Day #139 – Ocmulgee NM

Cordele GA to Cartersville GA

On our way to Cartersville GA, we decided to stop at Ocmulgee National Monument (http://www.nps.gov/ocmu/index.htm).  We were feeling pretty full of ourselves.  We had noticed that many national park sites have RV parking lots and we had seen rigs bigger than ours at some of the sites.  Why not us?  We had enjoyed eating in our rig, en route to Point B.  We’d been told we could even pee in it.  So, why not a national park stop?

Ocmulgee National Historic Site is located near Macon, Georgia.  After exiting the Interstate, we drove through some neighborhoods where the locals did not seem happy to see us, possibly because we were not appropriately dressed in gang attire.  The road into the parking lot was narrower than we expected and the turns a bit tighter.  Kelly pulled into the parking lot at a speed just a titch over my comfort zone.  We thought nothing of that curb we popped.  We discussed the tight and narrow issues, trying to figure out how we were going to get out of that lot.  No matter – it would work itself out.

Kelly went into the visitor center and I took a walk around our rig.  Ooops.  Our trip over the curb resulted in a slashed sidewall and dinged rim.  I wasn’t sure how I was going to tell her this news.  I wasn’t particularly upset.  We were in a shady spot in a safe parking lot.  We had a spare and we had road-side assistance insurance. 

Kelly took the news really well.  We decided to tackle the tire before touring the site.  I got on the phone with Geico to find out about our road-side coverage and Kelly tackled the spare.  The nice folks at Geico either asked me insane questions (Them: “Exactly how long is your trailer?” Me: “With or without the tongue?” Them: “What’s a tongue?”  Them: “What color is your trailer?” Me: “Pretty much the same shade of white as all travel trailers.”  Them: “You need a tank of gas, right?” Me: “No. It’s a trailer.  It doesn’t use gas.  The problem is the tire.”) or put me on hold forever.  By the time I determined that we had the coverage we needed, Kelly had finished with the tire.  She actually hummed a happy song about how easy it was.

We cleaned up, had some lunch, and went back to the visitor center.  The center, built in the 1930s, is decorated with carvings that mirror the patterns carved into the pottery found at the site.  This center was more elaborate than some museums we’ve visited.  Exhibits showed life over the thousands of years of habitation, ending with the local branch of the Cherokee Nation.

There are many mound formations in this part of the country, but this is the only one (to my knowledge anyway) that has been excavated.  The floor is original (carbon dated to 1,000+ years old), but the rest of the structure was rebuilt.  Roughly 800 CCC members (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civilian_Conservation_Corps),  under the leadership of archeologists, took on the task during the 1930s.  They have found evidence of 17,000 years of continuous human habitation at this site.  One exhibit contained hundreds of arrow heads, arranged in chronological order.  Who knew you could trace the development of a people via hundreds of arrow heads? 

No one knows the purpose of this particular mound.  Some of the artwork reminded me of similar carvings we’d seen in Mexico and one archeologist had wondered whether there might have been a connection between the two civilizations at some point in time.  The mound might have been used for religious or political purposes.  There are 47 seats molded into the hard earth of the floor, in a semicircular pattern.  From the door, around each side, to the center, each seat is slightly larger and higher.  Three seats are directly across from the door.  These are on a platform.  In front of these seats, still part of the platform, is an eagle with a forked eye. Twice each year, rays from the rising sun shine directly through the door and tunnel to the center seat.

Native Americans who came later did not use these mounds, but they revered them.  This area, around this set of mounds, was held against the “Americans” until the very end.  In 1825, a Creek chief signed the land away to the state of Georgia.  The federal government declared the treaty illegal, but Georgia ignored this ruling.  The chief, whose cousin was the governor of Georgia, was murdered (assassinated or executed, depending on which account you read). 

This park was an oasis – acres of green meadow and forest in the midst of urban sprawl.  If it had not been for the National Park Service, this site, along with its history and culture, would have been lost to railroads, factories, and housing developments.

We left the visitor center parking lot the safe way.  We ignored all the “one-way” signs and chose roads that would allow us to exit with our rig intact.  I vowed that we would not try this again without a close examination of satellite pictures of parking lots and access roads!  The rest of our journey to Cartersville was remarkably uneventful.

Day #138 – Jimmy Carter NHS

Cordele GA

Today we drove over to Plains, Georgia, to visit the Jimmy Carter National Historic Site (http://www.nps.gov/jica/index.htm).  We passed fields, newly planted with the red soil so evident and orchards of pecan trees, just starting to green up.

We started at his school, which serves as the visitor center.  There were restored and furnished classrooms that looked so much like classrooms from my childhood.  There were tributes to the people who had influenced Mr. Carter during his growing up.  There was also an exhibit documenting Rosalynn Carter’s life.  The largest exhibit was devoted to educating us about the Carter Center (http://www.cartercenter.org/homepage.html and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carter_Center) , located in Atlanta.

