He is a notoriously peaceful man, gently fretting at the age of eighty or more, “so much work to be done…” as we finger the laminated children’s drawings serving as placemats decorating the large kitchen table. This is a humid Sunday conversation between visitors (James the Walker, Sydney, and I), the W.W.O.O.F.ers (Willing Workers Of Organic Farms) and Mr. Hector Black, touching lightly upon one point of information after another, almost as lyrically as the monarch butterflies we will encounter a while later on our short hike south of the farm buildings, as acquaintances are made. Most interesting to me (and in service to this blog) is the existence of three (or more) waterfalls at both ends of this mysterious hollow which is indiscernible from along the rolling crest of the Cumberland Plateau, northwest of Cookeville.
The story of Hector’s arrival here at Hidden Springs accompanied by wife Suzie from an earlier farm in Atlanta, the year 1977 (also known as the summer Elvis died) makes an impression on me for three reasons: 1) We are awful close to Graceland and I can only imagine the woe, 2) Sydney arrived here in Cookeville the same year, and 3) Hector uses the word “deserted” to describe his property at the time. Today the enterprise is described as “Hidden Springs: Organic Produce, Agroforestry, Uncommon Edible, and Landscape Plants.”
Our arrival at Hidden Springs follows a visit to Sydney’s mother’s land situated on a small fork within the gorge. Enveloped by high mountainsides dropping dramatically upon open fields and a creek bed, our first impression of this lovely landscape, both woodsy and sun-laden, is solidified by an easy walk through high meadow grasses and plants toward an almost dry creek of solid slate except for puddles here and there from a recent rain. Our first wildlife encounter is a turtle found by James dug comfortably into a mud and gravel pocket and which endures our slightly disrespectful inquiries as to the nature of its gender very patiently.
Our tour of the gorge continues after leaving the property owned by Sydney’s mom; notable is a brown canvas yurt not far up the road erected by neighbors and other homes built with a non-traditional perspective toward habitable or conscientious living. We also pass a couple open fields where the straw has been cut and rolled into giant spools and a blueberry orchard where a worker’s cabin rests across the road. Pulling up to the open garage of the main house without any real viewpoint or perspective of the grounds except for a summer garden plot full of healthy corn, squash and other vegetables of the season, not only are the springs hidden but also a seemingly ordinary bathroom in the main residence that is actually a composting privy (lift the lid and observe the dark stall below), and the greenhouse that is Amy's (Hector’s daughter) living quarters. Many slightly overgrown paths between the tended vegetation and the dirt road to the southwestern twin falls and pinnacle rock masquerade the many activities at hand.
As the three of us venture forth, we first tour the old greenhouse, still in high use with its voluminous fig trees, a mulberry endowed with huge pocked fruit and a variety of tree saplings. A low road then leads us behind a house owned by neighbors and the W.W.O.O.F.er’s residence with its high porch and weathered wood where some fine young men relax with a smoke and beer. As my memory wears thin around the details of the actual path to the falls, I’ll allow James to fill in his own impressions but I would like to say that as we progress, it is as luscious a rainforest as Tennessee can muster rivaling some of the more well-traveled watersheds found in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Here are some notes from 7/20/08:
James the Walker, Sydney, and I trek southwestward to a mystical waterfall with two flumes and a pinnacle rock which divides them. The pinnacle is a scrap of plateau just about eye-level with the topmost ground. Sydney encourages our exploration of the pinnacle. The humidity and heat are strong but this peak offers a remarkable view of the larger of the two falls and the overall shape of the gorge in that particular area. This is private property, y’all! Upon reaching a lower-level again, we dance around massive amounts of poison ivy in order to reach the highest drop-off where falling water is approachable. I do not hesitate to stick my whole head into the flume and cool off. Taking a meditation break, James, Sydney and I become increasingly aware of the breezes created by the fast falling water above and below us as we sit along a shallow pool that has gathered on a rock shelf at a midway point. There are minnows in the pool fighting the current which appears to be pulling them forth to the edge, most probably washed from the issuing creek above. Below us, a large and majestic sycamore tree grows in the center of the once again recumbent waters as several monarch butterflies hover and play in the wind currents. I am in awe of the peaceful quiet, the natural beauty and the powerful friendships that have brought me to this place.
