Secret Falls

 

Somewhere in the Georgia mountains. Photo by me, October 2024.

In typical fashion, the last week of October near Halloween is when I drive up to the mountains of Georgia or North Carolina to see the peak leaf color, go for a hike and buy locally grown Georgia apples and apple cider doughnuts. These are trips I have been making since the 1980s.

One of my destinations in October 2024 was a little known waterfall that I had found in a hiking book from the 1990s. There are many waterfalls in the Georgia mountains and in the fall, the mountain trails are crowded, especially on weekends. I call it the tourist circuit in which metro Atlanta residents drive up to the mountains, fill up the trailheads and huff and puff through the woods for a selfie in front of the water falling over the rocks. The peace I associate with the mountains is nonexistent during fall weekends and the last thing I want to do is listen to people drowning out the sounds of nature.

To help prevent this location from falling victim to the overcrowding of the tourist circuit, I am not going to name this waterfall or its specific location. There is very little information on the internet about this trail and waterfall and I do not want to contribute to it being overrun like most every other place.

The snaky road with sneaky curves. Photo by me, October 2024.

To hunt down this waterfall and lightly traveled trail which I feared might be overgrown, you drive a twisting and narrow two lane state road into the Chattahoochee National Forest. After passing over the tops of ridges for many miles there is another turn onto an even more narrow and curvy road that follows a gap between the ridges. Several miles down this road and following directions from thirty years ago we turned again down a gravel and mud Forest Service road. There were no signs indicating there was a trail or waterfall to be found. The road was in decent shape for an unpaved Forest Service road given that it was only a month since Hurricane Helene had barreled through the mountains and caused so much destruction. Also, you never know what conditions to expect on Forest Service roads as some are more treacherous than others.

Shall we drive this Forest Service road through a creek? Photo by me, October 2024.

The gravel road followed a creek upstream into a mountain cove for some time before we guessed we had located the trailhead by a small pullover as again there were no signs. 

Tempted by the unmarked path. Photo by me, October 2024.

A trail peeked at us through the brush and we decided to take it with no one else around to tell us that we could be making a mistake. Not that I cared, I was happy to be having an adventure in the woods just as I had since I was a boy. Up the cove we walked between the ridge tops that ranged between 3,200 and 3,400 feet in elevation.

A bigfoot. Nah, just me. Photo October 2024.

We walked for some time as the cove began to close in around us. It was around that time and after trudging through a long muddy stretch that I suspected we might be on the wrong trail or that the directions from a thirty year old book were wrong. I sensed that the person I was with began to question our direction and was hesitant about continuing. I assured him that it was not much further and to keep following the swift moving creek upstream, not that I had any real clue. We were going to find something even if it was a bear and we had earlier heard something crashing through the underbrush and leaves on a ridge above us. Though the thousands of wild black bears in Georgia are mostly afraid of human contact and will run away, I hoped not to test it.

It was the sound of the waterfall in the distance that we heard first and with that, our pace quickened. The boundary of two counties went unseen between our legs as we straddled it.

A place with history under the fallen leaves. Photo by me, October 2024.

The ground leveled out and we were standing in the spot of a former Civilian Conservation Corps camp from the 1930s. From looking around, there were signs that on rare occasion people still used the area to tent camp. Those people too were as lucky as us to know about this almost secret place that on this day we had completely to ourselves.

Some of the old mill ruins from over a hundred years ago. Photo by me, October 2024.

Prior to it becoming a C.C.C. camp almost a hundred years ago, there had been a family mill located just below the falls. A few ruins of the mill were scattered around.

The rooted and rocky trail to the ledge. Photo by me, October 2024.

The waterfall crashed through the foliage and remained hidden from view from the banks of the creek. There were two options to be able to view the falls: wade into the cold October mountain water on slippery rocks or crawl up a rooted, rocky ledge then on hands and knees inch out to the edge. It if had been July or August I would have stripped down and chosen the water route. Since it was almost November and from experience I know how cold mountain streams can be even at the height of summer, I forced my too-old-to-be-doing-this-self up onto the ledge.

Between the mountain laurel the secret waterfall runs. Photo by me, October 2024.

 The view was worth it and was made even more beautiful since we had it to ourselves with no other humans around for miles. There was no line of selfie takers, chatter about lives lived by the glow of a cell phone aimed at the face and no alerts or noise masquerading as music blaring from cheap speakers. This was not an experience to be checked off from a list and forgotten. There was nature as it should be enjoyed with a present mind and a satisfaction of finding its beautiful secrets that has driven me since I was a young boy in the 1970s.

