The Journey is the Destination

4000 miles and 1600 photographs later, I have completed the first edition of my search for the real America. Don't be alarmed, I have only included a handful of the photos here in the blog, which I have named "The Sticks". I don't mean any disrespect by choosing this name. After all, I live in the Sticks, I vacation in the Sticks, and my ancestors are the quintessential founding fathers (mother and cousins) of the Sticks. Let's face it, I could have called the site Bumfuck, Egypt or the Boondocks, which I felt were disparaging and reflected a shade that discolored the view I wanted to capture.

My son traveled with me on the first half of this trip. While we were both road weary by the time we got out of West Virginia, I am pretty sure that we both have a greater perspective on the overwhelming array of people and places in our country. 4000 miles didn't scratch the surface of even a fraction of the regions through which we traveled. Additionally, I have included a few anecdotal notes as well as one or two interesting notes on the photos.

The journey is the destination, and the destination the journey. This trip to see the sights beyond the interstates has only just begun.
During my stay at the Falls of Tallulah I made every effort to obtain an Indian legend or two connected with them, and it was my good fortune to hear one which has never yet been printed. It was originally obtained by the white man who first discovered the falls from the Cherokees, who lived in the region at the time. It is in substance as follows: Many generations ago it so happened that several famous hunters, who had wandered from the West toward what is now the Savannah river, in search of game, never returned to their camping grounds. In process of time the curiosity as well as the fear of the nation were excited, and an effort was made to ascertain the cause of their singular disappearance, whereupon a party of medicine men were deputed to make a pilgrimage toward the great river. They were absent a whole moon, and, on returning to their friends, they reported that they had discovered a dreadful fissure in an unknown part of the country, through which a mountain torrent took its way with a deafening noise. They said that it was an exceedingly wild place, and that its inhabitants were a species of little men and women, who dwelt in the crevices of the rocks and in grottoes under the waterfalls. They had attempted by every artifice in their power to hold a council with the little people, but all in vain; and, from the shrieks they frequently uttered, the medicine men knew that they were the enemies of the Indian race, and, therefore, it was concluded in the nation at large that the long-lost hunters had been decoyed to their death in the dreadful gorge, which they called Tallulah. In view of this little legend, it is worthy of remark that the Cherokee nation, previous to their departure for the distant West, always avoided the Falls of Tallulah, and were seldom found hunting or fishing in their vicinity. (Nineteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology 1897-98, Part I. [1900])

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