This Civil War era fort still shows the pockmarked scars from Union artillery. A later famous Lt Robert E Lee helped design the tidal sluice gates and canal for the moat which circumscribes the fort, and he had assured the commander that the walls would hold. And it did hold for 112 days against a Union siege in April of 1862. But despite the impressive moat, drawbridges, masonry, and reinforced internal structures, the invention of rifled artillery made the fort obsolete, as this test of the experimental weapons demonstrated. The wall on the left end had to be rebuilt after the spinning explosive shells opened huge gaps. After 30 hours bombardment, the fort surrendered and the port of Savannah was blocked by the Union’s anaconda. Otherwise, the fort is in good condition, with good views from the tops of the walls, and walking around the inside makes for an interesting visit.
Upon arrival, I remembered visiting by small boat as a teen many years ago. All along the southeast coast, displaced Native Americans and escaped slaves endeavored to remain free in these low-lying delta barrier islands. Although threatened, the evocative old oaks, the Spanish Moss and the shell-filled archaeological ruins are still hauntingly beautiful.
In the 1730’s the British built a pair of forts, both named after Frederick, Prince of Wales, to develop and defend their colonies against the Spanish. Fort Frederick’s ruins are 125 miles north, next the Reconstruction Era Camp Saxton in South Carolina. Fort Frederica here in Georgia, defined the southern boundary of their colonies, north of Spanish Florida.
The British commander Oglethorpe was considered enlightened (for the time) and enthusiastic. Rather than slavery, he proposed work be done by indentured servants mostly from debtors prisons in England, making Georgia a type of penal colony where workers could gain their freedom over time. The Methodist founder John Wesley and his brother Charles first attempted a church under one of the large, mossy oaks here, and the settlement had various tradespeople, including a Native American interpreter, a blacksmith and a doctor/barkeep.
In a remarkable historical echo of the French colonial experience at Fort Catherine, Oglethorpe also tried to seize St. Augustine in Florida, besieging the Castillo de San Marco and being stopped at Matanzas. Again, the Spanish counterattacked, but faring better than the French, Oglethorpe successfully defended this fort and cleverly routed the Spanish in Bloody Marsh, despite being outnumbered. After the Spanish retreated and conceded Georgia, the British cut their military presence here and the remote island village faded away in a decade or two.
Now, while driving through these remote islands, I can’t help but be amazed by the fancy houses. Not because they’re decadently ostentatious, but because they’re so close to sea level. It is astonishing to think that many of America’s most successful retirees choose to develop luxurious estates within the zone that is most certainly going to be erased by the climate crisis. The collapse of Thwaites ‘Doomsday’ Glacier is accelerating, and rising seas will take all the land here. They may have inherited much wealth, but they won’t be leaving these houses to future generations. Apparently, you don’t need much intelligence to be rich.
The park runs along the riverside in 16 different mostly contiguous sections, just north of metro Atlanta. The view above is from an overlook in the East Palisades section, specifically between EP 10 and EP 14 near the Indian Trail entrance. The treacherous whitewater mild shoals in the river above are known as the Devil’s Race Course, not for downstream paddling difficulty, but because it used to be “a devil” to move cargo up the river here.
Parks near urban areas means more people enjoying nature, and even on a chilly autumn day there were plenty of folks out jogging, hiking, biking and dog walking. One young lady appeared to be in deep meditation at the river’s edge, while her dog intently watched some geese on a sand bar in mid stream. It would have been fun to kayak through the park, but I couldn’t figure out a good way to get all my gear back to my car. With limited time to visit other sections, I spent my time on a beautiful long hike along the river and up in the wooded hills.
Crunching through the leaves reminds me of running cross country as a boy during the fall in New England and leaves time to reflect on loss and letting things go. Life is not perpetual youthful summers, and the decay that comes with the passage of time prepares the ground for new life and the next generation. The bittersweet changes of seasons and life should be learned from, embraced and cherished, not denied nor medicated away.
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Before I rant again, let me just acknowledge that there’s a dramatically beautiful view on Lookout Mountain. Chattanooga below is in a strategic location at the bend of the river below. Long before the Civil War battles, the last overland battle of the Revolution was fought here. There’s even a steep funicular line to enjoy the view.
Militarily, controlling the high ground has always been the key. Grant used it to capture Chattanooga, and the confederates used it to try to recapture the city, unsuccessfully. Chickamauga nearby in Georgia is much flatter and covered with monuments to both sides. Which brings me to my brief rant. If even a fraction of the money and effort spent on monuments for both sides were used to explain the cause of the war, slavery, then maybe we wouldn’t have some politicians today still trying to claim that there are “very fine people on both sides” of racial prejudice. No. Racism was wrong both then and now, and the longer that we evade the obvious moral judgements here, the harder it will be to remove the poison.
