April 29-May 2, 2008 - We left
Natchez and ventured onto the
Natchez Trace Parkway, a 444 mile
road that follows a primitive trail
linking Natchez, Mississippi with
Nashville, Tennesse. The Parkway
is a remarkable two lane road that is
closed to commercial traffic and has
a speed limit of 50 mph. The
National Park Service oversees the
Parkway and maintains three free
campgrounds along its length.
Because of the low speed limit the
traffic is non-existent and we often
drove for many miles without seeing another vehicle. There is a lot of history along the Trace
and at times it felt like we were viewing layers of history. We saw Indian burial mounds from
4,000 years ago and travelers' "stands" or inns from 150 years ago.
The original Trace was created by buffalo and other animals migrating north-south. The ancient peoples used the trail for their
own migrations. In the 1700's European traders would bring furs and other goods down the Mississippi by boat, sell their goods
in Natchez (and even sell their boat for lumber) and then walk back
to Nashville and other points north to do it again. The Trace
became a popular place for highway robbers, as the folks walking
north from Natchez had money in their pockets and little protection.
In the early 1800's, seeking to bind the vast and turbulent frontier
to its northeast seat of power, President Jefferson ordered the
army to widen the trail and make it a road passable by wagon.
As was noted by the Secretary of State at the time, "the passage
of mail from Natchez is as tedious as from Europe when westerly
winds prevail." The Trace vastly improved communications, but
by 1830 it fell into disuse as steamboats going up and down the
Mississippi river offered easier transportation. The Natchez Trace Parkway weaves along the original Trace route. At times the
original Trace is visible. It is a mere hiking trail. After the Trace was built into a road, "stands" or inns popped up along the
route. These offered food and lodging to travelers -- on a very simple scale.
We visited the Mount Locust stand. A family operated this stand with 51
slaves. In the main house the parents slept in one bedroom. The
grandmother and eldest
daughter in another.
The other ten kids slept
in the remaining
bedroom. The
mattresses were made
of corn husks and rope.
Visitors made do on the
porch.
Looking at these
cramped
accommodations it was
hard to imagine that
arriving at one of these
stands was all that
inviting. However, after
walking or riding a horse
all day on a dirt trail
these intrepid travelers
must have been
accustomed to truly
roughing it. Nothing like
us, with out motorized
transport, smooth paved
roads to drive on and a buggy with a well stocked fridge, freezer, hot shower
and 12 inch mattress.
We stopped briefly at Stanfield, the mansion where Andrew Jackson was
married. Like others we had visited, there was a long tree-lined drive up to
the house,
and the
house was a
pillared
beauty.
At Rocky Springs Campground, one of three lovely and free
campgrounds on the Trace, we were treated to a gorgeous
morning with filtered sunlight pouring through the trees.
On the edge of this campground is the ghost town of Rocky Springs.
All that remains of this once bustling town is the church, the
graveyard and two bank vaults. The abandoned bank vaults
reminded me of the
vault we had seen in
the Gulf Coast town
of Bay St. Louis, MS.
However, the once
prosperous rural
town of Rocky
Springs wasn't
devastated by a
hurricane. Instead
its death came from
many sources: bad land
management that cleared hillsides
for cotton leaving erosion scars that
can be seen today, the
Civil War, a yellow fever
epidemic in 1878 and a
boll weevil infestation. It
was eerie to walk a
small trail through the
woods where there had
once been cotton
plantations and 2610
residents. There is
nothing but trees now.
Up on the hill the church is still used, but the cemetery's stones all
date from the 1800's. How can a town vanish in just a little over 100
years?
Port Gibson is one
of the larger towns at the southern end of the Trace. At one time it was
considered "too beautiful to burn," but we didn't find it particularly inspiring.
There was an interesting mural on the wall of one building, and a small street
with a handful of stores, some in business and some shuttered. More intriguing
were the homes
on the outskirts of
town where the
Confederate flag
was flying. Some flew the flag along with the American flag, and
some flew it alone.
We took
advantage of
this ideal area
for cycling to
do a few rides
along the Trace. With no noticeable traffic, modest rollers, and
interesting historical sites every few miles, we thoroughly enjoyed our
rides. One day, while camped further north on the Trace at Jeff Busby
Campground, we rode our bikes down to French Camp. This was a
bustling community in earlier days and had several pretty buildings.
Besides the recent historical sites that can be seen on Natchez
Trace, there are a lot of prehistorical sites as well. We stopped at
several Indian ceremonial and burial mounds. Archaeologists
have dug through these mounds and made some startling
discoveries. At one site, when the leader of the tribe died it
seemed that all his attendants were killed and buried with him.
Often they were killed by strangulation. Likewise, when a parent
died sometimes the rest of the family would be strangled and
buried with the parent. As I pondered all this back at the
campground -- in the pretty setting sun -- it occurred to me that
even though lots of people have concerns about individual rights
in our culture today, at least we don't do that.
After we left the Natchez Trace Parkway we headed west and north
towards Arkansas. I was dozing when suddenly Mark said, "Look, Kermit
the Frog...!" I woke up just in time to see a billboard for the Jim Henson
museum. We spent a very happy
hour at this little outpost in Leland,
Mississippi that is a charming
museum of Jim Henson memorabilia.
It is run as a labor of love by a
woman who raised her children
watching Sesame Street.
I remember when that television
show first aired in 1969. As a nine-
year-old its alphabet and numbers lessons were a little juvenile, but I remember loving the
gentle humor and I watched it for many hours with my younger sister.
Mark knew the show from raising his kids
watching it. He had been a teenager
when it first aired, so he never saw the
episodes I did. It was amusing standing
around with the proprietor and realizing
that all three of us had watched it during
different eras and we remembered
different things -- even different muppet characters.
This little stop in Leland rounded out a delightful visit to Mississippi. From
there it was on to the Ozarks in Arkansas.