July 14, 2021, Crossville- After a sumptuous meal of R’s homemade pizza, and a restful night, the suggestion was made to visit Fall Creek Falls State Park, about 20 miles west of here. As state parks in Tennessee have free admission, and they are invariably filled with natural wonders, I was game.
C and I headed over, around 9:30, and found relatively few people on the trail to Fall Creek, one of two waterfalls in this park of short, but relatively challenging trails. Here are a few scenes of the main trail.
Fall Creek Falls, from overlookHard sandstone wall, Fall Creek TrailSandstone scramble, Fall Creek TrailFall Creek Falls, from the base of the trailFalls emptying into Fall Creek poolMillikan Overlook-In this area, Dr. Glenn Millikan, a professor at Vanderbilt University, fell to his death, in 1947.Suspension Bridge, south of Piney Falls Trail. Of course, when I was on it by myself, I had to bounce on it, just a little.Piney Falls, south of Fall Creek, is the more robust of the two waterfalls, at least right now.
It rained, off and on, while we were on the main trail, and it was rather slippery in spots. As we were coming back up from Fall Creek, we encountered at least two large groups of hikers coming down the trail. Fortunately, by the time they would have had to come back up, the sun was out again. The trooper of the day was a woman who went down and back up, in her flip flops-very gingerly and carefully. Two children wearing crocs get second and third place. I was shod in regular sneakers, and thus blended into the crowd.
July 13, 2021, Crossville, TN- Some places are easy to get in, and rather a stretch to exit. I-40, in the Memphis area is one such.
I woke fairly early, at the Super 8, near the National Museum of Metal and the Old French Fort, in Memphis’ Riverside District. Despite the rough and tumble veneer of the area, the place was actually quite safe. I had managed to get to this crowded and lively motel, last night, by taking the circuitous I-55 south-Riverside Drive detour, made necessary by the collapse of I-40’s bridge over the Mississippi River, between Memphis and West Memphis, earlier this year. The bridge is due to re-open around July 30, but here we are. The view of Old French Fort, from my balcony, was at least rather enchanting.
Old French Fort, near President’s Island, Memphis
Wanting to locate a comfortable coffee house in Memphis, to get at least a small bite of breakfast and some good java, I came upon a place listed as Bluff City Coffee and Bakery, diagonally across from the National Civil Rights Museum. It turns out to now be called Hustle & Dough– on the first floor of ARRIVE Boutique Hotel, serving Vice and Virtue Coffee. The vice is the delectable coffee-and maybe one or two of the shop’s richer pastries. The virtue is its line of teas, or so the story goes. “Hustle & Dough” is a play on the name of the 2005 film on Memphis life: Hustle and Flow.
Entrance to Hustle & Dough Coffee House/ARRIVE Hotel, Memphis
After breakfast came the fun part: Getting to I-40, headed east. It took about 45 minutes, through not-unreasonable traffic, to find an entry ramp to the eastbound 240, via U.S. Routes 78 and 72, and the business district of Memphis’ east side. The long and winding road set me eastward, finally and along with a front of storm clouds, producing a healthy amount of rain, I drove over to Wildersville, and Patty’s Southern Eatery. Ginger tried to get me to go with their mixed plate of the day which, as scrumptious as it looked, would have been much more than my capacity allowed-so Classic Southern Burger, it was. The lovely lady knew better than to even breathe the word “Cobbler”, and after a leisurely hour at Patty’s, I was headed back towards my friends’ place in this Appalachian foothills town, almost equidistant from Nashville, Knoxville and Chattanooga.
It is not a hard route, though, with I-840 as a wide by-pass of Nashville, or the main road through the state capital, with all of Music City’s diversions. I got in to Crossville, shot past the driveway to R and C’s place, opted not to try and turn around at a horseshoe drive, a bit further-as a sign said “No Trespassing” and the look on the face of the teenaged girl watching me underscored that warning. Rather than incur the mouthful of sass and vinegar that would surely have followed, I simply turned around in a nearby cul-de-sac. My friends, their three cats, rooster and Muscovy duck were waiting. Homemade pizza was not far behind. (I will take Miss Ginger up on the Plate of the Day, another time.)
