It has been said of me that I
should have been an historian or archeologist, because my thoughts and focus
are so often in the past. I usually reply that the future has not yet happened,
and that the present becomes the past almost instantly, so for practical
purposes the past is all that there is. But I know what they mean and can't
argue the point. I definitely do have an affinity for the past. An example is a
walk in the neighborhood yesterday afternoon.
Fairview is a large, modest piece
of country dotted with modest homes owned by working class people. You won't
find any mansions here, and are more likely to see houses that are in need of
attention. The area was once known as the Peach Orchard. Some still refer to it
as that. I don't know why. Anyway, while we're walking I try to imagine what
the land looked like when the Cherrokee were the sole residents. I know that it
is completely different, but the geography; the hills and ravines are the same
as they were in the early 1800s so I have to content myself with that.
It was sometime around 1838 that
President Andrew Jackson ordered the forced removal of the entire Cherrokee
nation to a reservation in Oklahoma. That opened the gates for the settlers to
come pouring in. To my knowledge one of the first was Xanders McFarland, who
quickly became one of the largest landowners in the area, including the land my
house is on. I've been trying off and on to trace the owners of my property
from McFarland to me with no success.
Our walk took us past a car graveyard. For some unknown reason this Chevy Sport Blazer has always intrigued me.
I can't look at it without seeing
it sitting in the Morristown, Tennessee dealer showroom in 1987, with mom and
dad and maybe a couple of kids looking at it. Dad is trying his best to look
nonchalant in front of his family and the salesman, but inside he wants to
drive this vehicle so badly that he is starting to sweat. Later, after the
papers are signed I can see the Blazer tooling down the street; a smug look on
dad’s face and the kids peering out the back side windows. Who knows where that
car has been, who has driven it, how many owners it has had, what adventures it
experienced, and how it came to be in this graveyard in Fairview, Georgia? The
answer to the last part of this question seems evident - the front end on the
driver side is completely demolished. Wherever it happened, it was a violent
ending. There are other cars in the graveyard, some so deeply buried in
jungle-like brush and undergrowth that it is impossible to get to them. And
each has a story to tell.
Not too far away is what remains of what appeared to be a fine house. All that remains now is the front facade. The roof and all the walls are laying crumpled on the ground. The brickwork leading to the house talks to me. I can see quests ascending the concrete steps and following a path that today leads to nowhere. There is no way of knowing when this house was built. My guess would be anywhere from the early to mid-1900s.
There are more reminders of the
past; more pictures to be taken. The final photo yesterday was of the return to
our house. The sun was setting, the temperature was mild, and as usual the only
sounds were from birds. Fortunately history doesn’t stop with our return home. At
approximately 3:00 PM on September 20, 1863 a federal army defeated at the
Battle of Chickamauga was hastily retreating through the McFarland Gap on its
way to Rossville and then to Chattanooga. Our home is about 500 yards from the
gap, and no doubt many Union soldiers traveled over our land to reach the gap.
There to see them hurry by was a 161-year-old water oak (towering over the garage). The tree is now estimated
to be 240 years old, which takes us back to 1784. Perhaps a Cherokee brave out
hunting watched a squirrel bury the acorn that would become the massive tree
that exists on our land today.
When I am sitting in a chair 20 feet from that oak, watching burgers cooking on the wood grill, I think about that Chevy Blazer, the remains of the old house, the retreating soldiers, and what the land must have looked like to that oak as a young sapling. If time travel was a real thing....
