So there are basically (even as I write this I know it's not really entirely true) four main roads that can bring you into the town of Sewanee. One such road is Sherwood Road, or the road that takes you to Sherwood. This has always been a mysterious road to me, as to really know it you have to actually go all the way down the mountain (purists would say plateau but phmpf) and in all my years of Tennessee visiting, I've never done it. As far as I was concerned, that road led nowhere but to the Natural Bridge, past that, it's like nothing existed. My own personal map had it as unexplored, and potentially dangerous. Like, if you were a ship's captain and you believed the world was flat? This road would be where you'd start thinking to yourself 'oh god, i'm about to fall of the earth.' So, I was determined to remedy this state of affairs and on my last full day in town my parents and I loaded ourselves into the mini-van and set off. Dad drove. I sat shot-gun for better photographing opportunities, and Mom sat in the back. The thing about exploring new parts of a country-type area is that the roads are all gravel, and the people on the roads really do know everybody who lives on them, so if you're driving all slow-like in an unfamiliar car, you do stand out. I'm not saying anything bad would happen to you, it's just that I felt a little weird about hopping out and taking photographs in front of country folks' houses. This is why I am not a photojournalist. This is also why I'm not a professional photographer of any kind. We went up one road and saw the Garner Cemetery and some horses. The views were astoundingly pretty.
Then we drove to Sherwood, which really is a postage stamp in size...its post office, in fact, is the size of a postage stamp. We checked out an older Episcopal Church's parking lot, without getting out of the car. The church itself had its aesthetic charms, though it was marred by the not-so-kept-up trailers surrounding it. I'm talking trailers with small dog cages and sad beagles tied to trees and many, many broken down cars. Trailers that could make interesting photographs, if you didn't worry about being called out by the trailer's inhabitants. Then we went a little further down the road to the church's old grotto. A pretty spot, if completely forgotten and unkept...unkempt. I got out and climbed up a little bit, but there was just enough water flow that my feet and shoes got a little muddy.
There's also an old cement factory that has seen better years but, also, seems to be coming back into use. The town of Sherwood seems to have been originally built around this factory and the houses are built close together and small. I mentioned that they'd look pretty cute if they weren't so run down and both my parents commented that the houses used to look a lot worse. Sorry for the lack of photographic evidence. I just feel weird taking photographs of people's houses when it's clear that I'm not really taking the pictures out of jealousy or historic record.
Kudzu abounded on the long road up/down the mountain/plateau. My father recounted a story from his youth, which involved a bunch of boys traipsing down this ten mile stretch, walking the railroad tracks (including a one mile tunnel) and then, supposedly, walking back up the mountain. I had a hard time believing these little people could really do so much walking, but he acknowledged that maybe they hitched a ride on the way back up...also, I've seen photographs of my daddy-o as a young'n and he was skinny as a bean pole. Where was that gene for me I ask you? Maybe it's not a gene. Maybe it's all the 15 mile walks. Hmmm.
Kudzu!
It was a hot day. I tell you what.
Then we drove to Sherwood, which really is a postage stamp in size...its post office, in fact, is the size of a postage stamp. We checked out an older Episcopal Church's parking lot, without getting out of the car. The church itself had its aesthetic charms, though it was marred by the not-so-kept-up trailers surrounding it. I'm talking trailers with small dog cages and sad beagles tied to trees and many, many broken down cars. Trailers that could make interesting photographs, if you didn't worry about being called out by the trailer's inhabitants. Then we went a little further down the road to the church's old grotto. A pretty spot, if completely forgotten and unkept...unkempt. I got out and climbed up a little bit, but there was just enough water flow that my feet and shoes got a little muddy.
There's also an old cement factory that has seen better years but, also, seems to be coming back into use. The town of Sherwood seems to have been originally built around this factory and the houses are built close together and small. I mentioned that they'd look pretty cute if they weren't so run down and both my parents commented that the houses used to look a lot worse. Sorry for the lack of photographic evidence. I just feel weird taking photographs of people's houses when it's clear that I'm not really taking the pictures out of jealousy or historic record.
Kudzu abounded on the long road up/down the mountain/plateau. My father recounted a story from his youth, which involved a bunch of boys traipsing down this ten mile stretch, walking the railroad tracks (including a one mile tunnel) and then, supposedly, walking back up the mountain. I had a hard time believing these little people could really do so much walking, but he acknowledged that maybe they hitched a ride on the way back up...also, I've seen photographs of my daddy-o as a young'n and he was skinny as a bean pole. Where was that gene for me I ask you? Maybe it's not a gene. Maybe it's all the 15 mile walks. Hmmm.
Kudzu!
It was a hot day. I tell you what.
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