Christmas Rant, 2013

And so it's Christmastime. The Holidays. A time of Season's Greetings.

But it isn't very merry or happy and I sure don't feel like greeting anyone. It's hard to get into the idea of "Silent Night" with the constant din of the season ringing in my ears.

For me it isn't the "commercialization" of the season, per se. Yes, it was quite depressing that all the major retail centers were in full Christmas mode before they even had all the excess Halloween candy on the discount racks. But in reality, I don't frequent such places enough to cause such malaise.

I've touched on part of the cause here before. But to be honest, our December problem is not getting better.

So, I'm going to emit a few thoughts, to let off some of the pressure and see if it gets me into the spirit.

Santa Claus. Seriously? What race is the Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy? The Great Pumpkin? St. Nicholas (the original 3rd & 4th century saint) was Greek and/or Turkish. The guy in the red suit in America has influences that are, shall we say, "non-Mediterranean". He has typically been portrayed as white due to the cultural norms of the time. If I go in a mall and I see Santa that is Black, White, Greek, Native American or Filipino, I'm not going to freak out. I promise that I'm going to be a lot more disturbed by being in a mall at Christmastime than I will be at what color Santa Claus is.

Happy Holidays. Seriously. There's a lot of them this time of year. In fact, between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day there are between four and 10 feasts, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and 4 Advent Sundays - depending on which Christian liturgical calendar you follow. There is also usually Hanukkah - which isn't Christian but is important to Judaism, which is pivotal to the understanding of Christianity and since Christmas celebrates the birth of an observer of Hanukkah (John 10:22-23), I think it's ok to include it. And while I don't celebrate Kwanzaa myself, I'm not offended by those that do and if someone were to politely wish me a "Happy Kwanzaa" I wouldn't be offended. I'd be happy that someone thought enough to say something nice to me instead of many of the other things I get called or told.

Fighting over what displays are and are not allowed in town. How old are you? Are you really that offended that something you do not believe in is on display in the town square? Regardless of how you identify Him, Jesus Christ is world renowned as a teacher, spiritual leader, bringer of peace and prophet that compelled people to love one another. Are you really offended by that? If so, don't live in the Bible Belt where people parade Him around like a trophy.

Are you offended that He isn't being paraded around enough? What personal insecurity might be causing that? Jesus was born in a stable and 2000 years later is still common in conversation and remains one of the most celebrated people ever. I don't think He's offended by not being displayed outside the courthouse. He has a way of getting into the places He wants to be (John 20:19)

This is a really long way around to say I have a lot of fatigue related to the bickering and arguing that accompanies this time of the year.

My request for this Christmas is just that we be a little more kind, a little more polite and a little more accommodating to each other. If someone bids you a polite greeting that you might not have chosen, be polite with your response and go on about your way.

In short, be merry, be happy, be whatever one you choose. But if you can't be polite, please be quiet.

A Star on the Rise...Again, Again.

As Thanksgiving approaches I feel it is appropriate to mention how very thankful I am for the many stories I have heard about people, places, traditions, ideas, etc that have been preserved or restored. History is a major driving force behind this blog and when history is well, I am happy. That being said, let's talk about one story I'm thankful for.

Last month I posted an article about the efforts of a group working to preserve a beloved tradition in their community (http://allthebiscuitsingeorgia.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-star-on-riseagain.html) 

I'd like to revisit that story for an update. 

The star is built. In fact, even as I sit listening to the wind rustling the trees on this brisk Georgia morning, the star is being hoisted into its perch to make sure everything is a go for next Saturday's lighting ceremony. 

The new star is exactly that. Made from lighter materials the new star is a foot taller, a foot wider and 120 pounds lighter than its forefather.  The 160 electric lights are energy-efficient LED bulbs that use a fraction of the power without dimming the glow.

So here's the festivities:

I have watched this happen as an outsider. My connections to Lindale lie in the past. The nostalgia and my love of history and tradition keep me connected to this endeavor. Compared to Restoration Lindale, I'm an outsider looking in. That being said, I am grateful to see the way the community has rallied around this effort. The bulbs sold out almost immediately. The involvement of schools, churches, businesses and individuals shows how important it is to the community that a star shines between the stacks this Christmas.

And so today the star will be hoisted by the sons, grandsons and great-grandsons of the men that hoisted it years ago.  Times are similar. The economy is down. People are out of work. Nothing seems to be changing that. As an outsider looking in, I can tell you that Lindale has seen better days. 

But the same outsider has seen the work that has been done throughout the community. On top of all the labor, toil and sweat, the beacon of hope and community is rising from the rubble. There's not one bale of cotton in Lindale but there is hope and love of community. Yes, Lindale has seen better days. But now it has seen worse and I can't help but believe that even better days lie ahead.

Need a Lift?

So I'm pondering ideas about current events the other day. Thinking about the role of government and the intent of the founders and then, as could only happen in my brain, I get a vision of the ultimate in absurdity - and the perfect analogy for what is going on in Washington.

My first thought was that it was too absurd to be true. Second thought was "there's too many rednecks in this world for it to not be true."

So I Googled it. Voila, there it was.

A Corvette tow truck. Car. Whatever.

Now, I don't know who took this photo. I have no idea who made or owns this machine. 

Two things I do know:

1) It's amazing.

2) There's no way on God's green Earth I'll ever let that thing tow anything I own.

But there it is, the perfect analogy for our current federal government. Sleek, stylish, designed for speed, the envy of the world....harnessed to perform powerful tasks it was never intended or designed to do  and despite the impressive appearance, totally incapable of meeting the new expectations.

The Founding Fathers designed our central government to be a minimal force in our lives. They maintained state sovereignty because America was never intended to be a monolith. Our government was designed small for a reason...King George III. They designed a Corvette. 

Now we expect a government that was basically designed to keep us from killing and stealing from each other and protect us from foreign attacks to provide us with every necessity and luxury you can imagine. "Government must haul it all!" We demand a tow truck!

So we strap a steel tow lift to the fiberglass body of a sports car. Now we are ready to tow a Peterbilt.

Some observations:

1) The engine and transmission in a sports car are not made for towing. 

2) A Corvette can't steer without its front wheels on the ground.

