I wanted to visit Chattanooga to see my great grandmother's homestead (1902 - 1978) and my grandmother's grave (1920 - 2013). My great grandmother who we of course called Granny (from what little I can remember) was a wonderful, loving and portly food pusher. This woman could cook, and made everything from scratch. Chocolate pie drowning in baked meringue, banana bread and fresh biscuits made fresh every morning - again from scratch. As a charming person reminded me along the way, a biscuit is a spoon you can eat and southern people put this into practice every morning, especially when gravy is involved. Granny, Granddaddy and their home represented a great deal to my family. Laughter, joy, freedom, safety and love. Their house burned down in 1978 and they both passed soon after. Standing on the overgrown lot I disparately tried to connect to some of these past feelings but couldn't. I do believe places can hold a great deal of power, but in this case I think it had more to do with the people who once lived there.
A few miles away is the Beautiful Greenwood Cemetery. This is where my grandmother Margaret Riddell is buried. We called Margret, NaNa and she was a wonderful, sweet, simple, loving person. She put up with a lot of pain in her life, but managed to raise 3 amazing daughters (one of them my mother). She lived her final years on the West Coast. Kicked the S#$% out of the system to make sure she got every service and benefit she deserved and was known to enjoy visits to the local Indian casino.
On the way back to the freeway we noticed this historic marker telling the story of Mary Walker who at the age of 116 learned to read.
Personal note: At times I feel like it's too late or I'm too old to start something new - well, after reading and being totally inspired by Ms. Walker's story - I, we, NONE OF US HAVE ANY EXCUSE!
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