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2 weeks, 4 states and 2,000 miles after arriving in Atlanta, Georgia, it was time to return home to Ireland. Reassured that our daughter was settling in well to her new abode in the University of South Carolina, we were back in Georgia. We were spending our last day (and night) in Ringgold, North Georgia. We chose this location as it was a convenient break off point between Nashville, Tennessee, where we had spent the previous couple of days, and the airport in Atlanta.

The guesthouse we stayed in was advertised on Airbnb. And funny enough, the Irish diaspora being what it is, the place was owned by an Irishman who moved here in the 1970s! Kyran was an enthusiastic and welcoming host. His property was immaculate and homely. It was located in a tranquil wooded area with views over a small valley. Although we were only staying for one night, the refrigerator and larder were stocked with enough supplies to sustain an army for a short campaign. I remember being pleasantly surprised to see that the provisions included a bottle of wine. That evening as the sun was low in the sky, we sat on a bench overlooking the surrounding fields. Being the only drinker, I had to endure the hardship of tending to the bottle of wine, while Kyran spoke of how he came to live in Georgia; what he had worked at before retirement and his family. We were joined briefly by his wife Janet, a quiet, unassuming and gentile Georgian lady. Just as the sun dipped below the horizon a family of deer emerged nervously from a small clump of trees. It was hard to imagine this land as a bloodstained battlefield of the civil war or the site of a close call with a tornado a few years earlier. Watching the deer, I thought to myself ‘Sometimes it’s the simple things that make an ordinary day extraordinary’. As darkness fell we said our goodnights. We had only known them for a matter of hours but by the end of the day, they felt like old friends.

As we prepared to leave the next morning, Kyran’s hospitality excelled once more. He delivered two hot breakfast rolls that he had prepared for us. He had a name for them, which I can’t remember. But the taste was unforgettable. The only regret I have is that our stay was a short one. We keep in touch occasionally but if we ever find ourselves in the southern states again, Ringgold will be the first port of call.

Update June 9th 2025. This morning, I learned that Kyran passed away in January of this year, at the age of 73. We kept in touch over the years by email but contact became more infrequent with the passage of time. I emailed him last week and when there was no reply, I searched the internet and found his obituary.

It was hard to take in because Kyran was larger than life and the type of person who made you believe that he would always be around. He was big and strong with a deep booming voice and hadn’t lost any of his Irish charm and wit. He was a generous man with a big heart. The year of our visit,2016, was a historic year for hurricanes in the southern states. Large swathes of the Carolinas were flooded and thousands of people were being advised to leave. Kyran contacted me and offered to let our daughter, who was in North Carolina, have the use of his cabin for the duration of the emergency. Acts of kindness like that are rare these days.

Our thoughts are with Janet and his family who will be trying to come to terms with the huge void that he left. The fact that he made such an impression on us in a very short period of time was a measure of the man and he will always be part of that chapter in our lives. May he rest in peace.

True to my contrary nature, I only spent a short time experiencing the side of Nashville that attracts millions of visitors each year. Don’t get me wrong. If you were spending a few days there, I’d recommend soaking up the music scene and having the odd afternoon beer in the countless honky tonks, enjoying the wealth of talented musicians chasing the big break. But we were passing through and settled for a brief behind the scenes glimpse of the history of ‘Nashborough’ as it was formerly known. See? That’s the type of nerdy info I like! And so, a chance encounter with Nashville Centennial Park taught me more in an afternoon than Google ever could! E.g. As a child I lived for a Saturday morning programme chronicling the adventures of Casey Jones, the driver of a steam train who had more than his fair share of adventures in the course of a working day. So much so that I always believed the character to be mythical. Then I happened upon one of the marble information stones, depicting the various famous and notable sons and daughters of this proud place….

All of a sudden my lazy childhood Saturday morning indulgence became an educational experience!

Numerous memorials of courage, defiance and exemplary acts of kindness and humanitarianism abounded in this place. Some inspiring, others humbling. But the most memorable discovery that day was a stone of granite with an excerpt from Robert Penn Warren’s book The Legacy of the Civil War. It struck a chord with me because it encapsulated the destructive aspects of war. I have come to believe that, in war, there are no Victors or Losers. Only Survivors. Any perceived gains are always outlived and outweighed by the losses. I found his words moving and profound. So much so, that I have read them countless times since that day. They have served to inform and reinforce my views on conflict. And I will always be grateful for that chance encounter in the autumn (Fall) of 2016.

