Bird flies south

We had it all planned out.

A friend and I were taking the kids on a 5 day road trip down south. Our plans included hiking and caving and just generally adventuring. But kids will be kids, and one of them got sick and we had to cancel Sunday night. We had been scheduled to leave on Tuesday. I knew Lilah would be so sad, and I'd already taken the time off work for a "last hurrah" before summer was over. I talked it over with Dano, and he said he thought we should still go and do SOMETHING from the trip. He told me not to overdo it, but to head south and do some things before making our way home. Spontaneity makes me itch, but I agreed to try it. I packed right then and waited for Lilah to wake up Monday morning. She took the news pretty well, and we loaded up the car with our bags and a cooler of food and hit the road. The cooler had "adult lunchables" from Western Market (cold slices of salami, cheeses, baby gherkins, stone ground mustard, and a square of dark chocolate), juice boxes and water, frozen tubes of yogurt, and granola bars. I figured we'd be set for car snacks and a couple of meals with all that.

I'd picked up Wildwood on Audiobook at the library. It's the story of 12yo Prue McKeel of Portland, OR. Her 11mo baby brother Mac is abducted by a murder of crows and taken into the Impassable Wilderness, known from the inside as Wildwood. She goes after him and adventure ensues. I thought it would be good for a trip like this, both in theme and length. It was 15hrs, and our trip was 24. That left time for some good music and, invariably, Hamilton.

Saoirse the Spaceship (my new hybrid) had done excellently on our recent trip up north, and outdid herself on this trip. On less than a full tank, we didn't have to stop until we got over the Kentucky border. I fueled up Saoirse and Lilah got out to stretch. We went into the station to use the bathroom and I bought a cherry vanilla Pepsi. While waiting in line to pay for it, I was startled by a voice behind me.

"Any good?" I turned around. A black man about my age with an guileless face and friendly smile was gesturing to my flavored Pepsi. "I always think about trying one, but you just never know, you know?" I shrugged and smiled uncomfortably, saying I liked them.

It was my turn in line, and the rotund, mustachioed white attendant drawled, "That all, hun?" I groaned inwardly, forgetting the familiarity of the south. I nodded and handed him some money. He was still grinning while counting out my change, but turned his attentions to Lilah. "Now why aren't you in school, darlin'?" We were both startled by that question, which he repeated, looking at me. I told him we were from Michigan and school hadn't started yet, keeping to myself the fact that it wasn't any of his business either way. I took my change and backed away from the counter, allowing the man behind me to take my place. Pepsi Guy smiled warmly at me and told me to have a good day. I nodded and he turned to the counter and the jovial grin of the attendant faded to just less than a frown and in return, the face of Pepsi Guy went from kind to guarded. He asked for and received a pack of cigarettes with as little speech as was required for the transaction. It was a startling change and I felt jarred by it, confused. Getting back in the car, I looked at the green pickup being fueled up next to me and saw a Confederate flag displayed proudly in the window. A drastic culture shift was less than 4hrs to the south. I can't say what I had witnessed was impossible in Michigan, but I can say it wasn't an ingrained part of the culture where I live, whereas referring to a black waiter in a restaurant as "Boy" was something I'd heard frequently in my days as a waitress in Nashville. No one batted an eyelash.

We continued on to Cave City, Kentucky before stopping for the night. We checked into a hotel by the interstate and in unpacking the Saoirse, I noticed the roadside shack next door. It proudly boasted discount souvenirs (all souvenirs in Cave City appeared to be rock related, like geodes and polished stones), homemade jams, jellies, and relishes, and flags. Only Confederate flags were displayed. #patriotism?