3) The frame and body of a Corvette are doing good to hold themselves together without the added load of the vehicle being towed.

Our government is not made to provide welfare, universal medical insurance, comprehensive environmental regulation, domestic spying, the war on drugs, the war on poverty, the war on everything but war....I could go on and on and on and on...

To put it simply, you want to know why we're trillions in debt (and sinking) and massive programs like Obamacare are failing before they even get started?

Because a Corvette makes a lousy tow truck.

Progress

This is the place in many such articles where the writer scrawls out "Webster's defines 'progress' as..."

I won't insult your intelligence. If you are reading this, there is a relatively excellent chance that you get the basic gist of the meaning of this word.

So we'll progress.

I'm having a serious issue of late with one of the many derivatives of this word. "Progressive". No, not Flo and her prodigious efforts to save you money on car insurance. Let's talk politics for a few.

Back to the beginning of our nation. Men argued, shot at each other, endured hardships untold and laid their honor on the line. And then they started a war. Fed up with the king and his never-ceasing power to interfere in their daily lives, they sent him a Dear John...er...George letter and informed him that his power over the colonies had ended.

We call this the beginning of the American Experiment. It is called that because it was a breaking away from the prevailing political philosophy of the day. The world was just beginning to emerge from the Divine Right of Kings that taught that the king, el rey, le roi, the tsar, the emperor, etc. was put into his position of authority by God and therefore was to be followed unconditionally.

New philosophers came along that taught of liberty, equality, democracy, the republic - not new concepts by any means but concepts that were not in practical, widespread use in Western Civilization. When these concepts found a foothold in the New World, an experiment was born. The world was watching to see what would come of it.

The first lesson was that freedom and independence are great motivators for the home team. Crispus Attucks and the others facing off against the Lobsterbacks. Patrick Henry's passionate "Give me liberty or give me death!" Nathan Hale standing on the gallows lamenting the fact that he could only give all for his country once. The bloody footprints of patriots in the snow of Valley Forge. A young Polish nobleman named Cassimir Pulaski dying alongside a ragtag bunch, including slaves and Haitians, during the assault on occupied Savannah. And John Paul Jones wasn't even getting warmed up yet.

Why did they do this? What makes a man endure the cold snow of of December in Pennsylvania with no shoes? What makes a school teacher stand confidently at the gallows wishing he could do it again? What makes a man like Pulaski seek a new homeland to fight for?

It was the concept. Home rule. Self-determination. The opportunity to fly or fall. Freedom from Big Government's umbrella - be it protecting or interloping. That's why we call it Independence Day.

From that point the experiment spread. Soon French revolutionaries would storm the Bastille and then overthrow their despot and embark on an experiment of their own. From this point, monarchy was on the wane in the West. It was a colossal shift in ideology. Freedom progressed.

So why do we look at the modern philosophy that vows to pull us further and further under the Big Government umbrella as "progressive"? When the Israelites in Sinai lamented and begged to return to Egypt no one called them "progressive". Had Lewis and Clark stopped at the Mississippi and turned back, would we call them "progressive"?

So why is centralization and constant strengthening of government power within the ultimate experiment of decentralized power considered to be a "progressive" philosophy? Why is it "progressive" to stand at the palace gates and beg for food money or medical insurance or the rights that the Constitution already acknowledged that we have? Why is it that, in this experiment to see just how little government men can get by on, it is considered "progressive" to see how much government we can create? How is that progress?

The men at Valley Forge did not leave bloody footprints in the snow so they could apply for food stamps. Nathan Hale did not lament only being executed once so we could buy federally mandated medical insurance. Cassimir Pulaski and his diverse band did not bleed in Savannah for graduated income taxes. Crispus Attucks did not die for mandatory fluorescent light bulbs And they surely did not die so that we would have to sit still and humbly obey the orders of despots that enrich their personal finances on the money they seize from ours.

If you leave a locale because you hate it, go to a better place and then return to your starting point again....that's not progressive. That's regressive.

What's in a name?

Names can be funny things. Used to give a proper identification to all the special nouns in our lives, names can inspire the good and bad emotions of people depending on how we associate the terms with our personal lives.

Just for a start: I've climbed the peaks of each of the seven hills of Rome, toured the historic centers of education in Athens, investigated the warrior culture in Sparta, searched for a pot of gold in Dublin, heard the music in Vienna, sampled the sausages of Bremen and just missed a soccer game in Manchester.

All without ever leaving Georgia.

Some of these names have origins that are sort of obvious. Throughout the South you'll find the names of the great cities of antiquity, especially places named in the Scriptures. There are associations with such places that Southerners wished to celebrate and, on some level, emulate.

But names also play another role - helping us identify foreigners:

If you go to South Georgia and you pronounce "Cairo" they way they do on CNN, you have blown your cover. The word is "Kayro".

There are two kinds of people that pronounce "Bowdon" with a long first O - Yankees and the new guy on the six o'clock Atlanta news.

Albany is in New York, "all-BANNY" is down yonder past Cordele (cor-DEAL).

LaFayette was the great Frenchman that came to America's aid. We thanked him by naming a town "luh-FET" in his honor.

For security purposes, I cannot disclose more than that.

But I can mention some places with names even I don't understand. Places like The Rock, Smarr, Ludowici, Unadilla and, of course, Enigma.

And then there's Warwoman Dell...be afraid. Be very afraid.

But lest you believe oddball names are unique to Georgia:

There is a place in South Alabama called Smut Eye. I've seen some local folklore that suggests women using this term to scold their husbands for sitting at the blacksmith's shop & drinking beer. Supposedly they came home with the smut from the forge all over their faces and the ladies knew where they had been. The name stuck, or so says the legend. But who knows where the name really came from?

When I was an adolescent, long before my enlightenment of the French language and cultural background of the Gulf Coast, we visited Gautier, MS. I didn't think it was any gautier than the next town. But, than again, you never know.

I spent two nights in Sulphur, LA. There's a name to really summon good feelings. Made me wonder if the rival high school might be down the road in Methane.

And Florida isn't off the hook because I've been to Interlachen, Lochloosa and Blitchton - and if you aren't careful with those, you might get your mouth washed out with soap.

