Turkey Strut

This is the second year Martha and I traveled to the beautiful Kituwah Indian Mound, a Cherokee sacred and historic site in a wide, flat valley lying next to the broad Tuckasegee River between Cherokee and Bryson City.

The site once sat at the center of the first Cherokee village, Kituwah, often referred to as the “mother town of the Cherokee.” Archaeologists date the site back nearly 10,000 years, and have found traces of burials and hearths on the site.  Held in private hands for many years, the Cherokee were able to purchase it in 1996, and the race benefits Cherokee Choices and the physical education program of the Cherokee Middle School.  Some Cherokee youths were running, and the race director, papoose on back, told us movingly about her desire to walk the entire Trail of Tears some day soon.

The race might well be called the Turkey Stumble, as I noted last year, due to the uneven gravel path on which it is held.  Beautiful, absolutely no traffic, but a little rough on the legs.

I am not a trail runner, and the reason is that I am a clumsy runner.  Meandering between rows of partially-harvested field corn, the narrow gravel paths were treacherous, gravel and larger rocks everywhere, ruts with puddles.  Then too, the roads were so narrow that other runners were sometimes a problem; as is their wont, youngsters would dash by, and then bow up directly in front of the tall, slow-to-move runners like myself.  Two of them passed me on a rough downhill part and shouted out encouragement to me:  “You’ve got it!”  And in a few yards I slowly and persistently passed them.

As I say, ideal for some runners, but not this roadrunner.  On the smoother parts of the trail, I had time to look around at the corn fields, the distant mountains, the azure sky.  The cornstalks rustled in a light breeze.  Corn was everywhere!  The big, dilapidated building in which the awards were held was scattered with harvesting equipment, stray cobs of corn on the ground, and bins filled with the year's plenty.

Only a week after a hilly race in Canton, we were both pleased with our finish times.  Martha disappeared ahead of me and was waiting at the finish.  Coming in that final long relatively smooth stretch, I passed a man in my age group and so took the third place trophy that would have belonged to him.  I was also pleased to pass, in the last half-mile, a young and very lively German Shepherd dog and the young lady who held her back on a tight leash.  Martha took another first place trophy.  She is running some of her best races right now!

 

Had this been a paved course, we would have run much faster, of course, but that might not have been a good thing considering we have yet another race scheduled only five days from now, another “Turkey Strut” event, a large 5-K in Winston-Salem, which we expect to be held on paved roads with nary a cornstalk in sight.

So it was another good day, here in this peaceful valley, where the Cherokee Nation gathered for thousands of years to bury their dead, to celebrate the harvest, to dance, and to give thanks.