July 12, 2021, Memphis- Over the years, I’ve been in places which have shaken my conscience and sense of justice: Wounded Knee, Silver Creek, Bosque Redondo, the Holocaust Museum of Jerusalem, Donjon de Jeanne d’Arc, the Concentration Camp at Berga. This morning’s visit to Greenwood District, on Tulsa’s North Side, had a very similar effect.
I began the morning in the Cathedral District, on the south side of Tulsa’s downtown. It is majestic, in a physical sense, with spires abounding-and not so much competing, as complementing one another. I present a few of these:
First United Methodist Church, TulsaHoly Family Cathedral, TulsaFirst Presbyterian Church, TulsaNo spires, but still impressive: Church of Christ, Scientist, Tulsa
One must eat and drink, so I looked a bit, in the Cathedral District, and found this gem:
Foolish Things Coffee House!
Interior of Foolish Things Coffee House
After giving downtown its due, I headed to the sacred area that drew me to Tulsa, in the first place: Greenwood Historic District.
The signature mural of Greenwood DistrictGreenwood Cultural Center
The whole point of Greenwood’s emergence, in the early Twentieth Century, was to promote the very self-sufficiency, among Black Americans, that capitalists claimed to want. Yet, Oklahoma Governor Robertson, and his minions, including the commander of the Oklahoma National Guard, were complicit in the plan to put an end to “Black Wall Street”. All they needed was a spark. On May 31, 1921, it was reported that a black shoe shine man had brushed up against a white elevator operator, leading to allegations of attempted rape. Further, the founder of the Greenwood Chamber of Commerce, seeing a chance to destroy his competition, accused the Mann Brothers, who operated a highly successful grocery store, of fomenting a riot, when a group of black businessmen went to the Courthouse, to seek the shoe shine man’s release. The allegations of D.W. Gurley led to a white mob’s attack on black-owned businesses. These allegations were later shown to be false, and Gurley fled to California. Ironically, the Mann family had come to Greenwood from Sherman, Texas, which later itself endured an assault on black-owned businesses. National Guard General Charles Barrett, as well as the editor-in-chief of the Tulsa Tribune, stoked white anger from behind the scenes. It is not verified, but there is circumstantial evidence that Barrett gave the go-ahead for the use of airplanes, which did fire on blacks who were trying to flee Greenwood.
Scene of Greenwood destruction, June 1, 1921
Dozens of Greenwood residents were killed, and most of the rest were rendered homeless, by the destruction. The bottom line, though, in all this is: Greenwood is coming back. The block which earned the title Black Wall Street is small, but vibrant.
Fountain, on grounds of Greenwood Cultural Center
The Vernon African Methodist Evangelical Church was a key gathering place in Greenwood, and is so again.
Mural, on south wall of Greenwood Open Air gathering space
Wanda J’s Restaurant is also a gathering place for the Greenwood community. It was closed for renovation today, but the sign says it’ll reopen tomorrow.
Mural on berm of overpass, Greenwood District
After walking around Greenwood District, I paused to watch several children who had climbed up the overpass berm, and were now helping each other down, flip-flops and all, under their father’s watchful eyes. When the kids had descended, I noted this mural, of jazz musicians.
Tulsa, and Greenwood, are still here and the city is making amends. Reparations for the families of the victims are actually being discussed. Reconciliation Park, and Street, are set aside, to remind everyone that, when one group prospers, all may prosper.
July 11, 20201, Tulsa- All good things come to a pause, to be continued later. After a leisurely breakfast and final survey of my items, I bid farewell to son and daughter-in-law, with the common knowledge that we are always welcome in one another’s homes-as it should be with family.
