River walk

 

Last Saturday I walked 5 miles, divided into two places. I started in downtown Decatur, walking around the park on the Tennessee River, called the Rhodes Ferry Park. It’s nice place with a playground, lots of green lawn and pretty views of the river. The park is called Rhodes Ferry park because a boat landing used to be situated on that spot of the river, and it was called by that name. This landing is where three different groups of Indians arrived in the Trail of Tears. Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act of 1830, and this act required native Americans of many tribes, all the tribes east of the Mississippi to travel many miles to Oklahoma.  Many of the tribes walked to Chattanooga, and then were placed on barges to travel down the Tennessee river, stopping here overnight. The first group arrived in a heavy rainstorm.  At first the Indians huddled on the open flat boats, in misery, wet and cold. Later they were unloaded and herded to warehouses nearby.

  I stood on the site of the landing, looking up and down at the park.  The warehouses are gone now. For the first batch of Indians they were reloaded onto boats the next day and sent on their way. Many of the people had caught colds due to the wet and cold weather. Later in the year two more parties of Indians arrived, disembarked and also spent the night in the warehouses. This time the river was down and the boats would not have been able to cross the Shoals farther downriver. Trains were used for this leg of the journey. The Indians, men, women, children were marched down to the train depot, loaded up and sent on their way.

I walked along a back road and came upon an old house, iron gate and fence and lots of tall trees. The house and view were stunning, but in a bit of an industrial area. A sign said the house was built in 1828, and the inhabitants of the house would have been able to see the boats land, the Indians herded into the warehouse and then back on the boats the second day. I tried to imagine what that would be like. Imagine sitting on the porch, or working in the house. A heavy cold rain falls, and as you work or sit you look outside to see open air flat boats arrive. On the boats are people, huddled together, dripping wet. Some are men, some women, old people, children. Certainly your heart would go out to the suffering. Whenever I am inside and cold rain is falling I am thankful I have a roof over me, and a home to go to. Would the homeowners think about that? These humans on the boat had all been rounded up, forced off their homes and farms, herded together, marched across states, placed on these flat boats, crowded together to ride along the river, and now were sitting in the rain, just waiting for the next orders. 

I continued to walk, and turned away from the river. A path runs under a train track, and then passes in front of another house, possibly the oldest standing structure in Decatur. This house faced the railroad, and people living here would have seen the Indians as well, especially as they were marched to the train depot. I walked on, crossing above the train track. This would be a fun place to stand when trains pass under. The path continues to a museum on the site of the old Train Depot. I turned and walked back to my car.

I have a pamphlet created by the state to commemorate the Trail of Tears, and that is where I got most of my information for this article. The pamphlet has a quote I want to include here, from a bystander during that time.

“Many of them (Cherokee) could be sen examining with their peculiar inquisitive silence and gravity, this great enigma to them, while others, apparently uninterested and thoughtless, amused themselves with an old fiddle or sat motionless, gazing at those around. But a lively spirit seemed to animate the balance, with the exception of a few small children, who, though unable to speak a word of our language, as a bystander facetiously observed,’cried in very good English’”

For a longer walk I drove to Pt. Mallard and walked in the wooded area along the river. I passed some kids playing in the woods. They were trying to build a fort, and were having a grand time. I passed a few other people out walking, and enjoyed deeply the feel of trees overhead, the silence generally of woods and walking on dirt. My spirits lifted some, and the walk did the good walks usually do. I returned home in a better mood, and saw I had walked over 5 miles total. During the week I added to it by 5  more miles and tried to imagine the AT again. I would be working further from Neels Gap. One of my favorite hikes when we lived in Ga was on this section of the trail. We would hike out to a huge rock overlook, with wonderful views of the mountains stretching out farther and farther. Soon I would be working my way into NC, home of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee, those that hid in the mountains to avoid the forced removal.  I guess the Indians made the mistake of being here before the European settlers. And now we have migrants, making the mistake of arriving after. 

Feb 10 miles

Jan - Feb - 39 miles.