Listing Through Life

On Wednesday, my wife and I ditched the family and drove 50 miles east to Greeneville to see Andrew Johnson’s house. Johnson is one of the more obscure presidents, but this site was one of the more impressive historic parks I’ve visited.

Johnson was born in Raleigh, North Carolina in 1808, in the kitchen loft of a hotel where his father worked. This is a reproduction of the building that housed the kitchen.

Johnson apprenticed to a tailor. When he was 15, he ran away and moved to Greeneville. Eventually he opened his own shop. That building has been preserved inside the visitor center. Some of the furniture inside belonged to Johnson.

Across the street from the visitor center is the house Johnson owned and lived in with his wife Eliza from the 1830’s until 1851. The first floor had some displays on Johnson’s life.

The Johnsons bought the Homestead, two blocks from the early home, in 1851. Johnson was often out of town serving in one political office or another. He returned to the home after his presidency for six years until his death.

We had a private tour of the Homestead by a very knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide.

Eliza had tuberculosis for much of her adult life. This caused her to cough a lot at night. Because of this, Andrew’s bedroom was downstairs. Descendants of the Johnsons lived in the house as recently as the 1950’s, and one old woman family member acted as a guide for tourists. This was something of a problem — the house and its furnishing had been purchased by the National Park Service, but this woman didn’t see any reason why this should stop her from giving away priceless heirlooms as souvenirs to visitors she liked. The vast majority of furniture and other items in the house belonged to Andrew and Eliza, dating from their return to the house after the presidency.

During the Civil War, Johnson was serving as military governor of Tennessee in Nashville. His house was used by confederate troops who considered Johnson a traitor to the Confederacy. When the house was restored, a lot of graffiti was discovered under the wallpaper — instead of removing it, the Johnson’s just papered over it.

The Andrew Johnson National Cemetery is located about half a mile from the Homestead. Andrew and Eliza are buried in a family plot surrounded by their relatives.

Cades Cove was once home to about 125 farming families. A few homes, three churches, a mill and some other buildings are all that remain, although the National Park maintains the general appearance by keeping the fields mowed. An 11-mile road loops through the valley and presents postcard-worthy views almost the entire way. But history and scenic beauty aren’t all the cove has to offer. There’s also wildlife.

We’d hardly started on the drive when a Pileated Woodpecker flew in front of the car and landed on a fencepost next to the road. I pulled right next to it and snapped a few photos.

Several Wild Turkeys wandered the fields.

We rounded a bend in a patch of woods and suddenly found ourselves in a traffic jam. With good reason. A half-grown Black Bear was grazing through the trees about 20 yards off the road. We got out to look. Most of the time it kept its head down as it slowly moved away from us.

Primitive Baptist Church, constructed in 1887.

Methodist Church, built in 1902. The guy who built it did so for $115 in 115 days. The two front doors were standard in Methodist Churches because men and women were usually separated, although that wasn’t the case in this particular congregation — it seems they borrowed the plans from another church.

Brown Thrasher in the Methodist Church cemetery.

The Gregg-Cable House, built in 1879. The owners ran a store out of the front room.

The Cable Grist Mill.

Black Bear #2 — a young bear with oddly-large ears wandering around in a large field.

Bear #3 — a large sow. She had a small cub.

They both disappeared from our view behind a rise. Of the 50 people lined up along the road, 47 of them were content to wait until the bears reappeared. Three others, however, — an idiot along with his wife and daughter — walked out into the field to get closer photos. Several people along the road were screaming at him that he was not only being rude and breaking the law but risking serious injury. He paid no attention. As soon as he crested the rise, the bear took off for the woods, ruining the moment for everyone. I got one shot as they headed for the trees. The cub (bear #4) can be seen in the grass in front of the sow.

Everyone was pretty upset at the jerk, but he pretended like he was unaware of what people were saying as he strolled back to his car. I wasn’t wanting him to get mauled, but I would have enjoyed seeing him chased for a bit.

We didn’t do much on Memorial Day — the crowds were still massive. I did take off in the afternoon and walk the Schoolhouse Gap Trail in the National Park in search of a Swainson’s Warbler. It’s a little brown bird that hides in thickets and is uncommon in its limited range. A ranger at the visitor center told me this trail was the best place to find one. I think I may have heard one singing, but I didn’t catch a glimpse of it.

I did see a swarm of swallowtails.

The road ran along the Little River. There were pull-outs every few hundred yards and cars were parked in every one. People were crawling all over the rocks in the river. I finally found an empty spot and pulled over to take this photo.

I placed the chair on the rock and turned around to find three young Japanese women taking pictures in my general direction. They must have pulled over seconds after I did.

There were several miniature golf courses in Gatlinburg, and in the evening we decided to play one of them. We picked Fort Fun, which had two courses running down the hillside above main street.

I wasn’t paying too much attention until a few minutes after the guy told me the cost for three adults was $36. When I realized what I’d paid, I wasn’t happy, but we decided to make the best of it. Unfortunately, it was in the upper 80s and the hillside received no breeze. We were soon sweating and miserable.

We wandered about town for a little, shared a funnel cake and headed back to the car. Then several of the women decided they wanted to tour the Mysterious Mansion. My brother-in-law and I sat on stumps across the street. Every so often, we’d hear a door slam inside the haunted house followed by the screams of our wives and daughters.

Jellico, Tennessee