My first stop, north of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, was in the city of Sherman, southern gateway to the Lake Texoma area. Sherman is important to me for two reasons: A riot of white tenant farmers and townspeople occurred on May 9, 1930-in reaction to a black labourer’s having attacked and raped the white wife of a man who owed him money. The labourer, one George Hughes, freely admitted his misdeeds and was initially subjected to due process of law. A mob soon gathered, and succeeded in breaching the Grayson County Courthouse, chasing everyone except Hughes out of the building and cutting into a vault, in which he was hiding, then killing the man and treating his corpse atrociously. https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/sherman-riot-of-1930
This occurred nine years after the Greenwood Massacre that took place in Tulsa (1921), and the Sherman rioters took a page from those in Tulsa, and burned the business district in Sherman’s Black neighbourhood to the ground. The Sherman case, however exacerbated by conditions resulting from the Great Depression, stained the good name of the town for several years. To be fair, it was only one of nearly two dozen such riots, in every part of the country-not just in the South. Modern Sherman has largely moved past the nightmare, but there are remnants of the past two centuries, including the Confederate Monument outside the present Grayson County Courthouse. My personal hope is that such monuments serve as reminders of where we went wrong, as a people, and that no person, of any racial or ethnic group, ever again seeks to circumvent the law-even in, or especially in, cases of personal injustice. Vengeance always claims a great deal of innocent lives.
Grayson County Courthouse, Sherman, TX
The second reason for my stopping in Sherman was that, ten years ago, a young woman from the town had moved to Prescott, and became a friend-whom I advised on several occasions, whilst she worked as a server in a couple of area restaurants. With encouragement from me and others, she moved to Tempe and entered Arizona State University. I have lost contact with Summer, but have never forgotten her gentle spirit and determined drive. In her honour, I stopped in for lunch, at Old Iron Post, which appears to be Sherman’s answer to Raven Cafe. The ambiance, and the fare, did not disappoint,
Old Iron Post Restaurant and Bar, Sherman, TX
There was one more stop for me, before leaving Texas: The Birthplace of Dwight D. Eisenhower, in Denison. The small, unassuming town, near the Oklahoma state line, helped form the character of one of America’s greatest generals, who became a fairly good president.
The building itself was closed, but as with the Birthplace of Harry S. Truman, in May, I was able to get a few photos of the exterior and the grounds.
Statue of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Denison, TXBirthplace of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Denison, TXMimosa trees, Eisenhower Birthplace State Monument, Denison, TX
That was it for meandering for the day. I continued on towards this fascinating, and often troubled, industrial and commercial center of northeast Oklahoma, and locus of the Greenwood Massacre of 1921. It is to Greenwood that my own focus will be drawn, tomorrow morning.
July 10, 2021, Grapevine- Today started off undefined, which is suitable for a summer Saturday. We opted for a short walk along the paved trails of Heritage Park, in nearby Flower Mound. There were wildflowers aplenty, and a large number of families about. The water slides, practice fields and disc golf courses were very popular, as they should be. The northern suburbs of Dallas seem to take good care of their public, recreation-wise. Disc golf, for the unitiated, is a sport that involves throwing a disc at a wire basket. The rules are similar to those of golf, but it reminds me somewhat of horseshoes. It takes serious focus, in any case.
The day turned, after a fashion, towards attending to the inside of Elantra. The Galloping Gray One was looking a lot shabbier than I have cared to admit, so Aram and I set about wiping the dashboard, doors, compartments and rear ledge. The windows got treated, as well, and Son vacuumed the seats and carpeting. The day concluded with a round of online trivia games and a trip over to an East Asian shopping center, with a variety of ethnic cafes, stores and restaurants. We chose a place called Too Thai Street Eats. The food hold its own, in quality and portion size.
I am in good repair, other than the bump on my face-which has a limited time left. I did a plank for a minute, and could have gone longer-but this was a trial run. I know that some parts of this septuagenarian frame need more individual work, and will do better by them, as the year progresses.
Tomorrow, this family time will come to an end, and I will head north, to Tulsa-for an homage to those who tried to embrace the American Dream and found that those around them were far from ready to embrace them.