Lilah and I grabbed a quick snack and headed to Mammoth Cave National Park. We had arrived just in time for the last tour of the day. Lilah poked around the Welcome Center. I was surprised at how not-touristy the place was. Some hoodies and keychains for sale, but the price for the tour was under $15 for both of us combined, and parking was free. Our guide came along and lead us down a descending path through the woods. He was sweet and full of dad-humor. We rounded a corner to the opening of the cave and the temperature dropped from an oppressively humid 90 to a refreshing 54 degrees (so we were told). We entered the dimly lit cave, Lilah holding tightly to my hand and whispered that she was feeling anxious.
"I'm taking deep breaths to control my emotions." I stifled a laugh and gave her a thumbs up. We saw mining endeavors that had taken place during the war of 1812, all of the materials perfectly preserved inside the cave. The guide mentioned that the mining had been so difficult and backbreaking, most workers hadn't lasted more than a day. "They ended up having to bring in an upwards of 60 slaves to complete the work." Lilah looked at me with wide eyes. Having just heard how terrible the conditions had been in the mine, it was unthinkable to her that they could bring in people forced to do the work. He also mentioned something about how in early America, only white men could vote, no women or black men. I'd missed the segue into that conversation, but Lilah shot another glance at me and I nodded ruefully that it was true.
"Well that's the worst idea white men ever had," she muttered. Two men behind me cracked up. They started poking at her and harassing her about why she wasn't in school, and how she had a lot of opinions. She vacillated between disapproving glares and nervous smiles. Her face was an ocean of anxiety over how to handle these inquisitive strangers. She'd finally had enough and said, "Only my mother is the boss of me," pointing to me. They laughed and told her she was going to be amazing at 13. She scooted behind me. She listened intently to the guide talk about the limestone in the cave, and the geology of cave formation, and how bodies of Native Americans had been discovered down there perfectly preserved. My heart felt tight when I heard how artifacts had been removed from the cave by wheelbarrows and disposed of in the 1800s in transforming the caves into mines. A generation back, when a guide had discovered the body of a Native American crushed under a boulder, the body had been removed, studied, and displayed in the Welcome Center for years. I felt a mild pang of alarm of how it might have felt to a present-day Native American to see what could have been a distant relative, displayed as "Lost John". He was eventually removed and laid to rest in an undisclosed location in the caves. I suppressed an eyeroll as the guide regaled a captive audience with tales of how the guide who had discovered "Lost John" had reported haunting knocks at his door and strange sounds forever afterward.

After the tour, our guide had everyone close their eyes as he turned out the lights in the entire cave. We opened them (me uncovering Lilah's with my hand) to total darkness. It wasn't just dark, it was the void. Complete absence of light, and an oppressiveness that seemed to swallow sound as well. There was no breeze, no insects, no noise whatsoever. The guide flicked a lighter and the rock walls danced with otherworldly shadows. He led us out, Lilah clinging tightly to my hand. After we emerged into daylight and the dank Kentucky heat, Lilah thanked our guide and we headed up the path. Several adults stopped me to tell me Lilah was excellently behaved, including the two men who had been needling her. They said she deserved an ice cream and she shook her head no, saying she was just supposed to be good. A few other kids had been on the tour with us and had fussed and asked to leave. Nothing that I wouldn't consider kid-appropriate behavior, but Lilah comports herself more like an adult and adults tend to like that.

After a quick sleep and a bagel, we checked out of the hotel and headed further south. The runny nose and sneezing I had noticed from Lilah the evening before dramatically increased. Her eyes were reddened and she was sneezing incessantly. I cursed myself for only bringing Benadryl and not Zyrtec, and I mentioned this out loud. A few moments later, I heard foil being broken and looked in the mirror to see her defiantly chewing a Benadryl. I told her it would make her tired and she said she didn't care. I told her how funny it was her allergies had kicked up out of nowhere (and disappeared as soon as we got home), considering Dano and I were living down there when I was pregnant with her. I decided to drive to Chattanooga, and on I-65, I noticed my stomach was starting to hurt. I shrugged it off and kept driving. My throat started to feel tight, and I took a choked drink of water. When my breathing started to get shallow and quick, my eyes darted around and finally rested on an exit sign I knew well from my time living here. My time spent gouging and clawing out an adult life with Dano, time spent listening to Ben Folds, Cake, Death Cab for Cutie, time spent in constant fear and anxiety, in strife with my parents, in devastation at their abandonment, in fear of their retribution, in poverty while in school, in horror to be bringing a child into that nightmare, and in flight leaving to start a new life somewhere else. Full blown panic descended on me and I felt submerged. I heard Lilah call my name impatiently, and I realized she'd called it more than once.
"Sorry," I croaked lamely. "I'm...feeling overwhelmed and kind of sick." She asked if my headache was back and I shook my head. "I'm just feeling...emotional...for some reason." She didn't need the details. She smiled sympathetically and told me to take deep breaths. I tried, navigating us out of that city as fast as I could. I looked at her in the mirror.
"You're best of Mommies and best of Women," she said, modifying a quote Alexander Hamilton used with his wife Eliza: "Best of Wives and best of Women." She quieted, listening to Prue fight her way through Wildwood. I felt once again like my separation from my family had torn this jagged piece from me that time and happiness had polished into a strong, nacreous scar. The toothed edges had smoothed and rounded over time, and this child had been born that perfectly folded into the indentation they'd left behind. She was all light and beauty and strength. She built up what they'd ripped apart and made me whole again.

