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Starlite Film Productions: Journal

Echoes That Remain

I. Mac Perry - Indian Mounds You Can Visit - Copyright @ 1993

Excerpt ~ The spirit of the Indian was upon me, and I could not release him as I stared at the twinkling rays. The Indian is gone but his echoes remain, mingled within the debris of the mounds. The echoes are the call of the tiny words of history waiting to be pieced together. But how can we put the puzzle together when it’s pieces are being scattered under pavement or washed into the sea. Who has the ears to hear the echoes, the eyes to see these ancient monuments of a lost and forgotten people, the Marsh People, the Bay People, the Mangrove People? Who has the will to save them? I shall never walk this land again without hearing the…Voices of the past…Links of a broken chain…Wings that can bear me back to times…Which cannot come again; Yet God forbid that I should lose the echoes that remain.

The Night The Stars Fell On Long Pond

There had to be some settlers around here as early as 1800. The early pioneers wandered into the area, cleared areas, built huts and just lived here. They didn’t necessarily own the land, so they didn’t show up on government records. They left no “Official” tracks. But subsequent events could not have happened unless those earlier arrivals had already been established. The further back you go, the more tenuous the evidence becomes and documentation must be augmented by deductive reasoning.

If I may digress momentarily concerning the above mentioned hut, there are some misinformed types who label any frontier residence built of logs as being a cabin. A cabin is a one room affair. A cabin occupant with some social standing might add a porch in front and a shed room in the rear. A log residence of some size with a central hall (sometimes called a dog trot) and a separate kitchen was a log house, not a cabin.

But back in 1800, we can read various accounts of what was happening in St. Augustine, Pensacola, Mobile and be left with the impression that the Dixie, Levy and Gilchrist area was one big blank populated by Indians, rattlesnakes, bobcats and a few happy gophers.

I see the logic of the situation as indicating that settlers were in the Cedar Key area and around Long Pond by 1800 and there is not one shred of evidence to the contrary known to me.

One night in 1809, the earth was swinging sedately along in it’s orbit when a massive cloud of meteors got in the way. Some of them (the Perscids, the Leonids, who knows?) were pulled out of their own orbits by the earth’s gravitation and entered the atmosphere at terrific speeds. There would have been no astronomers nor other scientists down here then, just the adventurous pioneers. The pyrotechnic flashing and flaring all over the night sky must have been an awe-inspiring sight to behold. The older settlers would have called it a firestorm, one meteor was a shooting star.

A young man was riding his horse along a trail in the area west of Long Pond late that night, going home from a party at a neighbor’s house. The meteor shower started. Some of these would have been of some size and the large ones make a hollow, eerie roar as they streak across. The horseman saw the sky light up and heard the horrendous roars. He dismounted, tied his horse and calmly stood there waiting for the world to come to an end. For him that was the only logical conclusion to draw from what he was seeing and hearing. After about an hour the firestorm subsided, so he mounted his horse and rode home.

This legend was handed down through the successive generations of people in that area. I heard it from the late L.W. Drummond in about 1969. The point is, settlers had been here long enough to have parties.

Over the years, Gulf Hammock hunters have found pieces of what must be molten splatters that sloughed off nickel-iron meteorites. I have one such fragment (somewhere?). In that firestorm of 1809, there could have been a big one which landed over in Gulf Hammock. After all the years have passed, it’s crater would be a cypress pond with a particularly circular shape and an elevated ridge around it. If that pond is there, there is a big chunk of metal lying under it.

The slough-off phenomenon of a descending meteorite is well known, as in the case of the giant one which hit the desert near Flagstaff, Arizona about 5,000 years ago. Fragments of it were found ten miles away in El Diablo Canyon. If you ever get to the south rim of the Grand Canyon, the national park service has hauled one of those fragments (500 lbs) up there for the tourists, to gawk at. It was there the last time I was gawking at it.

So the evidence indicates that the sizeable meteorite crashed into the earth along the coastline, probably that night in 1809. The underside of my fragment shows just about the amount of ground-acids erosion that I would guess to be right to fit the number of years that I theorize it has lain there. Of course, the point of impact could have just as likely been out in the Gulf.

For the man riding his horse that night, the world did not come to an end. He would have died many years ago and the world goes on. But I wish I could have seen this place as it was then, no roads, no towns, just a great big wilderness of giant pines, cypress and live oaks. I try to imagine the sensation of walking through the fresh, primitive grandeur of such a place. The old cedar stands were there, the wild life would have been very abundant. Just look at what has happened since. No wonder the Indians got mad.