July 9, 2021, Grapevine- Al-Bab, the Herald of Baha’u’llah, was executed by firing squad, in Tabriz, Iran, 131 years ago today. It took two tries, for the deed to be done-simply because it was God’s will, in my view, that the Blessed Herald complete certain business, before His time on Earth was to end. Once that business was completed, Man, in his ignorance, was permitted to have his way. The same thing was true, with regard to Jesus the Christ, to Moses, to Muhammad, to Krishna, to Gautama Siddhartha-and to Baha’u’llah Himself. Each Messenger of the Creator -and a good number of His followers, has endured indignities and suffering, at the hands of those who don’t understand the reason for His appearance.
Each time such a Messenger appears, radiant energy is set in motion. Those with eyes to see and ears to hear will pick up on this energy, and become the Messenger’s most fervent followers. Those who oppose the Messenger also sense the energy, and are alarmed at what they know is the threat to their positions, their privilege and their preconceived notions of how the world should unfold.
Nonetheless, the radiant energy will spread-and its effects have always been two-pronged. In the cases of both the crucifixion of Christ and the execution of al-Bab, there were severe earthquakes, within three days of the events. In addition, those soldiers who participated in the second firing squad, which killed al-Bab, were subjected to a terrible earthquake, within a year of His execution and 250 of them died. Later that year, the remaining 500 members of the regiment mutinied and were summarily executed by order of the Army Commander.
The positive radiant energy plays out, in both long and short-term effects. In each spiritual dispensation, advances in knowledge, in a wide variety of areas, occur at a very fast pace. We saw this in the Greek Golden Age, which followed the Dispensations of both Moses and Buddha-as did the first Golden Age in India. Pax Romana was contemporary with the Ministry of Christ. The appearance of Muhammad led to a period of High Civilization around the Mediterranean region, which later spread across western Europe and Sub-Saharan Africa, in what we know as the Renaissance. Following the Declaration of al-Bab, advances in technology began to outpace all that had occurred in the previous 500 years. This has only been magnified 100-fold, since the Ministry of Baha’u’llah, though I invite each of you to investigate these matters for yourself.
The presence of radiant energy is something that bears careful watching.
July 8, 2021, Grapevine– The birthday festivities having finished, Aram and I eased into our mornings, whilst Yunhee went to work. We did our part, later, with a Costco trip that garnered items we each needed-and a few belated birthday gifts.
I got word that another, equally important, event across the country had gone roughly at times, but ended well. So, too, did the final installment of an investment that has taken me three years of due diligence and getting past my own overthinking, to complete.
Aram and I went out to Terrawood’s relatively small, but comfortable pool area. There were about six other people in and around the pools, at the time we were there. The water is not deep- 4′ 6″, maximum. Nonetheless, I sat with my lower body in the water-taking care to not go in, as usual, because of the growth on my face being covered, both for protection and for the peace of mind of those around me.
There has been a tendency in me, all throughout adulthood, to be very watchful of children around water. It was a major area of my service to the Red Cross, when we lived in Phoenix, to help with Swim Safe events. Pool safety, in particular, is a huge concern-and not just in summer. So, here I was, being encouraging to the little ones, with their flotation devices attached, but not taking my eyes off them, for a second. A young girl, of about twelve, was equally vigilant, apparently being babysitter to at least two of the kids. As Aram did his laps and cardio, I was content to be a second pair of eyes.
It can’t be said enough: “Watch your kids around water!”
July 7, 2021, Grapevine- There is no such thing as a 1/3 life crisis. That’s my assessment of the son whom Penny and I raised to deal with both the sweet and the sour of life. A topsy-turvy process, initiated by COVID restrictions and aggravated by bureaucracy, was pretty much resolved through his attention to detail and the energy of proactivity that attracted the cooperation of others.
So went the day, celebrating thirty-three years of life, of my sole offspring. There was brunch, a short hike around the perimeter of the apartment complex that Aram and Yunhee call home, a ninety-minute series of bowling rounds (my first such activity in over twenty-five years), a hamburger dinner at the local branch of a quality nationwide burger and shakes establishment and a walk around Grapevine Mills shopping mall.
