How long has it been since you saw a young lad execute a backflip from a wooden platform into the river below?
My answer to that question is “a few hours.”
On a day trip to Warm Springs, we took a route we’d not followed before. All routes there are backroads, but most are some we’ve traveled many times. A new path holds wonder. With a favorite remark my driver likes to make, “this time and one more will make twice I’ve been on this road,” we were off on a new adventure.
Taking grandsons on a historic field trip, we saw numerous churches and cemeteries, a small community populated with an old store, schoolhouse, and church, all white buildings wearing red roofs. We found two small towns filled with antique shops, a delightful restaurant with homemade bread, hamburgers topped with pimento cheese, and met a Corgi named Macon.
At the Little White House museum, I learned more about barkcloth than I ever realized I didn’t know. Someone gave FDR a gift of beautiful yardage of tapa, and the story led me to new details about one of my favorite fabrics. Who knew I would learn fabric history on this adventure?
It was on the way home that we saw him. As we crossed a bridge over the Flint River, we saw the jump. We were too high to see how cleanly he made his entrance into the water.
It doesn’t matter. He had all afternoon to perfect his form.
We had had our moment. A glimpse, memories triggered, stories to share. Time travel.
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