The moon of the mountains nearing Halloween. Photo by me, October 2024.

On the way out of the cove to the gravel road, the weather turned as it does in the mountains like flipping through the pages of an old hiking book. Sunshine became cloudy and would become rain later. Clouds with small cracks between coagulated in the sky with my thoughts, the temperature cooled and the moon signaled from above the limbs that nightfall lurked. Ichabod Crane on a lonely country road entered my thoughts as I looked at the trees leaning over the road. The stories of The Headless Horseman and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow inflamed my imagination as a kid and still I remember the eeriness of that dirt road behind my childhood home as something sinister decades later. Not all of my childhood Halloweens were spent running with untied shoe laces from spooks and birds or hearing my grandmother relay news stories of razor blades hidden in the apples. I suppose there is a little of Washington Irving's characters in me, both Ichabod and Rip Van Winkle, and when in the silent woods on October evenings my imagination taps me on the shoulder.

Photo by me, October 2024.

Where the road meets the trail and forks into our imagination if we are lucky. 

 

Seven Columns

 

The Nolan mansion front facade. Photo by me, March 2023.

There are several sites on the internet that tell some of the story of the Nolan mansion and most will recycle the same information over and over. I wanted to find a different angle.

---

My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky...
- Richard Henry Wilde

 

That line of poetry was quoted by the son of the man that built this house in his college yearbook. Why did he quote this line from an obscure Georgia poet that died forty-seven years before he was born in 1894?

 

I pulled to the grassy side of the road one morning in the first week of March. My destination was Madison, Georgia but this house had been a destination on my long list of places to see for the last seven years. I feared it would be gone before I had the chance to stand in front of it taking in the long shadows of the trees across the spring green grass and red dirt drive.

 

I was in a place that never had an official name, though some called it Nolan's Crossroads for the name of the family that owned a store and a plantation at the intersection of two roads. It is two miles on a two lane road south of the town of Bostwick, population three hundred and seventy-eight, where Confederate flags hang limp on poles and faded red brick storefronts crumble. I could be standing at the center of Bostwick in the 1980s or 70s and it would not look much different from today. Bostwick was never much of anything; a cotton gin, a mercantile, a hotel and on a spur line to a main railroad. It achieved its peak population in 1920 with four hundred and twenty-four residents. 

 

Photo by me, March 2023.

The house was built in 1905 on land that was part of the Nolan plantation. Old houses have histories and we tend to be more interested in them when they are pretty, unique, someone famous lived in them such as Graceland or if they were the scene of a tragedy. This is not one of those old homes with a tragic past such as a murder or murders, a haunting, a jilted bride that never overcame the embarrassment and died a heartbroken spinster or the wasting away of a family fortune by spoiled heirs. The only tragedy here is the state of neglect that this house stands like the solitary flower straining against the weeds in an untended garden.

 

Snow white cotton not weeds had grown in the fields around the house in every direction then ten years after construction of the house, the boll weevil devoured the Georgia cotton crop beginning in 1915 and many farmers turned to other crops. Cotton production was not fully stopped, it just became less productive, in Morgan County. As the boll weevil struck, sharecropping, which the plantation was reliant, began to dramatically decline. As with many rural counties in Georgia there was a steep drop in population between 1920 and 1930. Morgan County lost thirty-eight percent of its population that decade and it continued to decline until 1970 when it bottomed out at nine thousand residents, less than half of what it was fifty years before.

 

Across the road from mansion was the family store. It was called the T.H. Nolan General Merchandise Company. Photo by me, March 2023.

Morgan County became one of the largest dairy producers in the state from the 1930s and continuing for the next thirty years. It is possible that the plantation continued growing cotton and diversified into the dairy business too. There is photographic evidence of continued cotton farming through 1946 on the Nolan plantation in the College of Agriculture and Environmental Sciences (CAES) Photograph Collection at the University of Georgia.

In 1959 the son of the man that built the house, the college student that quoted obscure Georgia poets died. Of the five children from that branch of the family only one still lived, a daughter, and she would until 1995.