While I do know that such names are not unique to the South, they ingrained in our maps and on our landscape. A little stretch off the beaten path and you might find yourself in one of these places. Might not be a skyscraper or a water park there but you might have found an excellent conversation piece.

Sitting On a Rock Wall

So I was sitting in the cemetery today. 

Great way to start a blog post. Let's rewind a bit.

It was pretty cold and midday so I stopped at Crawdaddy's food truck and picked up a bowl of gator chili with a scoop of Voodoo Pimanese and trucked it towards my favorite quiet lunch spot.

Sidebar: today I learned that Walgreen's at the corner of Turner McCall and Martha Berry has the same glass bottles of Coke that Foster's Mill Store sells but they don't have wooden floors, no antique Coke box and if you try to open your bottle on the front of their cooler the manager will throw you out in the street.

So it goes.

Back to the serious stuff. Ok, back to this entry anyway.

So I'm sitting there with Augustus Wright eating reptile meat, beans and cheese that may or may not be cursed. Judge Wright died in 1891. That might explain why he didn't have much to say. So I pull up my music and listen to some Allman Brothers. They wrote most of their music in Rose Hill Cemetery, so I found the selection appropriate.

So I'm sitting on the top of the stone wall with lichens growing on the capstone next to me. I'm eating my chili and drinking vanilla Coke from a plastic bottle and plotting revenge against the poor unsuspecting Walgreen's manager while feeling the "cold wind blowin' through my achin' bones". A van load of sightseers drove past with that all too familiar "look at the weirdo eating lunch in the cemetery" look on their faces. I waved with my plastic spoon and mumbled something about tourists that only the judge could hear. It must not have been very funny. He didn't laugh.

It's only a few more feet to the top of the hill and no one is going to stop long with a weirdo on the loose so the van comes back by soon and faster than it went up. I waved again.

Oh well.

But then I bag up my trash and stand up to walk around to tell the judge goodbye. There's a flash at the corner of my eye and I turn to see a cyclist zipping down the hill. Now where did he come from? He didn't go up the hill. I've been sitting here the whole time. I noticed he was glancing back over his shoulder, looking at me a lot like I was looking at him - each of us wondering what kind of weirdo would...never mind.

In closing, if you haven't had Crawdaddy's gator chili with Voodoo Pimanese, you need to. Their po boys are awesome as well. And the bread pudding with the rum sauce. Tell you what...if it comes out of that trailer, it's good. Go eat something.

Myrtle Hill is a great place for a quiet lunch. But go visit Von Gammon, John Billups or Calvin King. The Judge is spoken for. Oh, First Lady Ellen Wilson likes company too. And if you do visit Mr. King, don't bring banana ice cream. His wife, Fannie, is not a fan of it.

*Myrtle Hill Cemetery has a mobile app available in Android and iOS formats. The app is a great source of information on this beautiful historic cemetery. You can find the app in the App Store or wherever Android users find apps. 

The American South, the Past That Points to the Future.

Sometimes we can find a clear path to the future by looking into the past. So what I want to do right now is to ask you to let your imaginations carry you to the front porch of a two-story Victorian in South Georgia or a wrought iron veranda in New Orleans or maybe just take a walk through a stand of moss-covered live oaks along the Gulf Coast of Alabama. It’s ok if you sweat a little. Feel free to fan yourself a bit of blow the gnats out of your face.

Are you there?

First things first. There are some ugly truths in the place we are going. Things that cannot be removed or undone. Indian treaties, Slavery, Jim Crow and one terribly nasty and quite uncivil war. We can’t undo them so we learn from them, become better for it and move on. The future is counting on us.

Due to the darkness of our past, we are now a land of great diversity. We still have our issues and we have to continue to work to learn to live together, learn from each other and eventually come to trust each other. In accomplishing those goals, we have a strength of culture – look at our food, our art, our music, our literature: they tell of the lessons that our past has taught us and could only come from a shared experience that is not always pleasant.

Today the South is vibrant, hopeful and diverse. We have industry, commerce and our age-old agriculture to provide for our families. So get any thoughts of slavery, the Ku Klux Klan and all that crap out of your head right now. We.re taking that garbage out right now, the truck will pick it up and carry it to the landfill of history where it will be remembered but not repeated.

So let’s talk about the South

The Prehistoric South

The first Southerners came to the area during the Mississippi period. After ages of nomadic people, hunters and gatherers came the first true settlements in the area. This was when people learned that seeds could be placed in the ground, cared for and they could yield stable sustenance.

People still relied on hunting and gathering but agriculture enabled them to become long-term inhabitants of the same location. Once people could settle down, they began to form the sort of society that we can really learn from. We can assume the nomadic peoples had a semblance of society but they didn’t leave enough of a mark to know what it really looked like.

The Mississippian people planted what are known as the three sisters: corn, beans and squash. Corn grew tall and provided a “pole” for the beans to grown on. Beans returned nitrogen to the soil and the squash made a natural mulch. The three plants all helped each other. So even the crops were in community. These three crops were the staples of these people groups. No doubt other crops were grown but it was the Three Sisters that formed the cornerstone of early Southern agriculture. And to this day, corn, beans and squash are important in Southern cuisine. It was naturally sustainable agriculture.

So we know how people came to settle down. Then they began to build a society. We see these sites even today in places like Cartersville, GA, Macon, GA and at the Shiloh Battlefield in southern Tennessee. There are many others but these are three I’ve seen with my own eyes. The people built mounds that remain today. In these mounds researchers have found their tools, ceremonial items, pottery and other items that point us to their ways of life. They built great temples with precision that indicates they studied the movement of celestial bodies and the changing of seasons. They had structure in their society. The gathering places, games and religions indicate a community, not just a town.

Eventually groups like the Cherokees and the Creeks would have even more refinement and education built into their societies. Complex government structure and a layered society, agriculture and commerce were all a part of the groups’ ways of life. These Southerners were different than our Mississippian forebears but still similar in many ways. Their harmony with the land, their understanding that the land fed and clothed them made it important and they cared for it as well.

The Antebellum South

Well, in came the European settlers and remarkably, these people groups were shuttled away – a fact that I think serves as a bit of foreshadowing in our tale that we are working on.

