Mercedes' Mountain

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I spent the rest of the week catching up on missed dance sessions. Normally, I worked out four days a week, but I'd missed a couple this past week, and my limbs had started to feel the neglect. I decided I had better stick to routine and not get out of the habit that I had begun over thirty years ago, because I felt better when I did. And after a couple of intense workouts, my muscles did feel normal again. Too old to break routine, I guess.

I also did quite a bit of reading and a little more sightseeing. I went to the zoo, toured a couple of museums, and shopped for a few souvenirs to send home to family and friends. When I went to the post office to send them off, I chuckled as I imagined Mama's expression upon opening the gift I sent her. It was a mini tomahawk with a note I'd attached telling her it was to keep Daddy in line. He probably wouldn't see the humor in it, but I did. And I was sure she would, too.

I was tempted to head back up the mountain and bask in the beauty there, but I decided against it. At least not right now. I didn't stop to analyze why. I just didn't go. I was too busy, anyway.

~~~~~~~~

On Friday of the next week, I drove back into Cherokee and treated myself to a tour of "Oconaluftee Indian Village". The tour guides were all Indian and dressed in native costumes. It was pretty interesting to see how the Cherokee people once lived.

I observed some pottery and basket making, and finger weaving as well. Watching the quick limber movements of the older woman's fingers, I decided finger weaving was definitely an art form. I was amazed at the talent of these people and admired their ability to create such beautiful things. Being born with a craft disability, myself, I envied their talents. Homemaking had never been my strong suit.

That night after having a light dinner, I decided to catch an outdoor drama of the Cherokee people. I heard several tourists talking about how good it was. I figured since I was now living here, I really should see it. The section I was seated in was close to the stage and I had a perfect view. As the lights came up, I marveled at the vivid colors of the costumes the actors and dancers wore.

I was very moved as I watched the story of the Cherokee and the brutal and cruel removal of most of their people from their land. Even though they had adopted most of the ways of the white man after having their land and their own ways intruded upon, the Cherokee still weren't considered civilized enough and were made to leave.

I cried when their hero, Tsali, gave his life so that a few of his people could remain on the land of their heritage, while the rest were forced out of the mountains and were made to march twelve hundred miles to Oklahoma. With poor weather conditions, an even poorer diet, and cruel treatment, many of the Cherokee died along the way.

And I was deeply touched to learn that the Cherokee Rose, which was now Georgia's state flower, symbolized the tears that the mothers shed along the trail. The roses were said to have lined the trail they walked. Just thinking about their trials, what they went through, and how they overcame made me cry even more.

By the conclusion of the play, their joy of preserving their land was my joy, and I celebrated their triumph. It truly was a beautiful story of the history of a brave people. As I watched the actors take their final bow, the words of a poplar song from years ago came to mind. Cherokee People, Cherokee tribe. So proud to live, so proud to die. Now I truly understood the meaning of those lyrics.

Satisfied with the history lesson I'd had that day, I sat back down and waited for the crowd to file out, still a little teary eyed from the program. I unzipped my purse and searched futilely for a tissue. Of all the times for me to not have tissue in my purse, I thought. I took a small mirror out to check my mascara and was glad I had worn waterproof. Otherwise, I would have really been a sight.