 

Tenant farming continued through the 1960s in Morgan County and finally ended by the the 1970s and so change came to Nolan's Crossroads. Why that change happened is unknown, but whatever reason and whatever choice was made, no one lived in the house with seven columns anymore. The doorknobs stopped turning, the floors stopped being swept and the petals from the roses fell.

This is when the known history of the plantation turns muddy as it has been repeated ad nauseam online that the Nolan's turned to growing peaches until the 1970s. A close examination of the area through historical aerial photographs from 1955 through the 1990s reveal no peach orchards. The fields around the mansion were open and maintained land from the 1950s through today. The only significant change to the landscape was the large field to the southeast across Georgia Highway 83 that was planted in pines by 1981. The trees were large enough by 1981 to lead me to believe they were planted in the 1970s.

A search through property records indicate that a family member sold the house and five acres in 1977 for $16,800. The 2022 appraised value for the property was $75,000 with $45,000 of that price attributed to the land. With the current condition of the house it is not surprising that the house was valued at less than the land it occupies. The median home price in 1977 for the United States was around $38,000. For five acres of land and a mansion, $16,800 was a steal. The sale was also a private one and the house was not on the open market and that raises a question - was it purchased for sentimental reasons? If so, why has it sat empty and been neglected for almost fifty years?

 

Photo by me, March 2023.

A pulp wood truck rattled by carrying away Morgan County one stick of wood at a time.

 

It must have been a sight to see the seven columns raised into place along the front porch. I ask myself, walking along the ditch, "how many mules did it take?"

 

The son of the man that built the house would have been eleven when the house was built. He would have spent his formative years taking breakfast in the fine home and looking out the upstairs windows over the land they owned for as far as the eye could see. How much pride and satisfaction filled him as his hand grazed the columns before he ran down the front steps to adulthood?

 

He must have thought that a house this grand, grander than any around for miles, would be there forever. How could a house this grand, a spectacular monument to personal fortune and family be left to rot in the Georgia sunshine and creaking stillness of the night as the possums scavenged?

 

The absence of the routines of life have not gone unnoticed over the decades. The vandals and thieves have come like tomb robbers with torches, broken windows, stolen objects, kicked out the spindles of the staircase and scratched their names into the paint of the walls like carving initials into a tree in the woods. 

 

Photo by me, March 2023.

The house spills out its guts from the side like a cracked melon. That is the impossible truth.

The local county conservancy has made it known that they would like to see the house saved and The Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation has too and placed it on their list of places in peril. Awareness and advocacy for saving the house can only go so far. Without investment and desire from the owners of the house to save it then nothing will be done to keep it from collapsing. I do not know which of those is preventing it from happening. I have read that it is a lack of desire from the owners to save it or sell it, but that is speculation - perhaps gossip is the better word - from people on the internet. The truth is often a complicated and reluctant friend that takes awhile to suss out and comes in as many shades as the faded paint on the wood siding of a decaying mansion.

I do not know why the son of the man that built this house chose that poem. I am no closer to answering that question either. I puzzled over it in bed, behind my keyboard for days and as I took a walk on a cool March day.

From the last stanza of the same poem that the son selected:

Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
All trace will vanish from the sand;
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race...

Perhaps he unknowingly predicted the fate of this place when the paint was fresh, the dust rose from the road out front and the china tea cups were new.

 

The mysteries of our follies, passions, abandonments and hearts are sometimes as vague, distant and secretive as the countryside beyond the lights of progress. Nothing, no matter how grand, is out of reach from time.

 

Photo by me, March 2023.

I drove on to Madison inspired. 

 

Great architecture like any art form should perform that duty and prove that humans can create glorious beauty with our hands and imaginations though we seldom do anymore with our modern structures. May the Nolan mansion stand for another century, I have my doubts that it will, and if not then the rising tide will be undefeated.

My Side Of The Wall

 

This is a part of my corner of where I live in Atlanta at Emory University/Lullwater. I was out there burning off frustration over the good and bad of social media on Tuesday with a few miles of walking. I was gathering some inspiration too for what is on the horizon in 2021.

Fall is my favorite season and I am so glad that it is here. I love the smell of chimney smoke, the foggy mornings, the cooler weather and the crunch of leaves under my feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The kids around here have a had good time over the years making this old mill tower into a colorful graffiti landmark. The nearby abandoned remnants of the old Decatur Waterworks look similar. I prefer this random vomit of graffiti more than I do the planned murals on the side of buildings that promote some type of corporate approved moral propaganda under the guise of art that is all too common the past few years.

