This past Sunday I made a spiritual journey, which was very important to me.
While on a road trip out of state to attend my niece's birthday party, I decided to dedicate a whole day to search for my GrandMother Harriet. This was not my first attempt to find her. Over nine years ago, My Honey and I went searching for her without success. This time I used the modern technology available and did a Google Search on the library's computer. This time, I headed out early in the morning with a map and detailed directions. This time, I was very determined and did not plan on returning until I found her. After a few hours of driving, I stopped at the famous "Dairyland Cafe" and picked up lunch. With a brown bag lunch in hand, I headed down the dusty dirt roads toward my destination. After another hour of searching, several dead ends and locked gates, I finally arrived.
It was a hot, sunny, still day when I parked my truck in front of the gate. A wide variety of emotions began to swirl around in my head and in my heart. I had finally arrived. I was finally there for the first time. I am forty-eight years old. It was a trip that should have occurred so many years ago. My mom and I had talked about making that trip for many years but we never made it there. My mom died in 2007.
As I opened the gate and took that first step inside, suddenly a strong breeze created a dust storm which stopped me in my tracks. I thought immediately "THAT IS A SIGN". As the dust settled and I got a chance to look around, I then realized that finding GrandMother Harriet STILL MIGHT NOT ACTUALLY HAPPEN. The cemetery had been well maintained. The grass had been recently mowed and many graves had flowers on them. I started on the west side and began a grid search, front to back. Many of the tombstones were very old and the words etched on them had faded out over time. Many of the graves did not have "real" tombstones, instead the graves were marked with a rock.
Finally I found GrandMother Harriet. She is my Great-Great-Great GrandMother. She was born in Tennessee in 1821. She was Cherokee. I grew up hearing stories about how she had survived "The Trail Of Tears" as a child, how she had survived the Civil War as a widow with eight children. She had seven sons and one daughter. Her youngest child was Mary Elizabeth, who was my Great-Great Grandmother, who died in 1932, three years before my own mother was born.
After all that she had been through in her life, more tears flowed when GrandMother Harriet faced the death of her 14 year old son William. They lived in a "Confederate" State but like many people back then, didn't have interest or affiliation with issues of war. William had been killed by the Confederate bushwhackers. In response to his murder, his four older brothers went to join the 4th Regiment Calvary of the Union Army. According to the story, after her sons left, the bushwhacker's returned and were intent on finding out their whereabouts. GrandMother Harriet was tied up and tortured for information. Like a scene from one of my favorite movie's "Cold Mountain", she stubbornly refused to tell the bushwhackers about her sons and she ended up with parts of several fingers missing and the complete removal of both thumbs. Their home was burned to the ground. She later relocated to nearby where her soldier sons were stationed and cooked for the troops in exchange for food and protection for her younger surviving children.
GrandMother Harriet died in 1904 at age 83. She was buried in that spot 105 years ago. Her grave is surrounded by the graves of a son, a daughter in law and two grandsons. I stayed there for two hours, talking to her about everything and everyone. I sat cross-legged next to her grave and had "dinner on the ground". I said a special prayer. I left an offering for her. I tied my special bandanna, into a bow around her tombstone. I took photos of the cemetery and the tombstones. I told her about each member of the family all the way down to the teenagers (Molly & Mary D). I even told her about the brand new member of the newest generation. Jayden is her Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandson, he is four months old and living 8 generations since GrandMother Harriet. I thanked her for her strength and determination which has shaped so much of my own life. I acknowledged that had she not survived her own struggle through such adversity, that none of us would be here today.
Since I was a kid, I've always felt connected to the Earth and to "those who came before me". I was the child that was fascinated by the old family stories and said that someday I'll write a book. I was the kid that always came home with pockets full of stones and pieces of wood. When I was little I used to use the brown crayon for the face and the black crayon to draw long dark straight hair when making drawings of women or girls. The other kids used yellow crayons to draw short hair and white for the face color. They said I was doing it wrong, but I didn't care. I just answered " I like it that way". I've always been the restless type and have always referred to it as being a gypsy at heart. It's taken a lifetime to understand those tiny details that connect us.
When I was trying to find the cemetery, I passed this grove of trees off the side of the road several times. Each time I felt drawn to it. I even considered parking on the side of the dirt road and crawling over the fence to investigate that area. Maybe I will stop there next time I go back. As I was driving away, following the dirt road back toward the pavement, I thought that when she died in 1904, her coffin must have been transported by wagon to the cemetery. Since most people weren't buried very far from where they lived, GrandMother Harriet probably lived somewhere nearby. Maybe I should go back to that grove of trees that drew me to that spot.
Thinking about it now, knowing about the joys and sorrows of several generations since GrandMother Harriet was forced out of her home in the East, I realize that we have all been on our own journey called life. We too, have left behind a trail of tears of our own, as well as a trail of joy and hope for future generations to follow.
Finally finding GrandMother Harriet's final resting place brought me a kind of peace that I've never know before. After a lifetime of struggling to find my place in this world, I feel that I've now come full circle. I know where my place in the world is and at last, I feel totally comfortable in it. I promised GrandMother Harriet to continue to search for those who came before me. I promised to go to the grave site of her daughter, Mary Elizabeth in the near future for the first time. I promised to share her stories with the 7th and 8th generation, so that they can teach it to the 9th and 10th generations. Thank you GrandMother Harriet, I love you !
