Nebra and I returned a few days ago from a week in Alabama. The trip began a long time ago, at least in my mind it did. It was to be a search for my family’s history. The clan of my father’s came from The South, that often-maligned land in America which was home to slavery and the racism that still exists today.
It all began with “Peter” in South Carolina. He appeared in the first U.S. census in 1790. “George,” his son, and “James” who was George’s son, were farmers in Alabama. In particular James, my great-great grandfather, was near the center of my blood-line radar.
My idea was to stand on the land of cotton that once belonged to George and James. I did not know precisely where this land was. I just knew it was near Montgomery, somewhere to the southeast.
But as our first excursion into this part of Dixie unfolded, there was much more to this beautiful state than originally met my jaundiced eye.
In the days ahead I hope to publish a few posts of our adventure “way down yonder,” as the song goes.