The people that “settled” the South were also agrarians. They raised crops, not only for food but for industry as well. Cash crops like cotton and tobacco made many farmers wealthy. Sugar and rice were food crops but also cash crops as these food items came in high demand. Slavery did play an important role but many farmers that did not own slaves also farmed these crops as well.

Southerners typically grew all their food as well as their cash crops. What livestock that was raised typically went to feed the people on the farm in question – slave and free alike. Food was not typically imported from off the ground of the farm, much less another state or country.

Towns existed to support farms. What little industry emerged in the South was purely secondary to agriculture. People lived on the land, made the most of what they had and knew the importance of the land to their survival. Abusing the land was never a thought. You depended on it too much.

The social strata supported community. Even the slaves forged a distinct culture – they made music, told stories, and merged their long-treasured foods into the Southern society.

On the other end, the gentlemen used BBQs and parties and especially church (which may have been even more a social event than a spiritual one). These social gatherings were important to the fabric of Southern culture. For rural people, there weren’t really “neighbors” per se. But these opportunities helped to form society, even far from town.

The War and Reconstruction

I don’t really want to dwell on the increasingly nasty debate pertaining to the real causes of the War Between the States. I want to look at the outcomes – and not the ones talked about a lot today.

Primarily, the industrial model of society met the agrarian model on the battlefield. The industrial model was victorious. During the four years that the South had no representation in Washington, all the rules were changed. The South reentered the union to face an industrial economy – one that favored factories and merchants over farmers

Almost immediately, Northern businessmen began to buy the farms of Southerners that had no means of affording them. These farms were often consolidated into large operations that supported industry.

These former farmers began to form a workforce of cheap labor that Northern industrialists were more than happy to exploit. Soon factories, especially cotton mills, began to spring up all over the South. Small farms began a steady decline that eventually led to their practical extinction.

Cities began to really develop. Atlanta, Birmingham, Nashville – places that were really small towns by northern standards, if they existed at all, began to develop as industrial centers. Smog. Sludge. Slag.

Over the years cities gave birth to suburbs, highways, strip malls (sounds a lot like “strip mine”, doesn’t it?) and every other generic, cookie cutter idea of development known to man.

Blah.

In recent years there have been movements that suggest certain reforms are needed. People talk about carbon footprints, sustainable products and organic food grown within 100 miles of the consumption location, ecological awareness and sensitivity.

Basically, they want us to be like the Old South. Each and every topic discussed was something that was born in the Dixie of old. They want us to go back – though I don’t think they realize it. Everything that Sherman burned, shot, stabbed or trampled - someone is crying, yearning and begging for right now.

So how do we get back?

The Challenge of the New South

We as Southerners need to lead the way back. But to do that, we have to go back ourselves. We have to learn that architecture is an art, that community is all of us and that agriculture can exist without industry but that industry without agriculture is just pollution created by the starving.

I love what Booker T. Washington said, “No race can prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem.”

We need to make industry respect agriculture again. Before the war, a concept like Farm Aid was absurd. Farming was an honest living and successful farmers were among the wealthiest men in the nation. There is no shame in feeding our society. And take this thought with you as you ponder: The average age of a farmer in American is 57.

What are you going to be eating in 10 years?

So, what are our objectives?

I think first and foremost we have to create a friendly atmosphere for agriculture. We need young men and women to want to enter this field. We need to invest time and effort into organizations like the Future Farmers of America. We need kids to know that farming is important and that it is a viable profession – and we need those ideas to be true.

We need to remove the stigma that has become associated with the family farm. When people take the time and the effort to grow their own food, make their own clothes, live off the land in a way that is supported by the land they live on, they are not worthy of ridicule. I personally am not lining up to take on that lifestyle myself but we must allow people the right to live in a manner that is best for them. Let them do their thing.

We need to have a focus on our community. Let’s be willing to do business with our neighbors. Let’s allow our schools, houses of worship, civic organizations, businesses and families to work together to form a social network in which we can live, do business and raise our children.

Our diversity is a strength. Many of our communities might be built on ethnic, religious or cultural similarities. If that is the case they may look less diverse than communities based on other similarities. But each community will depend on the others around it. We can’t get bogged down in forcing communities. Let them form as they will. They have to be organic to be healthy.

We need to build beauty in our communities. The natural world is beautiful and that needs to be fostered and protected but we need spaces in our communities that inspire people. Places that make them feel good to be in. The old Southern homes, schools, main streets, town squares – all of it – were typically visually pleasing spaces. There was craftsmanship in the construction. The architecture was an art, not just a structure. We need that again, if for nothing else but our own sanity.

 

So I ask you:

 

What is the carbon footprint of a cotton field?

 

Is community fostered more in a picturesque downtown area or in a generic strip mall?

 

If I need to eat food from within 100 miles at home, what can I practically grow in the 100’ space off my back porch?

 

Do I care enough about my community to do business with my neighbors?

 

Does diversity make us stronger?

 

I think as we seek out the answers to these and other questions, we can find solutions to our problems if we are just willing to take a look backwards and to our South.

Connect

I've been thinking about my writing. I've been thinking about history - not that is anything new.

But I've been thinking about people. Not half-crazed history nerds sitting on a stone wall in an old cemetery drinking a milkshake and reading a book about the guy buried in the plot next to him. I mean normal people. The kind of folks that get up in the morning, go to work, come home, eat supper, watch some TV, take a shower and go to bed. I realize that much of my activities are odd to normal folks. But I think that something about what I do resonates with people. 

Stick with me on this one.

I have spent my life immersed in history. Books, papers, tests, essays, microfiche, websites, professors, battlefields, museums, cemeteries. I've done it all. It's actually fun for me. But the normal person is not wired that way. Joe the rag man doesn't want to write, or read, a ten page annotated thesis on the similarities of Alex Stephens' "Cornerstone Speech" and the remarks of Abraham Lincoln during the fourth debate with Stephen Douglas at Charleston, IL in September, 1858. 

But those similarities are important. So is the rest of history. People need to know.

I'll make the statement, "people want to know". But they're afraid to attend a lecture. They hate writing papers and sure don't want to take any tests.