I have been listening to Sonic Youth and Echo & The Bunnymen over the past two weeks. Over The Wall is on my mind. I am ready for cold, rain and abandoned places.

Euharlee Covered Bridge

Photo by me, July 2017.

July of last year I was loafing around Northwest Georgia and stopped in the town of Euharlee in Bartow County to see the Euharlee Covered Bridge. It had been a long time, probably the early 1990s, since I was in this part of Bartow County and I was surprised by the growth. It seems the natural beauty that I have long admired about this county is slowly being plowed and paved over by sprawl fanning out from Atlanta. People have long said that it was eventual that the area between Chattanooga and Atlanta was to become one long morass of sprawl and I believe it. Enjoy the natural beauty of these areas while you can before it becomes subdivisions and shopping centers.

Photo by me, July 2017.

A brief history of the area notes that Euharlee became an incorporated town in 1870, but European settlers were in the area for at least four decades prior and Native American Indians for a much longer period. Bartow County was created in 1832 and originally named Cass County. It would not receive its current name until 1861 when the namesake General Lewis Cass opted to support the Union.

Earlier bridges over Euharlee Creek had first occupied the spot of today's covered bridge. The last one, before the covered bridge was erected, collapsed in 1871 killing two men on a wagon.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Photo by me, July 2017.

The covered bridge was constructed in 1886 and has a length of 138 feet. The bridge was in use until the late 1970s, but cars now use a nearby concrete bridge.

Though I grew up in neighboring Paulding County, we spent significant time in Bartow County. We camped at Lake Allatoona and took Sunday car drives in the area in the 1970s. Given my age at the time I do not specifically remember crossing the covered bridge, but I suppose it is possible.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Photo by me, July 2017.

The bridge is of the town-lattice design which is the common type of covered bridge found in Georgia. The timber used to construct the bridge is pine.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Photo by me, July 2017.

The supports underneath the bridge are made of stone.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Looking up at the underside of the bridge you can see the crisscross  pattern of the beams.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Walking across the bridge you can see daylight coming up through the wood treads and the creek down below.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Adjacent to the bridge are the ruins of the Lowry Grist Mill which predates the town and covered bridge. The mill was built by Nathaniel Burgess in 1834 and later sold. The eventual owner was Daniel Lowry II.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Today, all that remains of the old mill are the stone walls of the foundation.

Photo by me, July 2017.

Photo by me, July 2017.

There are other historical buildings remaining in Euharlee and even an old well. 

The natural beauty that remains in this part of Bartow County is worth seeing and so is the history that has been preserved. If you are a fan of covered bridges then Euharlee is a nice one to visit.

Graffiti Woods

The South Peachtree Creek Trail and some of the large houses that overlook it. Photo by me, January 2018.

The streets still showed the battle signs of winter snow being that they were covered in salt and sand but on Sunday it was so warm you would have thought it was spring. The sudden warmth and deep blue sky lured the world or at least Atlanta out of its winter hibernation. I had planned to go for a long walk and apparently all of the city had the same idea which was to put on shorts and get outside, it was that warm. On Sunday the high reached 68 F (20C) and we had not seen weather this warm in a very long time.

I had entertained the idea of heading north to the mountains but I knew the trails would be busy with people out with the same idea during this warm break. There was also the federal government shutdown so I knew some hiking areas would be closed because they are federally managed and during government shutdowns those areas get closed.

I decided to go walk in my regular walking spot at the South Peachtree Creek Trail which is nearest where I live and it is a pleasant place. Every household in my part of the city had the same idea and I have never seen this trail so busy as I did on Sunday. I know how crowded the Atlanta Beltline becomes on weekends so I rarely walk there and on Sunday the South Peachtree Creek Trail was just as crowded.

One of the less crowded moments. Photo by me, January 2018.

I managed to get in two miles on Sunday which was not as long as I had hoped but the time was slipping by quickly and I had other things to do.

I detoured off the trail to the graffiti covered ruins of the old Decatur Waterworks which I had not been down to see since 2011. I took some photos of the place as I wandered around looking at the pretty colors. I noticed some of the old walls had come down since I had last been down there seven years ago.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

Photo by me, January 2018.

I am glad to see that they are still allowing people paint on the ruins. Having an area like this with the old ruins and colorful walls is a cool place to explore and not feel like the entire world has been sanitized.