We reached Chattanooga without further upset. Saoirse gloried in the mountains, hugging the curves of the mountains and coasting the steep grades with ease. It made traveling a pleasure. We bought tickets to Rock City Gardens and Ruby Falls and I bought Lilah some lunch before exploring the gardens atop Lookout Mountain. The natural rock garden was breathtaking, with Celtic music being piped along the path and gnome statues placed periodically stood as sentries. The man-made fairytale caverns below glowed neon and otherworldly under blacklights, and the carnival music on repeat was the stuff of nightmares. The views from the top of the mountain overlooked 7 states. Lilah fearlessly peered over the edge and walked out onto a rock slab. I felt my heart drop out of my chest. She rapped The Schuyler Sisters and danced on the cliffside. She had an ice cream and panned for gemstones, pocketing some amethyst and crystals. On a Tuesday morning, the place was mostly deserted and we didn't interact with many people.

We drove down Lookout Mountain to the entrance of Ruby Falls. In stark contrast to Mammoth Cave, these caverns were extensively touristy. There was wifi even 1000ft below the top of the mountain, souvenirs galore, and much of the pathway underground had been blasted open with dynamite. The falls themselves, though, were worth it. A tiny crack in the rock overhead opened to release a magnificent spray of water that cascaded to a small pool on the cavern floor before trickling in several directions out of the caves. It took 8 hours to empty into the Tennessee River.

I got gas for only the second time on the trip and we drove a few more hours to Pigeon Forge to get a hotel for the night. It was the epitome of kitschy tourist city with souvenirs shops and dinner shows galore, and apparently all of it was "Dolly (Parton) Approved". Shops boasting "genuine Indian items" dotted the plazas. The Biblical Times Dinner Theater was across the street from our hotel, as was Try Our Nuts nut emporium. Lilah swam in the hotel pool happily while we waited for pizza to be delivered, and we both fell fast asleep. In the morning, we drove to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, which was a breathtaking contrast to Pigeon Forge. It was all natural and stunning. We parked Saoirse and got our water bottles and coffee mugs, heading to the trail head of Laurel Falls. I'd heard it was a do-able hike with a little one. We read the signs about avoiding bears and staying well clear of the edges, as drop-off deaths had occurred. I observed Lilah's usual drunken stumble with chagrin and insisted she stay on the inside of the path. She capered over rocks on the mountain face, stopped to collect all the special rocks, and wondered aloud where all the birds were. For the first time, I noticed that birds weren't singing. Save the occasional cricket or locust-y sound, the forest was silent. She whispered, "I feel like we're going into the Impassable Wilderness. I hope there's no Dowager Governess here." I smiled at her and assured her the Dowager was relegated to Wildwood. "But," she remarked, "I wouldn't mind meeting Owl Rex or going to the Avian Principality." We climbed and climbed, passing other hikers as we did. All stopped us to say good morning. Lilah frequently hid behind me shyly as we let other hikers pass on their way down, and kept her eyes downcast as they greeted her, which they all did. She finally asked me, "Mama, do I have to talk to all these people? They all talk to me."

"No, babe. You don't have to say hi, but you do have to s..." and I stopped. I'd almost said smile. But that wasn't what I'd meant. I didn't want her to be deliberately rude to friendly southern strangers, but she did not owe them a smile. I didn't want to start that precedent or make her feel beholden to people she didn't know, just because they'd said good morning. "You don't have to talk to anyone if you aren't comfortable. Ever. But if these people are friendly to you, you can be polite." She digested this, peering intently into a little stream.
"Can I just wave, you think?"
"Definitely. Waving is a really good idea." From there, she waved to everyone who wished her a good morning, smiling and feeling less shy. Interaction on her terms.

We got to Laurel Falls and stopped short. It was breathtaking. 25 feet overhead, the cliff face opened to a beautiful waterfall with several levels, creating little pools of cold, clear water with translucent crayfish scurrying about, before rushing over the edge of the rocks and plummeting down the mountainside. Lilah squealed and stripped off her shoes and socks, splashing into the pools and clambering on the slippery rocks. She lost her footing and landed with a splash on her bottom in one of the pools. She looked at me and I shrugged, and she mimicked my shrug and went back to playing. We climbed the rock to the top of the falls. The kids of other hikers asked to climb as well and were told no, which set them to whining until their parents got tired of it and they left. Lilah informed me she had peed at the top of the falls, and wondered how long it would take her pee to reach the Tennessee River. We splashed around a bit more before heading back down the path. We walked in amiable silence for a bit before odd sounds started to register. Snapping branches, crunching leaves, more snapping. It seemed to be coming from the woods to my right. I whispered to Lilah to stop and craned for the source of the racket. A massive black shape was ambling and snuffling 10 feet from me. I didn't need to see a head to know what it was. I stifled the desire to scream, "BEAR!" like Merida from Brave and whispered to Lilah that she needed to keep her voice down and move. Her eyes got wide as she saw what I was staring at and she nodded and we walked briskly down the path. Camping 7 years earlier, I'd mistaken the scrabblings of raccoons at night for a bear. Dano had said simply at the time, "If there's a bear, you'll know." He was correct.

