Hi Oliver,

Chattanooga Trivea by John Shearer

I’ve lived in seven different states since leaving my hometown in Louisiana, but never longer in one state than Tennessee and in particular Chattanooga.  I’m still living just over the Tennessee border in North Georgia but it is so close to Chattanooga that if you miss the signs, the only way of knowing is the pavement in the road might change.

Chattanooga sits in a valley surrounded by mountains, ridges, and the Tennessee River.  It was the perfect place for General Sherman to make camp before marching into Atlanta during the Civil War.  Before the war, Chattanooga was just a town on a busy river, but after the war carpetbaggers from the north and Union soldiers came back to settle in the valley.

It survived floods and a period of industry that smothered it in smog for years.  Until one day the wonderful people of Chattanooga declared they would turn their town around and it was done.  Home to many famous products such as Olan Mills Portrait Studios, McKee Foods maker of Little Debbie snacks, Chattanooga Bakery known for the Moon Pies, Krystal restaurants, Chattem, Inc. producer of health products, U.S. Xpress and Covenant Transport  based in Chattanooga, and the Brock Candy Company (which later became Brach & Brock Candy).  But by far the most famous success story was the establishment of the first franchised Coca Cola Bottling Company in America which led to the establishment by the families who benefited from this success of several foundations that support Chattanooga and make it what it is today.

Clean, smog-free, and home to the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, Chattanooga State College, Lee University, Southern Adventist University, Covenant College, Bryan College, and Dalton State College; Memorial Hospital, Erlanger Hospital,  and Parkridge Medical Center; as well as private schools and award-winning public schools, the people of Chattanooga and surrounding areas  are proud of their heritage.

Tourism is now a big factor in the success of Chattanooga.  The Tennessee Aquarium boasts both a fresh and salt water museum with a hands-on experience for children and adults alike.  The entire riverfront has been transformed to hosts walking trails, parks, and home to the Delta Queen Riverboat, listed in the U.S. Historic Landmark is now a hotel and the oldest bridge across the Tennessee River, the Walnut Street Bridge, one of five bridges in Chattanooga is a walking bridge that connects the Bluff View Art District with the NorthShore Business District.  And nestled between hotels, museums, restaurants, and retail stores is the AT&T Baseball stadium home to the Chattanooga Lookouts minor league baseball team.

Downtown Chattanooga rests in a bend in the river known as Moccasin Bend.  Ross’ Landing, on the Riverwalk in downtown Chattanooga is part of  the Cherokee  Trail of Tears which ended in what is now the state of Oklahoma.  North of the city is Walden’s Ridge home of the Town of Signal Mountain where Signal Point is part of the Chattanooga-Chickamauga National Military Park.  Although used as a signaling point during the Civil War, the Cherokee Indians first took advantage of the magnificent view of the Tennessee River Gorge, the deepest gorge east of the Mississippi River.

North of Chattanooga is Lookout Mountain which draws tourists from all over the world to ride the Incline Railroad up the side of the mountain, hike deep into the mountain to see Ruby Falls, or stand at the edge of Rock City and be able to see seven states on a clear day.  South of the city, just over the state line in Georgia are Rossville (home of 2011 American Idol runner-up Lauren Alana and the 2011 ABC TV’s Extreme Makeover Home); Ft. Oglethorpe, Ringgold, and Chickamauga (home of the Chickamauga Battlefield scene of the last major Confederate victory in the Civil War.)  East of Chattanooga is the newest industry to Hamilton County, the Volkswagen Plant which began production in early 2011.

So you can see Oliver, Chattanooga is a city rich in history; diverse in its culture; beautiful four seasons; generous foundations; great outdoor adventures; and especially people who enjoy living in the crossroads to the rest of the United States for it is said that at one time because of Chattanooga’s geographical setting anyone traveling North or South had to go through Chattanooga to get there.

Fortunately for me and my family, we stayed!

P.S. – Oliver is a fith grade student.  His class is doing a geography project.  I was asked to write in his “Traveling Notebook” about where I live.

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The Traveling Notebook

It’s a new year and my writing is suffering.  So I decided to sign up again for the Post-a-Day 2012 which, of course, begins today.  I really enjoyed the commitment I made in October 2011 to get ready for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), but I did not get my novel finished in one month so I lost the contest.  Winning is finishing.  I’m thinking that if I start now that by the time November rolls around finishing my novel should be a piece of cake….Ha!

My goal for this blog is to write about writing which is not as hard to do as one might think especially if you like to write like I do.  I’m not an educated writer.  I write from my heart and for the love of writing. 

Let me tell you about something that came to me today.  A fifth grade class at Brookside Elementary School in San Anselmo, CA is learning about geography and the regions of the United States.  It is among the few public elementary schools in California to receive a distinguished GreatSchools Rating of 10 out of 10.

Each of the students in Mrs. Leader’s class has created a “traveling notebook.”   After writing an opening page in the journal telling about the area where they live, they get it to someone who in turn gets it to another and so on.  The last person to write about the area in which they live mails it back to the school by April 30, 2012.  One of the students, Oliver, gave it to a friend of his father’s who lives in Phoenix.  He wrote in the journal about Phoenix.  And while my son and daughter-in-law were visiting family in Phoenix this same friend handed my daughter-in-law the journal who in turn wrote about the state of Georgia which is where she lives.

