the next U turn...

occurred this morning, when I was roaming out in the woods again. With some pretty explicit, precise written directions, from reliable sources for helping me find the turn off for the Smith cemetery. On a wooded hill overlooking the Little River, a tributary that, after the dam was built, flooded family land and covered the spot where the Old Homestead was located. The Corp of Engineers dam has created a big beautiful lake that is much enjoyed by locals for fishing and recreation as well as contributing to the water supply and general economy. But in the process, covered lots of land previously owned by families that had been there for generations.

Like the Smiths, who buried their loved ones on that hill overlooking the family land. And we'uns, several generations later, go out on a Sunday once a year to commune with nature, as well as each other in the peace and tranquility of the forested hill.  I missed the turn off for Holiday Park Road. I knew it was there, had it written on my paper, read the sign that said: Wilkes County Recreation Area, Holiday Park. And drove right past it. Ending up at the intersection of the Greenwood Church Road and the highway to Lincolnton. Not the place I wanted to be. So I said: hmmmm.... and called the number Henry had given me for when I needed to be rescued. Not really expecting to have cell service out there at the corner of I don't know and I don't care. The call went through. He did not answer.

I knew I could go back and start over. After I made a U turn in the middle of the intersection. So I did, and got it there, making all the 'lefts' and 'rights' in the correct sequence to get to the little hill out in the woods where the forefathers and foremothers are resting. I generally walk down to the edge of the water, and gather up a handful of fresh water mussel shells, bleached white by the sun. And put them in my pocket to take with me on my next trip to the family cemetery when I go to south GA to see my own set of forebears, and leave the shells on marble markers as a memento of my journey to visit the elders in there native soil.