But here's what writing this blog has taught me. The four biggest entries (measured by page hits) include a tradition of hanging a star between the smokestacks of an old cotton mill, an ice cold glass bottle of coke in an old country store, my wife's entry about family recipes and the untimely death of a true hero..

People want history to matter. They want to see it, touch it, taste it, remember it. We need new ways to help them experience it - ways that they can connect with.

I want to further explore some of the ways people are doing that.  I'm excited to see what the folks at Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta are doing - from a Victorian festival to their "Run Like Hell" 5K. But that is just one example.

Long way around saying there's more history, nostalgia and culture to come...

A Star on the Rise...Again.

Cotton.

For years it was a way of life in this area. It was planted, harvested, baled, sold, shipped and even processed in this area.

Not far from where I'm sitting is a community. 125 years ago it was nothing but farmland. An old grist mill was the only hint of industry for miles.

One of the smokestacks standing tall.

Just before the turn of the century the Massachusetts Cotton Company bought the land and built a mill. In those days a mill meant a factory and a village - houses, a school, stores, churches, a doctor's office - it meant community. And that is what Lindale became.

For over a century life revolved around the mill. The whistle marked time as each generation relieved the next. And each generation passed down traditions to the next.

Mr. Bryant installing the pulleys Nov. 28, 1931

One such tradition began during the Great Depression. Like most places, Lindale was hit hard. In the depths of this time a star rose...quite literally. Mill employees built a 11'x11', 400 pound star adorned with 160 electrical lights, 80 on each side. They went out and secured the necessary rigging and hoisted their creation into the sky between the tall smokestacks that stood over the boiler house. The star was built to be large and bright enough to be seen by everyone in the village. It was meant to give the community hope and bring everyone closer together. 

It worked.

For 70 years mill workers hoisted the star into place every December. Men who grew up in the village spending childhood Christmases in the glow of the star took the task from their fathers as the reigns were passed from generation to generation. The star was as sure and as longed for as ol' St. Nick. The mill changed hands many times but the star was constant.

But times change. In September 2001, the Lindale Mill was shuttered. The massive brick complex fell silent and the community began to prepare for the worst.

In 2006, the mill changed hands again and the ropes for hanging the star were cut. The tradition was dead.

But that's not how this story was meant to end. 

A group called Arimathea Holdings, LLC purchased the mill. Much of the complex had been neglected and abused. Some remaining structures had to be demolished. But much of the space was saved and businesses were found to lease some of the space. The boiler house and the iconic smokestacks are still standing. The new owners expressed a desire to preserve the remaining parts of the mill and for it to be available for the community. 

Enter Restoration Lindale. This community group has mobilized in amazing ways. They've restored the old mill pond. Hauled off dozens of dump truck loads of debris and brush, they've cleaned gutters, planted trees, reintroduced ducks to the pond, hung flags for holidays and so much more. They've done it with their own time and money.

And this Christmas, they're going to hang a star between the smokestacks at the old mill. 

The star being raised.

The idea is for it to be big enough for everyone in the village to see it. They hope it will inspire hope and bring the community closer together. Something tells me it's going to work. 

But maybe that's just the historian inside me.

Arimathea Holdings LLC has already made generous donations and concessions to make this happen. Restoration Lindale is planning on "selling" the 160 light bulbs to help raise money to continue their efforts to restore their community. A $25 donation will let you honor a family member or friend that worked at the mill with their own light in the star. I plan to be one of those donors in memory of W. A. Carver, my great uncle, who spent decades working in the mill and playing his guitar on the front porch of the house he bought from the mill (unless my cousin beats me to it - in which case I'll let her take that honor.)

If you wish to help with any of the clean up days sponsored by Restoration Lindale, find them on Facebook. Their website can be found at: http://restorelindale.org 

Donations can also be made to the following address:

Restoration Lindale Inc

534 Reeceburg Rd.

Silver Creek, Ga. 30173

Falls

The stunning drop of Amicalola

Tucked here in the mountains of North Georgia are some of the most beautiful waterfalls you could ever wish to see. The mountain streams carry the runoff of the rains and the rocks give each tiny droplet an encouraging nudge, sending it on its long journey to the Atlantic or the Gulf.

One such place is in Dawson County. Amicalola Falls drops 729 feet to the rocks on the bottom. Surrounded by a state park with miles of hiking trails, cottages, a lodge, picnic shelters and, of course, the highest waterfall in Georgia.

It's all open right now and, if the past is any indication, quite busy with folks enjoying the fall weather.

Me and some of my trusted researchers at Anna Ruby Falls

Down the highway a spell you'll find a shorter, but no less impressive, set of falls. Anna Ruby Falls (not to be confused with the subterranean version that you can "see" in Chattanooga) is the confluence of Curtis and York Creeks as the form Smith Creek somewhere on the way down. 

You enter through Unicoi State Park and then pass through the gate into the Chattahoochee National Forest. There's a parking area, a nature trail, a mock up of an old moonshine outfit and a small visitor center.

And it's all locked up tighter than a drum.(But Unicoi is open)

While our legislature and governor in Atlanta might not be perfect, they are open. So are the governments in each of the other 49 (not 56) states. Composed of a total of roughly 7500 state legislators and 50 governors, every last state has a functioning government. 

But in all of those 50 states, waterfalls, monuments, historic home places, battlefields, museums and mountains are closed. Locked up. Sorry about your luck.

Without getting into how much of the closure is warranted and how much of it is a temper tantrum by a President suffering from acute Washington Monument Syndrome (look that one up) I really want to express my disappointment in the inability of the property owners to access public property because Washington can't get it together. 

But I'm proud that the states are all operating. From conservative Texas to socialist Vermont, they're all open.

Here's my idea. Let's contact our representatives. No, not those turkeys in Washington. They quit listening back somewhere around the Jackson administration. Get in touch with your state folks and thank them for being open. Encourage them to investigate the possibilities of adopting some of these federal sites from their unfit stewards. 

Our people rely on these sites and the people that visit them to support their businesses and livelihoods. We need these places to preserve the stories of our history, our culture and our land. And we need to access them to learn, teach and remember.

