Natchez Trace Parkway pt. 3: The Actual Natchez Trace Parkway

We began our journey on day three of our vacation, better known as Monday.

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Sorry for the blurriness. It was taken in a moving car (no I wasn’t driving).

As we started our trip, we decided to hit up one of the first stops, to get us going. It was titled “Old Trace”, and explained what the Natchez Trace Parkway was. The Natchez Trace Parkway doesn’t follow the actual Trace exactly, so there are portions of the drive you can get out and see where the original is/was. History says the deep crevices you find among the Trace were created by all the people who traversed this path over many years. It was walked on so much it created it’s own cavernous path.

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A frequent stop along the entire Trace were old mounds created by Native Americans. These Emerald Mounds were slightly different than just burial grounds, as they were used as sacred ground for ceremonies as well as burials. DSC00507.JPG

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As we were contemplating the sheer work involved in creating these mounds, and the ceremonies that took place hundreds of years ago, my dog decided to desecrate the area by using it as his own personal bathroom. We did what we could to rectify the situation, picked it up, said a prayer of forgiveness and went on our way.

Another stop for the day was Mount Locust. It was an old inn used to house people as they made their way through the Trace. The history is rich here and I can only imagine the array of people who came through this inn, stayed the night to rest, and told stories over the fire place. Who knows what great adventures these people experienced, exploring new lands, people and animals and experiencing the harshness of nature without any of our conveniences of today.

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The Sunken Trace was our next stop and it is one of the most visited and photographed exhibits on the Trace. It’s a live example of the path that thousands of people took, to seek out new opportunities and a new life in an unexplored world.

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The old town of Rocky Springs was our next stop. The town no longer exists, as a combination of Civil War, bad crops and yellow fever eventually wiped out the town. Before this though, it was a thriving town with over 2000 residents. According to the Parks Services, the town included three merchants, four physicians, four teachers, three clergy and 13 artisans, all while being surrounded by farmers. All that’s left now is remnants of the Trace and a church.

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I started walking the path up to the church when an older man started making conversation with me. Normally this would make me very uncomfortable, as I’m an introvert that likes to be left alone, but he was harmless, and started talking about the area and his life. His name was James and he had lived in Jackson most of his life, which was nearby. He came here to go walking and play on the piano inside the church. He said he didn’t believe some of the information the books had on Rocky Springs, that he’d grown up in this area most of his life, and there was no way you could grow cotton here (there was an artist’s painting of Rocky Springs where they were growing fields of cotton.) He had his opinions on this and I let him speak. He could definitely be correct.

I really wanted to head up to the church but he had stopped me at the bottom of the hill, and I didn’t want to be rude and wander off, so I slowly edged toward the hill and he got the idea that I wanted to see the church, so he walked with me to the church and opened the door and showed me inside. I would never have even thought to try to open it, as most old buildings are cordoned off.

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James volunteered to take my picture for me in front of the church
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James playing the piano for the church

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James reminded me to not be so afraid to talk to people. A lot of people are lonely and have stories to tell, and will tell them to anyone who will listen.

We made a few more stops on the way but the last major stop we made was the Cypress Swamp. Cypress trees and the swamps they inhabit are a subject the hubs and I are both fascinated by. They’re beautiful, haunting, mysterious and romantic, all at once. To me, they’re the epitome of Deep South Romanticism.

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We made our way to the next campsite, Holmes County State Park, in the dark unfortunately. It was a creepy setting to say the least and the hubs and I only stayed there long enough to eat, sleep, shower and head out the next morning. I don’t know if you believe in ghosts but I’ve had experiences in my life that would lead to believe there could be a possibility of them among us. This campground was just another tack on the wall. It was a small campground. Besides us, there were only two camper trailers there, but both were tired looking, covered in leaves and green mold, like they’d been there for some time. There was no one around to check us in (we paid online so we already had reservations), so we set up our trailer for the night. When I went into the bathroom, it sounded as if there was someone outside, maybe sweeping up the floors outside the bathroom doors. When I opened the bathroom door, there was no one there. This happened almost every time I went there. For my husband, the story gets even weirder. When he went into the bathroom, the toilet flushed itself. Full on flush, not draining, like there’s a leaky gasket, but full on flush.

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Possible haunted bathroom?

Either way, we slept we left.

Onto the next day’s adventures.

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