Weekend Road Trip

My education began in the northeast Georgia mountains, in Demorest, which is on the old U.S. Highway 441. Mom went there for a couple of years on a basketball scholarship, some sixty years ago, and I followed her to Piedmont College. Each of my undergraduate years began in September, as the temperatures began to cool down, and before long, Mother Nature put on a heck of a good show. When I lived at Piedmont, my 64 Chevy took me to Clarkesville, to shop at Reeves' Hardware and Batson's supermarket, and I loved an occasional treat at the Dairy Queen. Helen is an easy drive from Demorest, as is Tallulah Falls, so I know many of the local roads in northern Habersham and southern Rabun counties.

On Sunday, hubby and I rode up the new 441, a wide four lane with a median, which takes away the curves and grades of the old road, but does provide some panoramic views of the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the trees were displaying a few remaining red leaves, along with yellow and golden brown. Leaf watchers would probably describe it as "just past peak" but it was still a good show. When we reached our destination, Tallulah Gorge, we turned right off the main road, onto a section of old 441, which goes past the old entrance to the private school at Tallulah Falls, where I began my teaching career, to view one of the largest canyons in the eastern United States, two miles long and a thousand feet deep, a magnificent combination of foliage, sheer rock faces, and water moving over falls and rapids. There was only one tourist filled shop open on Sunday, but there were four of them when I taught English at Tallulah Falls School. When we left the Gorge, we rejoined the old road, which is now called "Historic 441," and I remembered the road well because I drove along it daily, from my rental home in Demorest to Tallulah Falls School, some thirty years ago. We passed some businesses, now wrapped in weeds and kudzo vines, which did not survive the loss of tourists after the new road was built, but many of the landmarks I remember are still in place. We came through Clarkesville, with its quaint square, by the Charm House, and while the Adam's Rib Restaurant has a new name, the old DQ is in the same spot. U.S. 441 is now three lanes wide in front of Piedmont College, taking away some of the grassy area I remember, and an elevated crosswalk now links the main campus with buildings and parking across 441. We rejoined the new road just south of Demorest, but once we reached Baldwin, we were able to get back on the old road just south of there, where it is called the "Historic Homer Highway" and it goes right through the county seat of Banks County. Before the old road rejoins the newer one, we turned right to travel to Maysville, noting a big crowd at Sarah's restaurant, and from there, back to our home in Jefferson.

The day turned cloudy as the afternoon waned, but the leaves were still vivid, signaling the change of seasons once more. While the entire road trip only lasted an afternoon, I enjoyed seeing the foothills of mountains once again.

Mama's Favorite Season

All of my life, I have enjoyed spring, but I've never loved it the way Mama did. Perhaps it was growing up on a farm, watching crops go in, as well as watching nature wake up from winter hibernation. Maybe it was that she did not have allergies, not the way hubby and I do. Mama was not much of gardener, not until her empty nest years, which were cut short by cancer. She did have beautiful azaleas, planted in a circle around an oak tree that was over a hundred years old, and the driveway was defined by huge clumps of jonquils and thrift. In other spots, she had planted various roses, with hydrangeas and other staples of southern flower gardens.

The road where I live now was once one of the prettiest in our small southern town. Some of the woods have given way to mini-mansions on half acre lots, surrounded by some uber-ugly fencing, and other folks have pulled up older plants which no doubt suffered in recent droughts. Still there are enough dogwoods and azaleas to remind me that spring is a beautiful time of year.

Easter moves about the calendar according to some arcane rules that few people bother to learn. I do have clear memories of Mama teaching me about the legend associated with the unique dogwood blossom. Daddy always cut the grass the day before Easter, whether it needed it or not, just to "make it easier to find those eggs." Mama and Daddy made finding the eggs a simple, fun-filled event. However, if we had an egg hunt at the Dodd's, my older male cousins put eggs in all sorts of weird places, including the forks of high trees. Only the brave got all the eggs in Nanny Dodd's backyard.

One of my favorite photographs of Mama was made on her last Easter, bending her six-foot frame over to guide my daughter, not quite two years old, to find eggs, poorly hidden among those flowers in her front yard.

Ah, yes, spring has come to Georgia, with thunder, lightning, hail, and a river of yellow pollen running down the driveway. My neighbor has a glorious row of multicolored azaleas lining her driveway, and I have a large, native dogwood in bloom. Once again, it is mama's favorite season, and I love to take in all the natural beauty. Hubby, give me another Claratin, because I just can't stay inside.