Twenty-Two, Falls of the Coosa

Twenty-Two

Falls of the Coosa

25 May 1824

This afternoon, I enjoyed a walk to Coosa Falls.  This is a shortened name for "Falls of the Coosa" for which our new postal station is named.   Now posts will have to be addressed in that long, but romantic, name which, I suppose, originated in either French or perhaps Creek, both of which tend to use the descriptive way in naming things.

The beauty of this place is almost beyond description.  On the way to the falls, you pass through dense forests of pine and oak, providing a cool respite from the heat of the day.  As you walk along the narrow path, which I suppose once was a deer path, the crunch, crunch of fallen pine needles and twigs and acorns of the oak accompany you as you go along. 

From quite a distance away comes the roar of the falls, particularly in the spring and the beginning of summer.  The rumbling of the falls becomes louder and louder drowning out the various melodies of the mockingbird and the pounding of the yellowhammer, enchanting as they are.

As I approached the falls, I noticed that crouching over the lower river was one partially wet Mr. DuBois.  He was splashing his face in the water, perhaps cleansing away the sweat of the day.  I watched from a safe distance away, but then he arose to leave and spotted me observing him.  He dried his face upon his sleeve and approached, playfully asking if I might be spying upon him.  I answered no, that it was quite accidental, but I am not sure that he believed me.

There came an awkward silence, but then he explained that each work-day he comes here after his long day in the fields.  He said that he cools off here, but he also refreshes his soul.  I asked him what that meant, and he said that he had a poem that he would copy for me, but that  spoke of "These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs".  I do not often memorize anything, much less poetry, but I took great care to remember that much. 

I said to him that I think I shall call you Thomas Jefferson, or perhaps Benjamin Franklin, for it seems to be that Mr. DuBois is possessed of the intimate knowledge of many various things.  He laughed and said that this was high praise indeed, especially since both were great inventors. 

He then explained that he spends much of his spare time making improvements on the cotton gin, as his father and grandfather had done in South Carolina.  He told me that although cotton production had not yet taken hold in our Autauga County, it soon would be the major cash crop of Alabama.  He further explained that there was not yet enough labor to be had in these parts, and that short-staple cotton production required many hands.

Then he remembered that I had just arrived at the falls, and exclaimed that oh! I have interrupted your walk this afternoon.  Perhaps I should leave you to your solitude.  I answered, truthfully, and simply, no.

It is true that most days, I do indeed seek solitude, whether it be at home, or along the walks to the river.  But today, I found that I desired to remain in the company of this interesting man, for he challenges my mind, and surprises me at every turn with something new that he knows.

We walked along the river bank toward the falls until we could hear each other no more without loud shouting.  We stood and gazed at the water and I found that I very much wanted to touch his face.  In that moment, my heart beat louder than the falls, of this I am certain.  I noticed that his nose was long and thin, but aquiline, very French I suppose. 

It was his eyes, however, that drew me in, wanting to swim right into them and stay for awhile.  Brown-green they are, not unlike my own, sparkling with intelligence and curiosity.  This is the intoxicating quality that mesmerizes me now.  How did I not notice them before?  It must have been the magic of the falls.  I shall never forget this moment, there at the edge of the falls, looking up toward the top of them where they spilled over onto the rocks below.

I would have stayed there forever, but he turned away, perhaps being very aware that we were alone and not accompanied by chaperons, not that we needed any at our age. For I presume Mr. DuBois to be approximately my age, give or take a year or two.  While I believe that we both are quite innocent in the ways of the world, I for one am most definitely very experienced in knowing the virtue of self-restraint.

This situation presented a dilemma, at least for me.  Should he accompany me, unchaperoned, back through the wooded path?  Or should he leave me there, at the edge of the falls, as though we had not met?  As I wondered on this, he took his leave, alone, and headed along toward the upper path that would lead him back to the Terry farm.

Oh goodness.  I have written for so long on a topic that I have never written before.  I am not sure that I can trust what I am coming to feel in my heart, for this is a very different feeling and one that  must develop slowly if it develops at all.