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GHOST TOWN TOURIST
Going ghost in Old Cahawba, Alabama’s original state capitol, freedman’s refuge, and now ghost town.
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MAYBES INTO MAGNOLIAS
With all of Selma’s must-sees marked off my list, I wandered her roads in search of more. A few aimless turns & circle-backs later, I stumbled upon one of my maybes: the Old Live Oak Cemetery, where I’d find one of nature’s loveliest things & man’s ugliest, just within a few steps of each other.
Spanish moss draping magnolias like voile curtains lined each side of the main road, and I made a note to revisit this beauty after exploring the rest. I steered down Live Oak’s only other driveable path, where the sweet taste of rich history & timeless scenery I’d drunk in around Selma turned bitter. This path led to Confederate Circle, purchased & preserved by supporters of the first Grand Wizard of the KKK.
Resisting my burning urge to drive donuts through it, I hurried out, pausing for 3 cars of what I assumed were more tourists, to clear the narrow drive. Back to the main road where I’d hoped mossy magnolias would help me shake it off.
I’d barely noticed driving in, but after seeing the larger memorial, the tiny Confederate flags dotting plots throughout the cemetery couldn’t be ignored. Nor could my realization that the cars I’d passed weren’t tourists, but fanboys paying their respects. My discomfort was turning palpable, and while I’m usually pleasantly surprised by the “maybes,” I was starting to regret happening upon this place.
I trudged back to the car to determine my next direction when another pulled up right next to me. “Guarded” is a COLOSSAL understatement. An older gentleman motioned for me to roll down my window and, despite the daggers I knew my eyes were throwing, greeted me boisterously in a thick Black southern brogue Discovery Channel surely would have subtitled.
“You from Selma?”
“No sir, Texas.”
“Ohhhhh, so you just passin’ through then? I drove through a minute ago and saw that afro, so I said, ‘Ah, she must be one of our people.’”
The smile that broke across my face only widened as he went on.
“Well, we take care of each other heah, so welcome to Selma. You need anythang at all, you jus’ ask US.”
He was already pulling away when I realized that he & the ancestors had just given me everything.
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SELMA-BOUND
Following the footsteps of indomitable spirits in Selma
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FREEDOM RIDES ON
I don’t always take bathroom selfies (ok never), but when I do, it’s in the original Greyhound Lines bathroom where hundreds of Freedom Riders put their bodies in harm’s way, and it’s on the 60th anniversary of the Interstate Commerce Commission officially outlawing “whites only” signs in bus terminals. Go big. #September22
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VINTAGE
Found an appropriately named dinner/drinks spot on the first stop of my birthday trip
Cheers to (almost) another year, Montgomery, and everywhere else time & the road take me
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THE SWEETEST SELFIE STOP IN ARKANSAS
I’d planned to share this pic a bit differently, but a sweet request led me to make it my goodbye to Arkansas instead.
I’m always cautious about when and where I take pictures, but the best are usually taken when and where you’re not supposed to be: after hours, in the middle of the street, standing precariously on top of something, you get the drift.
So when someone’s headed straight for me, looking very serious, I know I’m about to have to pack it in.
I’d hoped to avoid that look when I decided to take a selfie on this adorable vintage bench at a store just up the road from my cabin in Eureka Springs. As the last fuel station before Beaver Dam, it was always busy, but I was sure a Monday morning would see a slower crowd. Every space was taken when I arrived. Luckily, the gas pump closest to the bench was free and perfectly positioned for me to park between it and the last truck up front to create a safe little pen for my tripod, and a bit of cover for me too.
With my collapsible tripod fully extended and ready, I hopped out, framed up, and started shooting. I’d only taken 2 photos before she headed my way. I couldn’t tell if the wrinkle across her brow was for me or because she’d just emerged from the fluorescence of the store onto the surface of the sun, so I pretended to go about my business while I kept my eyes on her behind my dark sunglasses.
I painted on a smile and greeted her first. “Good mornin’!” I chirped.
“Mornin’! I was just in there wonderin’ ‘what is she doin’?’ so I came out to see!”
I explained that I’d spotted this vintage bench a few times in passing, and wanted to take pictures, but didn’t want to disturb anybody. She broke into a proud grin. She was not only happy to let me keep shooting, but told me all about the local couple who made her fish benches (woodzyshop.com if you’re interested!) too.
Before heading back inside, she gave me the store’s website and asked me to share my pictures, so if you’re driving Hwy 62, the easiest route to Tulsa and Dallas from NW Arkansas, stop in for a welcoming smile, fun photo ops, and a whole lot more at Riverview Resort & Country Store. Fish benches not included.