Before anyone suggests that the states can't afford such a burden, the National Park Service is 1/16 of 1% of the federal budget. When they actually bother to pass one. The states are paying for them anyway and all of them are suffering from the loss of tourism dollars due to closed parks. 

Let's trust our parks to the people that can manage to keep them open.

Shutdown

This is going to be pretty short and sweet. Well...short anyway.

I find it unsettling that the "shutdown" of the Federal Government will hit "nonessential" areas while leaving others in business as usual.

Apparently anyone charged with the task of protecting, preserving, researching and teaching us about our history, culture, heritage or identity as a nation is "nonessential" and will be temporarily out of work while the people that spy on us, the people that remove money from our pay checks before we even see them or the goobers from both parties that actually got us in this mess to begin with are essential and will never miss a minute.

What's wrong with this world?

Reflections of Chickamauga, a Pictoral.

A few pictures from the 150th anniversary of the second bloodiest battle of the Civil War. The commemoration is behind us but may we never forget.

This site, in downtown LaFayette, was Bragg's pre-battle headquarters.

The visitor center at the Chickamauga Battlefield site is a must see for park visitors.



Georgia monuments along Alexander Bridge Rd at Battleline Rd.

Lt. Howard M. Burnham, USA & Col. Peyton H. Colquitt, CSA, killed in action at Chickamauga on 9/19 & 9/20, respectively.

This cannonball stack marks the spot where Col. Peyton Colquitt fell.

Lt. Howard Burnham's grave site, Longmeadow, MA

The Georgia Monument at the site where Longstreet crushed the Union line

 

Lt. Gen. James Longstreet



Snodgrass House which served as a makeshift hospital after the battle ended.

 

Minnesotans commemorating the last valiant stand that prevented the destruction of the Army of the Cumberland, Snodgrass Hill.

 

The battle ended after a fierce fight on and around Snodgrass Hill as the Union forces retreated hastily toward the safety of Chattanooga.

 

 

Chickamauga, 150 Years Later

I have long pondered how I would commemorate the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Chickamaga. This battle that is not actually in my back yard produced a volume of cannon fire that could literally be heard here at the house, roughly a one hour trip using modern contrivances.

It took the war several months and thousands of lives to get here.

I know there is a lot of discussion about Bragg, Rosecrans, Forrest, Thomas and other generals. Highlights and the celebrities of the war will cover many accounts of the battle. 

But I want to do something different. I'm going to mention two men, one from each nation involved, and put a face on this battle. So here we go.

Lt. Walter H. Burnham, USA

Lt. Walter M. Burnham is no relation to me. We aren't cousins. I checked. He was leading a battery of Union artillery in the opening stages of the battle on September 19, 1863. When his battery came under a charge of Confederate infantry. With little infantry support of his own and his horses killed by enemy fire, Burnham ordered his men to fight to keep the guns from being captured. Heavy rifle fire resulted in many casualties, including Lt. Burnham who fell mortally wounded but still encouraging his men to defend their cannons. 

The Union officer was only 21 years old. He was an educated man who had a bright, promising future. But all of that ended in the woods of Northwest Georgia 150 years ago today. 

The place where he fell is marked by a monument that is easily accessible on the General Bragg Trail at Chickamauga Battlefield. He was buried in his native Massachusetts.

Col. Peyton H. Colquitt was a native Georgian. In fact, Colquitt County is named for his father, Walter Colquitt. His brother was an officer in the Confederate Army as well and would eventually serve as both a senator and governor of Georgia.

All indications are that Peyton's future would have been that successful. But that future was deferred. He was killed around noon on the second day of fighting. He was one of four Confederate Army commanders that would perish while fighting at "The River of Death". He was 31 years old. The spot where he fell is marked by a large stack of cannonballs  near the intersection of Alexander Bridge Rd and Battleline Rd. It's within walking distance of the Walter Burnham site. The banner photo currently displayed at the top of this blog was taken just feet from the stack of cannonballs.

I picked these two men because, while they're not average enlisted men, they are relatively unheard of. Their last names got my attention for different reasons. They fought for opposing armies. Their homelands were as different as daylight and dark. But their fate at Chickamauga was identical. 

Burnham was one of the 1,657 killed of the 16,170 Union casualties. Peyton was one of the 2,312 killed of the 18,454 Confederate casualties. The total casualty numbers for the two day battle are second only to the three days at Gettysburg.

Like most of the casualties, Howard and Peyton were young. Like many others, they were fighting for their convictions. Like many others, they fought bravely and died in the service of their country. 

4,000 men killed in two days. 30,000 others wounded, missing or captured.

Two days.

Two men. One for each army. One killed on each day. Different men, same fate. Multiplied 2000 times each.

That was Chickamauga.

Foster's Mill

A small wood framed structure surrounded by dirt and gravel. Tin signs nailed to the board and batten siding advertise soft drinks, bologna and fishing bait. A rusty pickup truck is parked out on the lawn.

Sounds like a picture of yesteryear.

But this was a scene I walked into last week.

Sitting at the intersection where Blacks Bluff Rd meets GA Highway 100 between Coosa and Cave Spring sits a local landmark. The Foster's Mill Store was an old place on my first visit back in my early childhood. Over the few decades since it has changed, including sitting empty as well as suffering damage in a fire around the turn of this century.

But a recent reopening afforded me an opportunity to test out the new incarnation. I walked in the front door, opened the top on an antique drink cooler, grabbed a glass bottle of Coca-Cola and opened it with the bottle opener mounted on the front of the box. This is not the first time I have done such a thing. But with the advent of the convenience store, the high-volume wall cooler and the plastic bottle with the twist off top it is becoming more and more rare.

Considering just such a store sits across the highway peddling energy drinks, gasoline, lottery tickets and glow-in-the-dark birth control options, this jewel of antiquity had to opt for a change. The proximity of popular fishing holes kept them in the bait business. The old store also sells local honey, BBQ sauce, coffee and such items as one might expect in an old country store. However, much of the space that would be devoted to the sundries that can be found in the new store across the highway has been devoted to preparing some delicious wares for breakfast and lunch.

