Road Trip - Part Three

Days Five and Six (July 9 & 10)

Day Five

The next morning, we headed for Nashville. We made great time, and simultaneously got an idea which altered our plan. We were going to do the genealogy thing on the last day – kind of a wide swing around to Macon County before we headed home. But since we arrived in Nashville around noon, we decided to head over to Macon County, look around, and then still be back to Nashville for dinner and bar hopping in the evening. That way we would be able to go straight home the next day and arrive several hours earlier, which was very appealing after being away for almost a week.

We learned that we couldn’t check in till 2, so we thought we’d grab lunch first. The timing was then perfect for our check-in, and once we settled our things we took off. Years before Mike and I had taken the interstate route to Macon County, but this time I thought maybe the county road way would be quicker. I was wrong. There were a lot of hills and a few towns and slower speed limits. I thought we’d never get there, but once we did start getting closer, I started to feel my adrenalin pumping.

I’ve had a lifetime to evaluate why I am the way I am, and I still don’t know the answer. I guess there are people who respond to life the way I do – I come across them occasionally and when I sense the ‘simpatico’ – I don’t feel so strange. But honestly, I think I’m unusual in that certain things excite me to the point of adrenalin pumping, loud talking, breathlessness. When I was a kid, I think I would scare people – they would think I was out of control because I would get all animated – waving my arms around, like I said, getting loud, etc. I was most certainly NOT out of control. Just enthusiastic. VERY enthusiastic. It really makes me kind of angry that our society values ‘control’ more than exhuberance over the joys of life. I was constantly having my enthusiasm crushed for the sake of propriety. People are viewed as almost crazy if they get pumped about things. I would hear, “Dawn – take it easy”, “Dawn you’re so loud” “Calm down”. Oh that was the one I heard most – “Calm down”. Jesus Christ I am just happy and enthusiastic. Can’t I show it?

(Now here is the perfect time for the discussion about the other side of the coin – so this will be a segway from the road trip narrative but here goes. So one side of my coin was the puppy dog enthusiasm for life that I naturally wanted to exhibit but was crushed so many times I eventually suppressed it well. But then we had the other side. This was the exhortation of people throughout my life to, “Smile”. What the heck? Why are you telling me to smile? Do I look sad? Hmmmmm – let me think about this. I guess I DO look sad. Why? Simply because I have a downturned mouth, that’s why. And because when I am deep in concentration – like when I am working – I tend to bear an expression interpreted as sadness. But I’m NOT sad. I’m just focused, and concentrating for god’s sake. But my downturned mouth and stony visage are offputting, I guess. This whole thing falls into the insult/injury category. Not ONLY am I not sad, not ONLY am I being misinterpreted, but then I am being exhorted to change my demeanor for the comfort of another person. This happened to me over and over again until I figured it out. My early response was, “I’m not sad!” and then I would force a smile to prove it. Later, I would explain about my mouth and my face of concentration. But I grew to resent these incorrect assessments and instructions – DON’T tell me how to look and feel. I am fine – back off! Whew! I’m glad I got that off my chest……………)

OK so anyway, as we approached Gibbs Crossroads I felt my excitement building. Gibbs Crossroads is the geographical appellation of the intersection of two roadways in Macon County. Currently, they are Highways 80 and 56. I don’t know what the roads were called a couple of centuries ago, but the intersection was known then, and now, as Gibbs Crossroads. (During the Civil War, the army of the Confederate States of America under General Braxton Braggs camped at Gibbs Crossroads.) And very near to this historic intersection was the land owned by my great-great-great grandfather Henry Wakefield in the first half of the 1800's. I had obtained a brief description of a survey showing where his acreage was, and I wanted to take Shannon there. I wanted her to feel what I had felt the first time I saw it – that amazing feeling of continuity. But first things first. We were looking for Henry’s grave. I had touched base with the Macon County Historical Society and learned that they had been doing a lot of work to clean up cemeteries and record graves. They said I would likely find Henry in the Wakefield Cemetery, and although I had a really good map with a lot of cemetery symbols on it, I didn’t know which one was his. Still, logic pointed to one that would be very near to his land, so I narrowed down the possibilities, and hoped that we’d actually be able to find them. Because even though we had a map, these little plots were off the road, often hidden beneath several feet of overgrowth. We drove south on Union Camp Road and found the first cemetery – this is the one Mike and I found years before. This is the one with the tall grave marker of Thomas Jefferson Wakefield. He was a son of Henry, and the brother of my g.g.grandfather Silas. This little burial plot affords an excellent view of Henry’s land. This is the spot where you can take everything in and let your imagination go. There’s no longer a house, but I tried to imagine where it would have been situated. And as before, I wondered which of the trees he had planted. Shannon asked me if, had there been a ‘for sale’ sign on the land, would I have wanted to buy it.