The man has shown himself capable of handling even the nettlesome matters, about which he vents to me. He is a spouse dedicated to his wife’s career progress and happiness. He is about balance, between the people in his physical world and those with whom he communicates and interacts digitally. He appreciates the people he meets, on a daily basis and honours truth, from wherever it comes. He has a set career goal and entertains alternative game plans, in the event reality makes his Plan A unwieldy.
Aram Ferdinand Boivin will remain a force with whom to reckon, for a good many years. He will make a fine father someday, and a stellar worker for the public good, in whatever field he settles.
July 6, 2021, Grapevine,TX- It rained buckets last night, across northern New Mexico and well into the Texas Panhandle. In Moriarty, I heard thunder and pelting rain, for nearly three hours. This is just the thing that the region needs; if only it could extend all the way to the Pacific Coast!
I was on the road fairly early this morning, which was a good thing-given that the route to the Dallas-Fort Worth area runs diagonally southeast, from Amarillo. I got into that fair city around Noon, and enjoyed lunch at Smoky Joe’s, with old friend Wes Hardin. The Sixth Street “Fun Zone”, and lunch with Wes, are staples of any trip that involves crossing the Panhandle. As always, he had a few stories of life among the struggling and the grasping, of this rough and tumble city.
I made few stops, along US Route 287, which I last drove nine years ago, on my first visit to Fort Worth. Many places, like Love’s Barbecue (Chillicothe) were closed on Tuesday, an okay thing-as my lunch at Smoky Joe’s was with me, long after the noon hour. I found a lovely new rest area and welcome center had sprung up, near Memphis, TX, over the past decade. Wichita Falls has grown a bit, in these ten years, also. Upon getting to Denton, twenty miles east along US Route 380, it was a circuitous, but not difficult, road over to Grapevine. Being with family, until Sunday morning, will be restful and revitalizing, in any case.
July 5, 2021, Moriarty- I am in a more relaxed frame of mind, this time around-as compared to the “get there and get it done” mindset of May’s out and back. Departure out of Home Base was fairly early: 7 a.m., and I did have one Baha’i Zoom meeting this afternoon, but my flow was fairly even-between 65 and 80, most of the way (A few construction zones called for 45-55, but no workers were on the highways today, as it was a Monday Make-up, for Sunday’s Independence Day.)
I made a coffee stop at a Maverik, in Dewey, AZ, about 40 minutes into the drive. This is of note only because a poor soul, just trying to get a cup of joe, found the lid on his cup didn’t quite fit-the third time in a row, he told me, that this has happened. We agreed that he probably was not the only one to whom it occurred. I wished him a better day, and was glad that the lid on my cup was sealed.
I kept an eye on the roadsides, in an area between Camp Verde and Winslow where wildfire had wreaked havoc, in late June. There was a burn scar on the ground cover, in several spots, but no tree singeing. The road between there and Gallup was serene and, as mentioned earlier, no construction work. Going through Albuquerque was also no big deal-save that, when a Jeepster decided he wanted to “tandem race” me, on the Duke City’s east side along I-40, a state patrolman in an unmarked car flashed him to move over one lane-then looked over at me and told me to get behind his car-no pull-over, no citation, no warning-just “get out of the passing lane”. As I was essentially minding my own business, when the Jeepster became Jerkster, the officer’s command was easy enough to follow. They both left the freeway, at the next exit, and I continued over the mountain, to this eastern suburb.
I had stayed at Sunrise Motel, once before, under a previous owner. The current management is on a strict pandemic protocol: Phoned check-in, outdoor document reading and signing-with a six foot distance-though masks are not required outside, and key to be left in the room at check-out. The room is the same as before, complete with a rubber duck by the bathtub-as well as a plug that fits the drain (less common than one might think, in the days of drought and cutting costs).
Tomorrow, I head over through Texas-to my family in Grapevine.
A Sagittarian Seeker 