A highly-trained special research task force investigated the location and therefore I can report as follows:

Photo courtesy Sarah Kibble, Charis Images

The Coke is imported from Mexico. Sounds bad at first, especially in Georgia.  However, The imported beverage contains no corn syrup. It is sweetened with real sugar and I think that makes the drink taste a lot less...well...syrupy, if you can believe that. Until you drink a Coke from a glass bottle you haven't had a real bottle of Coca-Cola. And yes, I expressed my concern to Coke's PR department about having to import real Coke into Georgia from Mexico but I was unable to get more than a robot response.

So it goes.

So there is a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. They make it with the hoop cheese that they sell. (Take that, peddlers of glow-in-the-dark birth control!) The biscuit is pretty standard. I could probably find a better one around these parts  if I looked hard enough but there's nothing wrong with it by any means. The bacon was good as was the egg and the cheese was...yes...you must try it.

 

Then there is the bologna. Not that Oscar Meyer stuff, the good bologna they sell along with the hoop cheese. And yes, they'll fry it for you and slap a slice of cheesy goodness on it inside a bun and serve it up. Reportedly goes great with the Coke.

And then there is a cast iron skillet that sits on the counter covered by a cloth (this is rural Georgia, not NYC). Underneath the cloth I found pecan skillet cake and chess pie. It was  a tough choice but the tie always goes to the pecan so that was what I tried. I was pretty impressed.

The atmosphere is made complete with rocking chairs, a covered porch with outdoor seating complete with bottle cap checkers. There are crickets and minnows available for purchase and the staff members on hand were very friendly. The outhouse is of the portable variety and is not true to the period of the store's heyday...but then again...maybe that's today.




Today's Coca-Cola photos are provided courtesy of Sarah Kibble of Charis Images. Special thanks to her for sharing her talents as a Georgia photographer.

A few memories.

I thought it might be funny to share some of the things I remember from previous trips around the sun. I'll try not to incriminate too many of my old companions just in case the statute of limitations hasn't passed on some of these.

I've ridden the oldest platform carousel in the United States. I even caught the brass ring. Catching the brass ring won me a free ride...which meant Grandpa didn't have to pay for the second ride, not that he would have minded. For anyone curious in trying this one out, the Flying Horses Carousel is located in Oak Bluffs, MA.

I've seen a manatee in it's natural environment. It swam right past our fishing boat while we were trying to cover the need for the family fish fry. Paw Paw always invited the family first, then sent us to get the fish. Lots of company coming...no fish, no eat...no pressure? Right? Cane poles in hand, we got it done. Every time. On a separate occasion, an alligator decided to swim under our boat, adding a serious competitor to our goal. He didn't go hungry. Neither did we.

I met THE Larry Munson, a feat that is probably impressive to a Tech fan and maybe even the alligator I mentioned above.

In the same category, I met THE Bobby Bowden. One of the most personable and gracious people you'd ever care to meet.

I was wounded on board the USS Alabama. Yep, spilled my blood on the teak decks of the mighty battleship that was decommissioned 28 years before I was born. How could such a thing be true? Because I'm an intense (and remarkably clumsy) tourist. I recommend a visit to anyone that loves history, grand views of the open water, ships or anything and everything pertaining to the second world war.  The open-head-wound is purely optional and can be declined by carefully negotiating the forward main gun turrets. The Battleship Memorial Park is located just off I-10 on the east end of Mobile. If you can find the interstate, the rest is easy. The park will be the place with the big gray boat. You can't miss it.

Alright, lets talk about the not so innocent.

Ever been to a rock concert and have the lead singer scold you from the stage? I didn't think so. It may or may not have been my friend's fault. We're not sure. We weren't really in a condition to remember fine details of the events but we know that the Black Crowes don't enjoy nonsense "back there". Yep, all the way in the back. Apparently, he could see us better than we could see him. Sheesh.

I went bar hopping with a bald headed man who insisted we call him "Fuzzy". We knew the guy pretty well. We went anyway. Ok, so we went because it was Fuzzy. A bar can be a hilarious place to go with a magician. The look on the faces of fellow patrons when Fuzzy made a stuffed bulldog shoot fire from its butt across the pool table....yeah. Human decency, personal humility and the aforementioned statute of limitations restrict me from sharing much more about the evening but we wound up eating pancake sandwiches in a place called "Restaurant" at 3 a.m. We spent the next morning riding a city bus to Steak n' Shake. Two hours on a bus for a Steakburger and a chocolate shake. Totally worth it. (This is a non-compensated message by an actual customer and not a scripted advertisement by a paid actor or attorney.)

I still love the Black Crowes, scolding and all. I've been in touch with all my fellow bus riders, except ol' Fuzzy. I hope he's still out there somewhere doing tricks with stuffed bulldogs, dollar bills and colorful handkerchiefs.

Alright, that's enough for now. I'm hoping to be writing about some happy news very soon. So stay tuned.

Oh, and I've added links to Twitter and Instagram in the links to the right, in case you want to follow all this rambling beyond just what is written here. Now you can see impromptu photographs and thoughts restricted to 140 characters. There's a Google+ button as well, in case one of the 11 or 12 people over there find their way here and want to find me there.

Until next time...

Change of Detergent

So I have this friend. He moved to a new home a few months back. He told me the other day that he received a change of address form from his bank. It came in the mail. To his new address. It had the new address on the envelope,

How did they know where to send it?

How am i supposed to do an entire article on something that silly yet so simple? Never mind. Change topics.

We ran out of dishwasher detergent a week or so back. So I go to the nearby "discount" store. Remember? The one that keeps their box fans in the women's undergarments section? Yeah, that's the place. I was looking through the options and pondering the "deals" and thinking that somehow spending a few more dimes for "the same" product might somehow mean less money for books, Disney trips, exploration of distant cemeteries, National Geographic magazines (I read them for the articles), Robert Toombs trading cards (I've never seen any before but you gotta be ready just in case you do stumble across something like that) or, of course, a 12-pound Napoleon field cannon for the front yard. So I got a bargain. A pack of the little pre-measured pouches that dissolve in water.

Those little pouches that are supposed to dissolve in water. The engineering marvel of our time, the magic packages made of cellulose or whatever that know the magic time to release their payload and overwhelm the forces of spaghetti sauce, coffee and bread crumbs leaving your dishes sparkling clean and spot-free. 