We left Laurel Falls and drove west to Townsend to meet up with Lilah's friend Abby and her family, who were vacationing in the Smokies as well. The 6 of us went on a lovely horseback ride. I had been afraid Lilah would get near a horse and say she was too afraid. Instead, she surprised me by loving it and doing a great job on her horse Arrowhead. She told me she felt like Merida on her horse Angus, who had also been black and white. We said goodbye to her friends and headed north. I told Lilah to have a lunch from the cooler. She snacked on some things while listening to Part 3 of Wildwood. We were in the Cumberland Gap area, driving through the highest mountains I'd ever seen, when she began to groan and complain about her stomach. I brushed it off at first until she started to cry, and she leaned over and threw up in the garbage. There were no exits and the shoulder featured a sharp drop off. I finally found a spot to pull off while semi trucks whizzed by. I helped her to the grass and got her changed into pajamas. We rinsed her mouth out and she emptied her stomach again. Inspecting the odd contents, I asked what she'd eaten. Only all of the baby gherkins dipped in copious amounts stone ground mustard. I groaned. No wonder. I grabbed the Benadryl and maxed her out on a dose for her weight to settle her stomach. She fell asleep shortly thereafter for and stayed asleep for hours.

As we made the long trek home, the sky darkened and lightning began to flicker in the distance of Ohio. Lilah was awake by that time and listening to the frantic conclusion of Wildwood. The further north we drove, the darker and weirder the sky got. My phone started buzzing insistently and I glanced over at it. A tornado warning for the exact spot we were driving in. I felt my chest constrict and breath wasn't coming easily. I turned Wildwood off to much protest, and tuned into the radio. The DJ announced that the tornado had cleared the listening area, and I exhaled with relief. "So unless you're headed north, you're all clear. If you're headed north, well, continue to take shelter until after 9:30." I looked up at the pink sky as hail started pinging off Saoirse. Shelter. All exits were closed due to construction. We were in the middle of a plain. There was no shoulder. I cursed Ohio colorfully in my head. I weighed my options, instructed my phone to compose a text message to Dano (in case you die, whispered a macabre voice in my head), and hit the gas, going as fast as I was able to go safely in the pelting rain. If I couldn't find somewhere to take shelter, I was getting to Michigan as fast as Saoirse could take us. When I finally crossed the Michigan border, it was like something from a movie. The sky turned from sickening pink to a respectable black. The hail gave way to a soft summer rain. All signs pointed to Prue reclaiming her brother from the Dowager Governess and saving all of Wildwood in the process. My phone navigation chimed merrily, "Welcome to Michigan!" After a short time, we approached a very familiar skyline. Lilah clapped and said "Detroit!" We were home before we knew it. Dano greeted us bleary-eyed and I choked back tears, expecting him to give me a hug and comfort me after the tornado ordeal. He'd slept through my text message and it seemed much less dramatic telling him in person. Lilah and I brushed our teeth and changed into pajamas while he started a load of laundry after the incident with the gherkins. The three of us fell into our bed and slept like the dead.

We've done mostly nothing today, Lilah and I. Loafing around, watching movies. I've spent the day thankful to be home in our village. We moved her north for a reason. It wasn't just that we want her to grow up near cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. We wanted her grow up in a place where, if she ends up attracted to girls instead of boys, or both, or neither, there won't be a "coming out". There will just be Lilah being Lilah, and loving who she loves. Parts of our trip were mind-blowingly beautiful, and Lilah and I made memories that we'll have forever. People were genuinely kind and helpful. But it's just too different. The casual cultural appropriation of Native Americans. The barely veiled racial divide. The intimacy with strangers. I was thankful a million times for the life we've made in the community we've chosen, a community that has also embraced us in return and was happy to welcome us back.

In 72hrs, we drove 24hrs, saw 5 states, crossed 3 rivers, explored 3 caves, played in 4 waterfalls, rode 2 horses, encountered 1 bear, stayed in 2 hotels, spent $65 in gas, peed in 1 waterfall, threw up 12 baby gherkins, outran 1 tornado, listened to 15hrs of Wildwood, climbed 2 mountains, and had more laughs with my girl than I could possibly count.