Since I lived the past 16 years in Tennessee and have been living just over the border in Georgia a very short time, she asked me to write about Tennessee and especially Chattanooga.  I have lived in Mississippi, Louisiana, Missouri, Colorado, Washington, Texas, North Carolina, Tennessee and now Georgia.  I have loved every state I’ve lived in and would be proud to write in Oliver’s Traveling Notebook.

Tomorrow I will post what I write.

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Why I Write

I say I write because I love it.  Writing takes time; time away from family, friends, chores around the house and even work.  Some people write early in the morning and some late in the evening.  I write when I have the chance.  Rarely do I make time to write.  I just don’t have that luxury.

I know a fellow writer who has published three books from a large publishing firm.  Each book has gone into mass paperback production.  I consider her a successful writer.  She wakes very early in the morning and begins writing until she realizes she still in her nightgown or pajamas or that she has not eaten breakfast or lunch.  I admire her stamina but I sure don’t want to be like that.  I am very proud of my friend for her success and wish for her the freedom to enjoy that success. 

My love for writing comes from the desire to speak the truth of what I hear, feel, experience, and dream.  I write for myself when I write a poem or something in my journal.  I write for my family when I share a memory of a special event and incident that touches my heart.  I write for the public when I find a story that needs to be told and remembered.  I can’t say, “Today, you will write about…..this or that.”  I just sit down to my computer or trusty notebook and start writing.

When my six-year-old granddaughter, Paige was two we took a walk around the block one afternoon.  She saw a flower and I saw a dandelion weed.  The result was this poem:

A Gift of Love

What does she see that I can’t?

Squatting down close to the ground,

she reaches for something.

Is it a tiny bug or a special rock?

Her two-year-old eyes are shining bright.

And the smile on her face shows her excitement.

I fall on my knees so that I can see too.

I ask her, “What do you see?”

She lifts her chin and responds, “Flower.”

A weed to me but a flower to her.

She reaches down and tries to pick it.

So I help her and together we pick the flower.

She stands and puts it under her nose.

On my knees, we are face to face.  Then without

hesitation she hands her flower to me.

“For me,” I ask?  She smiles nodding her head.

I look into her loving eyes and take her precious gift.

What does she see?  A flower.

What do I see?  A gift of love.

I hope I never stop writing and that I never take my writing so seriously that I stop loving what I’m doing.

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Screaming Blackbird

One of my favorite pastimes is “people watching.”  I’m not alone.  For I know there are many like me who can sit for hours watching people as they pass by – at the Mall, the airport, a restaurant, the farmer’s market, or the grocery store.  I remember once my husband and I flew into San Francisco and had a two hour layover.  This was before 9-11.  So we were free to walk about the airport.  In those days (and it may still be the same) the arrival and departure entrances were one in the same.  We decided to walk out the door, sit on a bench and watch the people.

When we got back to our gate and had some time left, I took out my pen and notebook and began to write about what I had seen.  It’s a habit I have to keep a journal while on a trip and it is one I can’t seem to break.  I’d like to think it is the journalist in me, but the truth is, I have a keen sense of curiosity and I’m not afraid to speak to people and ask questions.

For example, I took another trip recently with my granddaughter and her parents.  We drove down Interstate 75 to Walt Disney World to celebrate her 6^th birthday.  Not fifteen minutes after we picked her up from school I had my first installment in the journal.  Watching the teachers, staff, students, and especially my granddaughter happy that it was the last day of school, was a real treat.  She jumped in the car with her report card and said, “I’m going to first grade!”  I spent the rest of the weekend documenting the trip about people in the resort, in the lines, on the rides, and other visitors like us who came from all over the world to the place “where magic begins.”

I wrote about a storyteller at the Animal Kingdom Resort.  I wrote about a young man attending bar whose uncle was best man at my wedding forty-one years ago in Baton Rouge, LA.  I wrote about the sunset, the Electric Parade, the food, the noise, the crowds, my beautiful granddaughter, my patient and loving daughter-in-law, and my wonderful son who invited me to share in this experience with their daughter.

But it doesn’t take a big trip to inspire me to write about the people I see.  The everyday experiences I have supply me with many stories to write.  Today, in line at the grocery store I watched a couple from Malaysia with two small kids.  They could not speak English and got all but one thing on welfare and the whole time the wife was on the phone talking to someone ignoring the cashier.  While behind me a young woman in what looked like her forties was talking on the phone so loud that I learned that they were rearranging the living room so they could bring a bed in so she could recover from robotic surgery.  Her husband was going to take care of her, then another person, who “likes to help out when needed” will relieve him for a week and the then he’ll take time off again to help her recover. It wasn’t like she was trying to be private or anything.  So when she hung up, I asked her what kind of surgery.  She said hysterectomy.  I wished her well.  I thanked the cashier who had thanked me earlier for being so patient with the prior customer and I left.

 Walking to the car a huge black bird was perched on top one of the high parking lot lights.  He was screaming at all the people.  I looked up at him and said, “I hear you!”

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