Went for a run today.  I suppose I could write that statement just about everyday, but today was special.  I’m traveling through Georgia and Tennessee this week on a quest to quench some southern thirst.  It’s not a thirst that some sweet tea or even Seagram’s sweet tea can relieve, but more of an “ants in the pants” feeling.  Not really sure what started this obsession, but I’ve been psychologically pulled to the idea of living in Tennessee for the past year.  While I have been all over the U.S. and a few places around the world, I have never lived more than 30 miles from the California coast.  I think that is a shame.  I don’t know how the Volunteer state attracted my unknowing attention; but I think I’m starting to figure it out.

As I said I went for a run today in the town of Murfreesboro, Tennessee.  Since I arrived in the south signs of the Civil War kept sneaking up on me.  A rebel bumper sticker would plant itself on the truck in front of me or maybe a billboard advertising different reenactment experiences would flash by the window of my rental car.   Now driving slightly hung over from Chattanooga en route to Nashville, I saw a sign for the Battlefield of Stones River and promptly veered off the freeway to check it out.  My aforementioned hang over has it’s own anecdote involving a run in with the only middle-aged gay dude in Chattanooga who thought he hit the jack pot when he found out the bar stool next to him was occupied by a real life San Franciscan.  Lets just say I drank for free for the rest of the night, but not enough to send my new friend home whistling Dixie.  Real nice guy though.

Beautiful East Tennessee from Lookout Mountain

Hang over in tact I was fixing to get my run on and sweat out the spirits.  Turning off the freeway I decided to first track down the battlefield’s visitor center.  You’re likely aware, but if not, our U.S. National Parks Service preserves and hosts most of the Civil War battlefields.  They do a beautiful job of caring for the space and providing the historical accounts of not only these battles, but on topics through out our nations time line.   PSA aside, in this case they have a beautiful center to check out the history around the battle including a short re-enactment film that almost brings you to tears, and then a free battlefield tour.  I had a short conversation with the center’s host, whose name was Bob, and who was impressed that I had visited alone and loved that I was from California.  He said he didn’t meet too many Californians and I expressed that I wasn’t surprised.  Clinch your asshole for a big generalization coming at you, but Californians like to go to islands, Mexicos, and Europes.  Oh, but my friends, COME HITHER, this country has beauty and stories right under its thumbs.  It’s a road trip away; it’s everywhere and not just Paris.  But I too often digress.  So Bob gave me a little special treatment because of my California roots, not to mention the fact that it looked like it was going to be a pretty slow day around the middle Tennessee visitor center.  He personally walked me through the museum and gave me a few of his personal historical tidbits.  Little nuggets such as this battle was a must win for Mr. Abraham Lincoln.  The gauntlet of the Emancipation Proclamation had just been laid down and now he needed some rebel blood to seal the deal.  The thought of two groups of young American men killing each other in battle still sickens me because I cannot imagine it occurring today.  However, in 150 years our ancestors will probably say the same thing about our modern day wars.  The merry-go-round of blood and tears will likely remain unless we begin to see the past as the future.

Off on my own now I finally went for that run I’ve been talking about.  I started with a route they call the cotton trail and it runs through four different fields that hosted the clashing of the Yankees and their southern counterparts.  I imagined myself breathing hard and fighting in that era only to break into a retreating sprint from exploding canons or surging troops.  I sprinted up hills envisioning that now I was on the attack and flashing my bayonet.  Through out the run I stopped repeatedly to read scripted accounts of the field’s encounters.  Jogging through the cemetery and past the civil war’s oldest monument I tried to imagine the scene and then saw the number.  24, 000 men were killed or wounded during the three-day battle of Stones River.  Young and old, North and South.  I asked myself, what motivated these individuals to join in the Civil War?  I assume there were some honorable freedom seekers on the Union side, but I also feel it was likely an economic or familial decision.  The key seems to be that all of the people in America would soon be free.  Free to their preferred way of life or actually free in the case of a Union victory.  But I suppose freedom only awaited those that survived.  Black or white, North or South fighting for freedom. I started to run again because I needed to keep moving, but I kept telling myself that the Civil War was such a bummer.  I kept running because like this country it had to keep moving after those bloody three days.  The war kept chugging and after the war the country kept chugging.  There will always be mistakes and hiccups in every nations past and in every life lived.  But then what?  What to do next? The history will always be there, but the south is no longer burning, and instead it’s beautiful.  Fall is in full swing through out Tennessee and the changing the leaves reveal our world has not stopped turning.  The people are still clamoring for Saturday morning college football and Nashville’s music is calling me from my hotel window.  It’s okay to look back, but don’t stop and try not to make the same mistakes again.  That goes for you to America, you’re a beautiful thing.

Finally learning that solo sunsets and leaving bars alone is a good thing. (Especially in Chattanooga)