adventures to be bothered with having to mess with my hair. To help with my dilemma, my sister who was visiting said, “I’ll cut your hair.” I was a bit skeptical. If you knew my sister, you might have been a bit suspicious as well. Regardless of my doubt, I agreed. After all, I figured, “it will grow back.”

I straddled the chair facing the back, towel wrapped around my shoulders, and the salon session began. My sister started cutting. Snip! Snip! It sounded like she was taking off more than I had. Then she stopped, stood back, cocked her head from side to side and giggled a giggle that had an evil ring to it. When I asked what that was all about, she said, “Oh, I just need to even it up on this side.” After she “evened it up,” she stood back again, and a grotesque giggle gurgled up from her toes. She said, “I need to even it up on the other side now.”

Well, I guess you might have figured out that by the time she was done, I didn’t have to worry with my hair. There was no hair left to worry about! When the shock wore off and my sister’s laughter subsided, all I could say was, “Well, it will grow back.”

That was the best low maintenance hair cut I have ever had. I could jump in the shower and wash my face and hair with the same swipe of a washcloth. And you know what? It did grow back – eventually.

I told you about the wildlife supper we had. 

The house was full of chatter and laughter. Guests tried foods they had never had before. Someone blessed our meal and before everyone had a chance to load their plates, my husband made an announcement concerning the smaller wildlife on the menu (squirrel, rabbit, goose and duck), “I cleaned them good, but there might still be some shot. So be careful.” I’m pretty sure someone found at least one piece of shot. If it’s swallowed, you can be sure, “This too shall pass.” Just don’t break a tooth!

All was well. The evening was a success.

A few days later, we received a call from one of the guests. The guest’s daughter who also attended the supper had a scan scheduled the day after our party for a medical issue. After her scan was complete, the doctor returned to her room to talk to her about the results. He looked a bit puzzled and concerned and said, “It looks like you have been shot.” She had a good laugh and told the doctor about the wildlife party. She had swallowed some of the shot she had been warned about. And true to the saying, it did indeed pass.

My son-in-law is a genius – well at least someone thinks so. He’s one of those IT guys – you know one of those guys who can stop you in your tracks and bring the whole room to complete silence without even trying.

Several years ago, when he was still in the trial period of boyfriend status for my daughter, he was invited to a party at our house. The occasion was a wildlife supper. He was quite impressed with all the different kinds of food we were having. There was mesquite smoked duck breasts, and smoked goose, venison roulades, grilled marinated venison roast, Swiss baked squirrel, baked rabbit and hasenpfeffer (hare mostly without the hair) served in a big bread bowl, wild turkey, roast of elk, and a few other delicious dishes. The elk turned out to be my favorite. I cooked it in 7-up with dried onion soup mix and was surprised to find the meat tender and tasty.

As the aromas floated in the air and tickled the nostrils of my one-day-to-be son-in-law, the smell miraculously opened his mouth at the same time that his foot moved upward. He looked at my husband and these words floated out, “Wow! Did you get all this today?” The whole room got quiet as we looked in disbelief. In unison, we all had a good laugh at his expense while the poor guy chewed on his toes.

We accepted him as our son-in-law. After all, we needed some entertainment in the house. You never know when you’ll need a good laugh – and they last for years.

When my daughter was small, she was afraid of the dark. At bedtime, she said, “There’s a monster in my closet.” This is the same kid who was scared of her grandmother’s slippers because they had button eyes that watched her. Every night we went through the same ritual. I had to go to her room and reassure her there was nothing to harm her. Many nights I laid beside her until she dozed off, stuffed animals tucked in close to protect her from those imagined hairy beasts with sharp teeth and long claws.

One night I held her hand as we went to her room. I turned on the light and we walked to the bed. We got down on the floor and pulled up the bedspread to make sure nothing was hiding under the bed.  Nothing there. I turned on a flashlight. Still nothing there. Then we went to the closet and slowly opened the door. No monsters there. When she was convinced she was safe, she hopped in the bed. I told her, “You see, there is nothing here in the dark that isn’t here in the light.” 

That is easier said than believed. I remember being afraid of the dark and running as fast as I could to my parents’ bedroom in the middle of the night. It seemed there was always a monster right on my heels. Somehow, I always managed to jump on the bed just before the creature pounced. I’m sure my dad used similar words on me to scare away the critters. 

Sometimes I still catch myself taking a quick glance behind me down a dark hallway. I walk a little bit faster just in case there’s a monster about to spring.

My mother’s self-esteem issues affected her thoughts of fat. She thought she was fat and quickly noticed that characteristic of others. When the parents returned from a trip to the store or a restaurant, Mama was always quick to give me a full report.

Daddy rarely made any remarks about people regardless of their looks, but one day after they had been out, he gave an account of a particular lady he saw. Mama would have just bluntly said they saw a fat lady. Daddy however said, “It’s a good thing that lady had skin on, or she would’ve been all over the place.”

As Daddy neared the end of his life, it was harder for him to distinguish between dreams and reality. After he awoke from a dream in the night or after a nap, he would often tell me the details. One morning after relaying his dream to me, he looked serious and asked, “That wasn’t real, was it? Did that really happen?” I confirmed his suspicions. He questioned his sanity and told me to always tell him if what he thought he saw was real. I assured him he wasn’t crazy. 

I have known people in their later years of life who seem to revert to their childhood. They see their mother or play some childhood game with siblings or friends in a time that brought them joy. Some people on their deathbed speak of seeing loved ones who have passed. My grandfather saw “his people” coming for him and within minutes was whisked away. Daddy saw several visions as his time approached and he gave intricate details of each. Somehow as his visions were so clear to him, yet he still retained sanity enough to accept whether it was true or not.

Maybe Daddy was closer to reality than I thought at the moment. Looking back, I believe his visions were premonitions to prepare him for the journey ahead. And just maybe, those who have dreams and visions are the ones who see things clearly because they are looking into another realm, one we can’t see. Maybe the rest of us are the ones who need a touch a reality.