Quoting directly from the Carter Center web site, “The Carter Center, in partnership with Emory University, is guided by a fundamental commitment to human rights and the alleviation of human suffering; it seeks to prevent and resolve conflicts, enhance freedom and democracy, and improve health.”

After touring the school and its exhibits, we drove to Mr. Carter’s boyhood home, just outside town.  We enjoyed wandering around the farm.  We found mules and ponies in a pasture, a machine used for grinding sugar cane, big pots used to boiling the cane syrup down into sugar, and grindstones.  We toured the house where his family lived and the cabin where the resident sharecroppers lived.  All these were narrated by Mr. Carter himself.  When he was growing up, his best friends were the children of the sharecroppers.  And, when his parents were out of town, it was the sharecroppers who took him in and cared for him.  He told the story of his first realization that these people were treated differently by society.  It was clear that his childhood shaped his values and his adult actions.

Did you know that Mr. Carter’s daddy was a tennis buff?  There, in the back yard, was a clay court.  When the family finally got indoor plumbing, they rigged a bucket – with holes - in a shower stall.  Everyone was so happy to be able to take a shower that they did not mind the cold water.  Well, that’s how the story goes.

Mr. Carter’s childhood ambition was to attend Annapolis and join the Navy.  After graduating high school, he attended two years at other schools before being admitted to the Naval Academy.  During his service, he worked to design nuclear submarines.  When his father died, he left the Navy to take on the family farming business.  He saw all the good his father had done for the community and thought he had a responsibility to continue that work.  He and Rosalynn were so poor during that time that they lived in subsidized housing.

Plains is a very small town.  On Sunday afternoon, there is no where to eat.  We were politely advised that folks in this town eat at their own homes, or those of friends.  We visited an antique shop and then an old general store that sold all things political – no matter your opinion, you could find it on a button, bumper sticker, mug, or shot glass.

This day was such a joy.  We realized that every park we’d been to, up to today, had been some sort of memorial to dead people.  While it’s important to learn our history, it was such a relief to celebrate the living.

Day #137 – Andersonville NHS

Lake Park GA to Cordele GA

Today we were amazed at how quickly we got on the road with this new trailer!  Even though we’re still not organized and had to move lots of stuff to the floor, we were on the road well before deadline. 

We were both white-knuckled for most of the 44 miles from Lake Park to the Cordele KOA.  The trailer swayed whenever a truck or trailer passed us.  Luckily, I packed crunchy things for Kelly to eat - she likes to crunch when she’s nervous.

One bright spot of the trip – we stopped at a rest area for lunch.  We just drove right in to the truck area, pulled out our steps and climbed into our trailer.  We sat at our own table and ate our own sandwiches.  What a treat!

We encountered a lot of traffic heading north.  We thought there had been an accident, but the KOA host informed us that it was “just people travelling north” after Spring Break.  She was quite upset with them. Apparently, this KOA had the misfortune of having the only restroom for miles.  Our host was not interested in being kind to travelers.

After setting up camp, which was ridiculously easy, we headed off to Andersonville National Historic Site (http://www.nps.gov/ande/index.htm).  Camp Sumter (aka Andersonville Prison) was one of the largest Confederate prisons during the Civil War.  While it was in existence for a little over one year, it housed more than 45,000 Union soldiers.  Thousands – nearly 30% - died from disease, malnutrition, overcrowding, and exposure to the elements.  The prison was established at a time when the South’s troops were poorly supplied, so little could be done to relieve the suffering.  The Union prisons were nearly as bad. 

The park also houses the National Prisoner of War Museum.  Through pictures and displays, the exhibits explore the meaning of “POW” and the role of POW camps throughout history, as well as bearing witness to the experiences of American soldiers who became POWs.

Third, the site contains a National Cemetery.

Most national parks have a movie as part of their educational program.  The movie at this site was made up of quotes from prisoners’ diaries, and photographs.  Remember, photography existed during the Civil War period.  The prisoners talked about a small stream that ran through the prison grounds.  Muddy water from the steam was their only source for drinking and washing.  Upstream, it was used as the jailors’ sewer.  The photos clearly showed the overcrowding and lack of shelter – men sat or lay in rows on the open ground, touching on all sides, with no relief. 

We were both affected by what we saw.  While I had seen pictures from World War II and Viet Nam, most of the other exhibits were new to me.  Kelly could not look at the exhibits from the Viet Nam era.  As we walked through the museum, I kept thinking about her service in the Army.  She was so lucky to be stuck in Germany, guarding missiles.  While her service changed her in many ways, she has not added “POW”, with all that means, to her life experience. 

We left the building by the back entrance.  There was a small stream running through the back patio, with sculptures of prisoners.  I began to cry.  Kelly held it together until we got to the truck.  She had been thinking the same thing I had – she was so lucky.

On our way back into town, we stopped by the airport.  The runways were short and the terminal just a small building.  Since Mr. and Mrs. Jimmy Carter still live in Plains, it is the beginning and end of their journeys.  In May 1923, Charles Lindbergh bought a plane here and took several flying lessons.