Robert Penn Warren’s book, The Legacy of the Civil War, describes how the civil war changed the ‘United States’ forever. Travelling through the southern states and observing the nuances, behaviours and attitudes of people, I sensed that legacy (but that’s another story for another day). Because of the poor quality of the photograph and because I find the words so inspirational, I will make the effort to reproduce them here:

….The civil war is our only ‘felt’ history -history lived in the national imagination. This is not to say that the war is always, and by all men, felt in the same way.Quite the contrary.But this fact is an index to the very complexity, depth and fundamental significance of the event…the civil war was, after all, a civil war..the prototype of all war. For in the persons of fellow citizens who happen to be the enemy, we meet again, with the old ambivalence of love and hate, and with all the old guilts, the blood brothers of our childhood…..

Cumberland River

A moment’s contemplation on the Cumberland River, Nashville. Quietly and anonymously absorbing the day’s new knowledge. The people on the bridge give you a sense of scale.

Tennessee sunset

Giving in to my obsession with sunsets, I made an ill-advised and sudden manoeuvre to pull in and capture this amazing Tennessee sunset. Let’s face it. Some things you only see once!

For me the essence of a road trip is the experience of taking in the character and variety of the host country’s roads. That’s why, on the trip in 2016, I avoided the congested and featureless Interstates. As I drove along this stretch of Highway 11 (aka Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway) with the stubborn taste of boiled peanut in my mouth (see post ‘Lost in Translation’), I was struck by the unspoilt beauty of this part of America. It was relaxing, as driving ought to be but rarely is. I found my thoughts drifting to the hotel from the night before. It was in a nondescript small town named Duncan. It was a one night stay so we opted for a low budget, no frills establishment. The room had been booked online. At check in the teenage girl, arms heavily tattooed with scripture (kid you not), informed us that it was a smoking room. I pointed out that a non smoking room had been booked. To which she replied, “it’s the only room left but I can give you a can of Febreeze”. Can’t say fairer than that!

It may sound like a stupid thing to say but I used to wonder where the Blue Ridge Mountains got their name. Standing on Bald Rock, adjacent to Caesar’s Head State Park SC, the answer became obvious. This view was of the southernmost reaches of the Blue Ridge mountain range which stretches all the way from the Carolinas, Georgia and Tennessee, up through Maryland to Philadelphia. The trees release isoprene into the air which creates a distinctive haze and a blue hue. Hence the ‘blue’ in Blue Ridge. I think isoprene would be a preferable air freshener to Febreeze…

I had always harboured the notion of a road trip in the USA. I thought if it ever happened it would be up the eastern seaboard or the west coast or maybe even the famous Route 66. As it turned out, my daughter decided to spend a year of her degree at the University of South Carolina and that was my road trip sorted. We travelled through Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee and Alabama. The cultural gaps were many but this photo will always remind me of one of those moments when you feel 2 feet tall. After leaving our daughter we started off on the Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway (Highway 11). I had seen a few signs for boiled peanuts and was feeling peckish since we hadn’t had any breakfast that morning. So when I saw this colourful roadside stand, I had to stop. Being Irish, i usually only eat nuts once a year at Halloween. Monkey nuts. The ones that you crack the shell open and eat the nut. The friendly peanut seller explained that they boil them until they are soft enough to eat but you have to let them cool down first. I paid for a cupful and, with Mr peanut seller looking on, I proceeded to blow on my first ever boiled peanut. When I was satisfied that it had cooled down enough I popped it in my mouth. As I chewed the fibrous mulch I wondered how anyone could eat anything this disgusting! But not wanting to offend the man, I tried to disguise my grimace as a smile. “You like that”? he asked. “Yes” I lied. Then in a typical southern drawl he said “ain’t never seen no one eating em shells an’ all! But if it works for ya…”. My humiliation complete, I bade him farewell and went on my way. You can take the man out of Belfast but you can’t take Belfast out of the man!