Trail of Tears, Spencer, TN

The storms that have taken so many lives have passed. I have been spared. The first night of the twisters I was in my tent as the walls popped, and lunghed at the sky. Rain and hail hit like rocks. Located feet from a deep creek bed, I was never too far from abandoning everything to lie belly down in the four inches of water as the storm ravished on. It did not come to that thankfully. Just as the worst winds I have ever experienced found my location in the woods, the storm stopped, thought, then headed north. Twenty three died that night.

When I got into Dayton, Polly filled my cup with coffee at the Smith's Crossroads, her and her family's antique and coffee shop. Polly Brooks pointed me in the direction of the library, giving me my special blend of espresso and coffee on the house. It was too soon to know that Polly and her family would grow close over the coming week. At the library as I fought to make some sence of my thoughts on the computer, Mary Mac Brook's came up to me and asked me home to dinner with a huge grin, and pig tails. I smiled a yes. Mary Mac and I are from the same earth and close enough in age to reach from the same history of music whenever we started singing. It was unnerving how often we would both break out in song at the same time, in the same key--for no reason except to highlight part of a joke or story someone else was saying. It was normal to us.
Each day I joined the family for breakfast, planning to leave. We'd all wander to the weather channel on the television. After a few minutes of storm sensationalism, we gleaned the fact that something not good was headed our way...eventually. Before breakfast was over the idea of leaving was scraped. Over the next few days, gear was sorted or repaired, and I rebuilt my slingshot into a real tool. Mary Mac and I went for walks with her moving island of dogs. We made party hats for gathering of children with ribbons and the whole rainbow of stars. In the afternoon we drank coffee, or a beer and planned outings, and adventures.
In five days I was back on The Trail Of Tears. It is hard to relate how a family can take you in so that your their world becomes yours, on a library computer with a time limit.
I think that two days have passed sence I have left the Brook's home, and farm. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me walking is so that I can complete the trail that will then allow me to once again see the wonderful people that I have grown to love without a calender and seasons tied to my lapel. I have been asked often about southern hospitality. I only know that in New England I was squeezed apples through cracks in car windows with the greatest of intentions. Strangers called the police if I looked too cold sitting to rest in the snow. In TN, people have taken me home knowing only my name. I have been given me keys to their houses, and fed me until I forgot what walking was. Always their love appeared natural, and I was proud to be allowed to know them.