Not far from the profoundly disturbing Andersonville site, is the very pleasant town of Plains, Georgia, where the Carters still reside. There’s a giant peanut, a store selling Billy Beer cans, the campaign depot and the delightful boyhood farm home of Jimmy Carter. The site and the town have a wholesome feeling that feels like stepping back in time. The farm still seemed active, with crops, goats, bees and mules (donkeys?), and everyone was very welcoming and friendly. The Carter compound is strictly guarded by the Secret Service and off limits, but I enjoyed fried peanuts and peanut flavored ice cream and peeking in store windows and chatting with the locals.
Young Jimmy’s playmates were mostly African American, so it was natural for him to oppose segregation and become an activist. He saw poverty just down the street, so his work with Habitat for Humanity was also natural for him. As President he negotiated the Camp David Peace Accords and later earned the Nobel Peace Prize for his Carter center. He did well by doing good, and he’s still making an effort at 97. We could all try to learn something from that.
Roughly the same number of Union soldiers died in this prisoner of war camp as died in battle at Shiloh: over 13,000. The conditions were horrifying. Disease, vermin, starvation, dehydration, exposure and brutality killed hundreds by the day. Only a small portion of the stockade has been reconstructed, including the north entry gate pictured above, through which about one in three did not come out alive. There is an illustration drawn from the memory of Thomas O’Dea that is absolutely haunting in both its scale and detail. The Union refused a prisoner swap out of concern the confederates would return to battle. One 19 year old prisoner had the job of numbering the dead, and he secretly kept a list of names, regiments and causes of death. Eventually he brought it to the attention of the “angel of the battlefield”, nurse Clara Barton who had petitioned Lincoln to track down missing soldiers. They toured the site and marked over 12,000 graves. Barton went on to found the American Red Cross, and the US ratified the Geneva Conventions the next year. The man in charge of the camp was hung for war crimes. Flags were flying over the National Cemetery before Memorial Day, and burials are still occurring frequently. The visitor center also serves as a memorial and museum to all prisoners of war.
The large mounds here date back over 1,000 years, and include the reconstructed earth mound above, temples and funeral mounds of the ancestors of the Creek people. Despite tremendous challenges, the culture continues today, as seen in the Creek Nation Supreme Court Building in Ocmulgee Oklahoma, which is patterned after this mound. The ground inside dates to 1015, and appears similar to kiva I’ve seen in the west. During the Depression the Civilian Conservation Corps reconstructed the roof and built an Art Deco style visitor center. The entrance tunnel is low, carpeted and well ventilated, and it opens into a glassed-in viewing area. Despite not being half as old as Poverty Point, the mounds here also have bird symbols and other similarities. The Creek Nation farmed corn, squash, beans, pumpkin and tobacco here, fished and traded deer skins with the Spanish, French, British and Americans. They largely westernized and had multiple treaty rights to their lands, but they were nevertheless forced to abandon their homeland by Andrew Jackson.
Driving through the southeast, especially in rural areas, you see a great many churches. I’m no expert on the Bible, but I’m pretty sure the ”thou shalt not steal” is in there (Exodus 20:15). Almost all of the land was stolen from the Native Americans, yet I don’t often hear people expressing any regret for the sins of our ancestors, even in church. Obviously, it’s not God’s will that his commandment be broken. I’ve been to church services from coast to coast, and I’ve never heard a sermon about how we live on stolen property, how that was a sin and how we should try to make amends. Seems like that would be the proper Christian attitude. Of course, the church has been wrong on this issue for centuries, but reflecting on our sins and seeking forgiveness are supposed to be core values of Christianity. Why not start reflecting on this sin and our responsibilities today?
Every year winning poems are chosen from children around the world for visitors to admire along with the roses. The sentiments are moving testimonials to his life, ideals and inspiration, expressed with the moral clarity and unbridled hope of children.
The short films & exhibits in the visitor center capture Dr King’s life as the heart and soul of the Civil Rights movement, as well as his wish that we continue. His birthplace, church, center for non-violence and grave are overwhelming, but I was struck by how the community continues to gather here daily for many different events and causes. His passion for justice and righteousness inspire action every day.
Today I’m inspired by one of his thoughts in his letter from a Birmingham jail, about how difficult it is to be told to wait after enduring centuries of suffering. Earth has suffered centuries of pollution, and always the message to environmentalists is to wait. Wait for new technologies, wait for laws, people and society to change, and wait until the polluters have made more money, and then, maybe…. But now we have no more time to wait. We’re moving quickly to catastrophe, wasting precious time on inaction, and extinguishing species without pause. Unless we act to stop burning fossil fuels now, we condemn much life on earth to end.
Union forces fought for weeks to break the long line of confederate fortifications northwest of Atlanta, but were unable to climb the steep hills under heavy fire. There was one “dead angle” or blindspot at Cheatham near the photo where soldiers climbed all the way up the hill and over the earthen walls only to be repelled in hand to hand combat.
5,300 soldiers died in a few weeks of fighting here in the summer of 1864, before the war moved to Atlanta.
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