SPECIAL PLACES

Most of us have a special place, a room, a workshop, a place to call our own. I used to claim my Grandmother's house. It was a place I could visit, year after year. There was a second place, a state park near about an hour away from her home. Now that my grandmother's place no longer exists, Natchez Trace State Park is the place I call my special place.

When I was a child, I went on school field trips to Natchez Trace. I remember one year during our annual school picnic, a group of hippies in brightly painted school buses were camping in the park. They eventually bought property in Nashville and The Farm, their settlement, exists to this day.

I remember how exciting these people in their bright buses and unusual clothes were to me. That sunny day, swinging on the swings, listening to pop music trailing from the camp store was one of the happiest I had that summer.

 When I had a family, 2 foster children stayed with us and I wondered what kind of vacation I could manage with 3 hyperactive children. I remembered the fun I'd had at Natchez Trace. A cabin by the lake made a nice family trip.

My son, Adam, spent many summer trips at Natchez Trace.  Over the years, when finances were tight, the park was an affordable weekend get away. It was nice to see him enjoy the place I loved.

Last year Adam surprised me. On a family retreat, he proposed to his fiance on the dock overlooking the lake at Natchez Trace. Now, the park has sentimental value for another generation. This weekend, as we packed to leave the park, he suggested that next year we should make the trip a little longer.

The 12 year old girl, swinging on the swings, listening to pop music, and watching the hippies walk past, could have never foreseen that in her future.