Yes.

We continued our quest.

We took a very narrow side road that shot off Union Camp, peeling our eyes for stones and markers in the spot where there was a symbol on the cemetery map. Shannon saw it – several hundred yards off the road. We drove to it, hoping we weren’t on someone’s property for the road was no wider than a driveway. The plot was surrounded by a fence, the graves were both ancient and new. Most of the names – WAKEFIELD.

I cannot describe the feeling. It goes to my very bones. Here lies my history. Here lies my DNA. Here lies who I was. Who I am. Who my children’s children will be.

We continued, still searching for Henry.

The third likely cemetery HAD to be along Union Camp Rd, about a mile north of Gibb’s Crossroads, along a curve, very near to the other cemetery – the one where T J Wakefield rested. We went back and forth several times trying to catch sight of markers. I had noticed a green water tower atop a small hill. The water tower was marked as a memorial to a Dr. Kirby. I recognized the Kirby name as another of the Macon County families contemporary to the Wakefields. The third time we passed the tower, I noticed markers beneath it! My old friend Adrenalin began coursing. I pulled the car over as close as I could – which was at the base of the hill. There were two fences in my way, and tall grass. I was wearing flip flops, and not thinking clearly.

Shannon had time to assess the situation and she was not eager to walk though the grass, not knowing what was in it. So I told her I would check it out – and if Henry was there I’d call her from above. So I dragged my 56 year old (2 weeks till 57) self, along with my cell phone and camera, to five foot high fence number one. The gate was locked – it had to be climbed. Nothing was going to stop me. I climbed it, then started walking through the grass, watching every step, on the lookout for snakes and whatever else I did not want to think about that might have been slithering around my flip flop clad feet.

Wait a minute – not a good idea. I had brought gym shoes and socks for this exact reason. I couldn’t force myself to continue this way, so I re-climbed the fence and went to the car to change shoes. I was sticky and excited and it took me a long time to get my shoes and socks on! But now I was ready to go. I re-climbed the fence and ran up the hill. There was another fence and I prayed I’d be able to get through it. The first thing I saw was a sign that had been put up by the Macon County Historical Society, designating this as the Wakefield Cemetery. The fence had a gate, which was bolted, but the bolt could be opened. I could see Henry’s tombstone – so I called Shannon to come up. The sign stated that this was presumed to be the burial place of Revolutionary War soldier Henry Wakefield. Their research had pointed to this, but after over 150 years, they were unable to find his actual marker, which was a common occurrence. So being fairly certain, they erected a new one. I accepted this. I wasn’t sure if the marker was over the presumed exact spot of Henry’s burial, or if he was just presumed to be in the plot. Either way, I felt I was close to his final resting place. I tried to imagine what he would think if he knew that so many years later, his descendant would seek him out, in awe of the man who had been shot twice serving his new country, been married twice, had nineteen children, and lived to be ninety-eight at a time when people were lucky to see forty. What would he think of me for wanting to pick up the thread of continuity and add it to the tapestry of my life?

Is there anything in me that came from these people? Were these people loving and kind? Did they have thick hair? Were they intelligent? Were they impatient, quick to anger and equally quick to let anger go? Did they have downturned mouths, and did they have enthusiasm for life?

We returned to Nashville via the interstate, feeling tremendously satisfied.

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Day Six

Our last day. The night before we had walked up and down Broadway, popping in to all the bars, listening to live country bands. They were all so good! We ate at a restaurant smack in the middle of the strip, sitting outside on a patio two stories up in the shadow of one of the downtown skyscrapers. Cool.

When Friday dawned we packed up, checked out, and headed north. It’s always so good to return home. I felt so happy that we had been successful in implementing our Road Trip plan – to see new places, have new experiences, and find our own history. I was thrilled to have been able to share this with Shannon, thrilled Meaghan could join us for part of it and have a new experience of her own. I was sorry that Heather and Colleen couldn’t join us, I missed Mike, and I wanted to rest in my own bed in my quiet house.

It took me a day and a half to fully recover.

Life is bliss.