~ Unknown Author ~ Article courtesy of the Levy County Archives

 

The Land Of The Chiefs

Three years after the Timucuan Indians were massacred or taken captive, the Villages at Narrow Gap “Anhiarka” and “Curryville” had become ghosts of the past. Around 1542, the Timucuan natives had disappeared from this area. They were either killed by the Whiteman or died from their diseases. Some were even taken in slavery, while others fled the area.

It was the early 18th century when the Lower Creek Indians were forced to flee their homes in South Georgia. The Suwannee River began their ride to freedom. Leaving the Okefenokee swamp, they followed the Suwannee River into Florida.

Creek Indians who made their way to the Chiefland area were welcomed by the Blacks, who had settled here after their escape from slavery. The Whiteman tagged the Indians and Blacks with the word “Seminole” meaning runaway.

White settlers began moving into the area around the same time the Indians and Blacks were settling. There was peace among all the settlers in the valley. The land was farmed together and crops were shared.

The Creek Indians settled mostly in or around the town of Chiefland. Indian clans or Sub-tribes were within a few miles of each other and were ruled by a Sub-Chief. The Head-Chief and his clan resided in the Chiefland area.

When Council was held, the Sub-Chiefs from the different tribes would travel to Chiefland and come before the Head-Chief. Seminole Indian Chief, Charley Emathla was the last known Chief to have lived in the area. He was murdered in 1838 during the wars of Indian removal.

Chiefland was given it’s name because it was the “Land of the Chiefs”.

~ Gloria Ann Clay ~

My Medicine Rock

The summer of 1968 is one I will always remember. My favorite song was, “I’m a Believer” by the Monkees. I thought love was only true in fairy tales. Then I met David (the boy next door) who would often come out and play or join my family on a trip to the Springs nearby. Today, we share our life together as Husband and Wife and still enjoy the trips to the Springs nearby.

As a child, living next to the railroad tracks was such an adventure. If I placed my ear to the rail, I could hear the distant rumble of the train as it barreled down the tracks. It was a hot and hazy day when I heard the whistle blow. Looking up the tracks, I could make out the ghostly image of the approaching locomotive. The train was coming! As the train grew near, I raised my arm and signaled for the Engineer to blow the whistle. The blast from the whistle filled the air as the train carried on down the tracks.

One day, while searching for that special rock for my rock collection, I noticed something shiny on the railway. It turned out to be a crystal rock and a special one at that.

I lost track of my rock in 1977. To my amazement, it turned up again in 2005.

My Brother Robert, Sister-in-law Jaye and I were spending the day at our old homestead searching for arrowheads.  While looking for a container to hold our collection, I found a large coffee can containing flint pieces from our childhood collections. Admiring the elegance of the flint rock, I sank my fingers in. It was there, among all the colorful pieces of flint, that I found my crystal rock. I call this my medicine rock for many reasons. If placed in the sun, it absorbs heat and can soothe sore muscles. If rotated in the sun’s rays, the brilliance of it relaxes my senses. And in it’s presence, the summer of ’68 seems like only yesterday. Now that’s good medicine!

~ Gloria Ann Clay ~

The Day I Met Ruby

I awoke to the sound of rain drops falling on the roof. As I lay, snuggled in my bed, I thought about the butterflies that came out after the rain and the joy of watching them dance around the yard.

To my delight, the rain slowed to a drizzle. I quickly got dressed and by the time I went outside, the rain had stopped. It was a beautiful day!

Looking out across the yard, I noticed two black and yellow butterflies fluttering around an azalea bush. I had a collection of the unfortunate butterflies who had hitched a ride on our family automobile. Some were lucky to have survived the trip and were able to fly away. The ones that decided to stick around became part of my collection. I made my way to the driveway and sure enough there was a big yellow butterfly stuck to the radiator. I pulled it off and carried it inside.

As I was admiring my collection of colorful butterflies, I heard a chirping sound coming from outside of my window. The sound was coming from the bush beneath my bedroom window. I hurried back outside and walked over to the bush. There laid the reddest Redbird I had ever seen. He was struggling to get up, but was too weak. I picked him up and placed him in my shirt. I hurried back inside the house. I found a sock and a cedar box to lay him in. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. I watched helplessly as he took his last breath. I named him Ruby because of his brilliant red color. I laid him to rest beneath an oak tree in the backyard.

Today, whenever I’m graced with the beauty of a redbird, it brings back fond memories of that day in 1970. The day I met Ruby, my guardian spirit.

~ Gloria Ann Clay ~

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