Until next time, Arkansas
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MY OWN PRIVATE GREEN BOOK
The Smithsonian and Mosaic Templars Cultural Center Green Book exhibit gave me a platform for a story I needed to tell, but it was so much more. I was moved by the history here, and how could I not feel like part of a greater legacy? Black Southerners fought for the American dream on every single front, including the open road, and now here I am, momentary fears aside, living a reality that some never could have imagined. I am the manifestation of that fight. I attended good schools, because of them. I travel freely, because of them. I am everything I am because of those who came before me and I am grateful, I am blessed, I am absolutely humbled to make my way in this world in ways they were never afforded.
There were many more artifacts and found objects on the second level of the exhibit, and because most of them couldn’t be photographed due to the low light and glare, I took it as a sign to just absorb their energy and presence instead.
The second level also housed a 10-minute long interactive exhibit. I’m so used to museums’ half-truths that this interactive video at the Green Book exhibit felt too real not to be shared. It’s a little shocking in its honesty frankly, and again I felt humbled to be in a position to virtually experience even a fraction of what my ancestors endured while I was here on a road trip of my own. I intentionally made all of the “bad” choices in the interaction to demonstrate the consequences, humiliations and hardships they faced, but on the other side, there were joyous events like church cookouts and bustling Black businesses. This exhibit was wonderfully created and another experience along the way that felt more than coincidental. I didn’t even know there was a Green Book exhibit at the Mosaic Templars Cultural Center until I arrived. I’m glad that I was put on a path to find it, along with the truth and impact it held for me.
Find time to see this beautiful exhibit live at the Mosaic Templars Cultural Center until August 1, around the country as it travels, or in part, online here: negromotoristgreenbook.si.edu/
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UN-WELCOME
Last year, I shared my surprise in all of the welcoming and supportive messages I discovered throughout the small towns of West Texas and New Mexico, so I knew I wanted to share my experience this time around too.
Needless to say, this roadside welcome was not as warm.
Just before Cooper Chapel, there’s a sign marking the city limits of Bella Vista, AR. The FIRST HOUSE after that sign flies a Rebel flag. It wasn’t the first I’d seen, and wouldn’t be the last. Roadside vendors lined the highways between towns with their flags for sale: American, Arkansas, POW/MIA, Rebel. Without fail. After losing a little time on the backroads to Dogwood Canyon, the fact that I’d barely seen any other cars left me inclined to punch it, but all the Rebel flags I had seen tacitly reminded me to stay in line. The flag just inside the Bella Vista city limits particularly felt like a warning, as I’m sure was intended: come visit, but keep on moving. So when an oversized, overly aggressive truck appeared behind me, all of my defense mechanisms went up. Were they from the house with the Rebel flag? Did they have one hanging themselves? Was I going the speed limit? Was I going too slow? If I pass the car in front of me, am I making myself a target? Am I if I don’t? If I miss my turn, where is it safe to double back? If something happens to my car, can I pull over here, or trust anyone who might help? WILL anyone help?
I arrived safely and without incident, but where my other countryside drives had felt carefree and scenic, after the Rebel flags dotting my drives to Cooper Chapel and Dogwood Canyon near & over the Arkansas/Missouri state line, I didn’t see anything beyond my mirrors, my gauges, and the yellow lines ahead.
I didn’t know how I would tell that story until the day I discovered this one at the Smithsonian’s Green Book exhibit at the Mosaic Templars Cultural Center.
There was no robed Klansman for me, but that’s the insidiousness of modern-day racism, isn’t it? It could be anyone. At least the ones flying Rebel flags show their faces.
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SPIRITS IN THESE SPRINGS
Along the way, I did discover one perfect toe-dipping spring, and even though the man at the front desk actually encouraged me to do just that, I could feel the sacred spirit still in this place. Blue Spring, just outside of Eureka Springs, is along the historic Trail of Tears, but even before that, Native people were nourished at its banks, planted crops in the fertile soil around it and took shelter and held rituals beneath the rocky bluff of the ancient faultline.
The spring’s been bricked in, dammed to flow straight to the natural lagoon below and perfectly landscaped, so it’s much different than it was when it served as a refuge and place of respite, but its turquoise waters are otherwise untouched and so is the presence in this place that made me wonder how I could possibly put my feet any further than the ground I was honored to tread.
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HOT SPRINGS HOPPIN’
Hopped around Hot Springs National Park and Garvan Woodland Gardens under the watch of the Quapaw elders, looking for a spot suitable to dip my toes. (Perhaps it’s obvious, but those pools are indeed hot!) Just when I found one and officially put my foot in Hot Springs, I got splashed in the eye.
Stay humble, kids.
where i wandered:
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where joy wanders 