Those aren't the the pouches on special in the land of breezy lingerie. When you check the dishwasher and find the little pouch looking up from its designated bomb bay and seemingly laughing hysterically as you hope that the dry cycle didn't eternally bake the spaghetti sauce onto the wine glasses - because dishwasher collateral damage is a very real first-world problem.

So I'm looking back at the maniacal pouch while the terrible visions of toddlers in Southeast Asian sweatshops packing washing powders into those little ziplock baggies that cocaine dealers use and shrink wrapping them closed dance in my head. 

Poor kids. And I'm at fault for their misery all because I want a period-authentic artillery piece next to the holly bush when I could settle for a garden gnome like a normal person. Wait...do they make fair-trade garden gnomes?

And there is still spaghetti sauce on my coffee mugs.

Lesson learned. The sweatshop variety pouches are not that great of a bargain.

So your homework is to find fair-trade garden gnomes. I'm going to run the dishwasher again and see if I can figure out how that change of address form made it to my friend's mailbox. Well, that and track down some Robert Toombs trading cards.

Belles.

There's no place for trashy women on this blog. Period.

So let's talk about some real women.

Rosalind Burns Gammon- Mother of University of Georgia fullback Von Gammon. Von was killed in a tragic accident in the game versus the University of Virginia in 1897. Mrs. Gammon petitioned Governor William Atkinson to veto a rapidly passed bill that would have banned the sport from all publicly funded schools in Georgia. Not only did she lobby her congressman and the governor, she successfully stopped the law and encouraged reforms that would make football safer for the players. This was 24 years before women could legally vote in Georgia.

Martha McChesney Berry - The founder of the Berry Schools (Berry College). She started a school for mountain children that grew into one of the finest educational institutions in the United States. She drew in donations from businessmen, presidents, celebrities and even the Queen of England so that poor children could have an opportunity to get an education they otherwise could never afford.

Harper Lee-  Born in Monroeville, Alabama (just trust me, there really is a Monroeville and no, you don't know where it is.) In 1926, she is known for writing what is quite possibly the greatest book in all of American Literature. This lady has been awarded the Pulitzer Prize and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Her book is also one of the most frequently banned books in the country - which, of course, means it is really good.

Nancy Morgan Hart - Affectionately known as "The Warwoman", this smallpox survivor was a resident of northeast Georgia during the Revolutionary War. The legend, which seems to have been since confirmed, states that she killed two British soldiers after they demanded that she prepare them a meal. She held their four companions at gunpoint until her husband and his friends arrived and hung the remaining redcoats. Many other legends about Hart are told to this day.

I could keep going, telling stories of Margaret Mitchell, Juliette Gordon Low, Emma Sansom, Helen Keller, and on and on and on. Women that write, think, act, defend, read, create, succeed, excel and provide. They do this because of something inside them. They have value that they add to the world and we are all better for it. Here's an opportunity to shine a spotlight on women and some encouragement to encourage girls to do something significant and meaningful with their life.

The magnificent thing about this is that I have only mentioned Southern women in this post. There are women like this all over this nation, even all over the world. Where is the spotlight? Where is the attention? Where are the parents pointing their daughters toward these women as role models? Where are the parents showing their sons "real women" and encouraging them to seek out these types - the women who can be meaningful mates, friends, life-long companions, mothers? Where?

I, for one, am encouraging my sons, teaching them how to recognize a lady and how to be a gentleman. My wife is right there with me. She is not only telling them but is also providing an example for them to follow.

So females, get out of the bathroom, tuck in those duck lips and quit "twerking". It isn't unique, it isn't significant and it sure isn't new. They don't call it the "world's oldest profession" for nothing. Yes, you're grown and can do what you want. I just hope that sometime soon you'll want to do something that matters.

Ugly (Redux)

I've decided that, in the wake of current events, it is appropriate to revisit an old topic again. I think that it is important in these times to really connect with what is happening in Syria, Egypt and other nations (including Libya) and our role in the turmoil that is growing rampant in our world.

A few years ago, I wrote about a book that really impacted me and opened my eyes in many ways. http://allthebiscuitsingeorgia.blogspot.com/2010/06/ugly.html I want to re share some of my previous thoughts and reflect on where our nation has arrived since then.

After the assault on our embassy in Libya and the subsequent actions in other nations in that region, I thought about how ugly things were growing and about the ugliness that was at least partially to blame. The book I'm referencing was published in 1958 and since that date we have learned almost nothing about foreign policy in this nation. In fact, we might be more incompetent than we were then.

There is plenty of blame to go around. The current administration has done an abysmal job in this area. Hillary Clinton was a nightmare as secretary of state and will only be worse if elected president. In her defense, she was trying to manage to operate in a climate that was bitter from decades of mismanagement of US foreign policy.

As I recall my reading of "The Ugly American" and the uphill battle that so many characters in that book had to fight to try to enact the types of policies that would make our international efforts effective and endear people to our nation I wonder what similar attempts are being thwarted by incompetence back home today. 

US response to their attempts not only undermined their efforts but also assisted the efforts of our rivals. The book was written by former members of the foreign service and was based on actual events. It was written as a warning of what could happen if we did not change our course. That was pre-Viet Nam. Reading this book helped me see just how preventable that war could have been.

When I hear the stories about Chris Stevens, the ambassador that the Obama Administration abandoned in the Benghazi attack, it reminds me of Gilbert MacWhite. His approach and the relationship he was establishing with the people of Libya held so much promise for our future relations with that nation. At least MacWhite was only fired.

The issue that I'm writing about is not a Republican problem and it is not a Democrat problem. It is an American problem as both parties have done terrible in foreign policy planning, organization and implementation. And it is a problem that is not going to change so long as people are not moved by dead people in the streets of Damascus or Cairo. When we realize that our shortcomings overseas are a direct consequence to our failure to realize that "all men are created equal" and that the founding axiom of our nation is true worldwide. We need some serious attention placed on what is going on. We don't need to get a bunch of our folks killed but we need to find ways to put an end to the killing that is going on and we need a course of action that will actually be effective overseas.

It's time to seriously ponder these issues and the effects they have on us all.