Day Twenty-seven - Memphis to Knoxville

Tennessee is one long, long state.


We were up at a reasonable hour and ate a breakfast of Fairfield/Marriott scrambled eggs, which are not really scrambled eggs and we doubt that anyone has actually identified what they are, except free.  And a few minutes later, headed east on I-40 for Knoxville.  We had originally planned to go to Atlanta, but Mary Frances has had enough of traffic jams this trip, and both of us have spent plenty of time in Atlanta, for industry and government.

Doesn't look like much of a trip; all in one state, all on Interstate-40.  But aside from
Alaska or Texas, it's about as far as you can go in a straight line and not be somewhere else.

Tennessee is bordered on the west by the Mississippi River, and its outline on the east looks like it should be a river, too, but in fact is just made to fit the western boundary of North Carolina established by surveyors of the George Washington ilk many years earlier.  Vertically, it's 120 miles wide, about 1-1/2 degrees of latitude from 34° 59′ N to 36° 41′ N.

The Tennessee River crosses I-40 at Benton.

As we approached Nashville we began to discuss the possibility of visiting Andrew Jackson's Hermitage, which we had missed on our first stop in Nashville, although Mary Frances had visited the gardens with some FEMA friends during a deployment several years ago (which incidentally included tornado damage to the Hermitage grounds.)  We spotted an exit sign for Old Hickory Boulevard, and in a sudden decision, exited and asked Michelle, our GPS voice, to find the way.  Michelle, with the intellect of a wet stone, found all kinds of historical places we weren't interested in, but not that one.  Shortly we were lost, said 'to hell with it' and returned to I-40 for the rest of our journey to Knoxville.

Nashville--makes a complete circle of twenty days adventures.

No need to say more about Nashville; we said quite a bit on our posts
on Days Five, Six and Seven.

The skies were beginning to hint at bad intentions just east of Nashville.

 Yes, Michelle, there really is a Hermitage!

After passing through Nashville, once again we saw an exit for Old Hickory Boulevard!  Not the one west of the city, or even in the city, but a town or two east, and this one had another selling point, a brown point of interest sign saying:  Andrew Jackson's The Hermitage!  So we decided to stop after all (our third presidential museum of the trip--one shy of tying the record!)

The Hermitage is not that big by today's standards.  It has fourteen rooms, with just four bedrooms, although as many as 50 or 60 guests would visit there following Jackson's presidency, many of them sleeping on the floor after the beds were full.  It was the largest, fanciest home in Davidson County.  Jackson himself lost his father before he was born, and his mother when he was fourteen.  He ran messages across enemy lines during the Revolution, apprenticed to an attorney, and over the following years became the most prosperous lawyer in Tennessee, prior to becoming the most successful general of the war of 1812 (his main success being victory at the Battle of New Orleans in 1815--months after the war had ended with the Treaty of Ghent, but neither side was aware of it.)

The Hermitage has been a Presidential museum since 1889;  and it never belonged to any other family.

The Greek Revival style was popular at the time, but more importantly, was
 the favorite of Jackson's wife Rachel, whom he would move mountains to please.

Mary Frances took this close-up of a tulip magnolia on the Hermitage grounds.

In line in the heat, and occasional sprinkles, to tour the mansion.

A tree on the grounds.  A lot of  potential captions.

Mary Frances in the gardens at The Hermitage, listening to an audio tour.  We weren't
allowed to take pictures inside.

Adjacent to the gardens is the cemetery, with many others present, including
the artist who painted many of Jackson's portraits...

...and Uncle Alfred, a slave and personal valet to Jackson who lived to the
ripe old age of 98, passing in 1905.

The gardens, with the house beyond.  While Rachel did grow flowers here,
most of the yard was busy with animals grazing and feeding--pigs, cattle,
ducks, geese, chickens.  The smokehouse slaughtered and preserved more
than 250 pigs a year.

Of the three presidential museums we've visited on this trip, this one is the oldest of course, but also in a way the most personal.  The guides (the previous two--Reagan and Clinton--were unguided) were superb in their details, and this was actually the family home, not a new construction with fancy graphic items.

After leaving The Hermitage, just a few miles up the road we hit a rainstorm
that completely blinded us.  Over the next 75 miles or so, this happened
five or six more times, with clear weather in-between.  Weird, and we never
saw a rainbow. 

No day is wasted that ends with a fine dinner.  In this case Mary Frances and I
found Puleo's Grille nearby, and enjoyed some unusual and tasty treats.

Really a lovely day, thanks to the General, and to my bride, of course.  And no Atlanta traffic.  Tomorrow, we'll light out for Durham, North Carolina.  And a little baseball.