It was confirmed.
The land now known as Kentucky had been purchased. It was March 1775.
Awaiting this news, Daniel Boone and a group of 30 axmen began blazing a trail from the Anderson Blockhouse just across the line into Virginia from the Holston Settlement (Kingsport, Tennessee) through 200 miles of forested terrain to the Cumberland Gap and beyond to the Kentucky River, so opening a new chapter in American history – the settlement of lands west of the Appalachians (Daniel Boone Wilderness Trail Association).
Down the road apiece from where the pioneering woodsmen gathered that day, there lies a grave headstone that had long since fallen and cracked in the process, the section that had broken off – and for that matter the entirety of the carved stone – remarkably readable after 200 years.
Near to this ancient marker, a rare – certainly for this winter season given they bloom early to midsummer – pair of chamomile blossoms, the only two daisy-like plants anywhere in sight among the tombstones, smiled brightly, their plump round faces uplifted toward blue sky, wispy white clouds, and a midday yellow sun.
Even though bundled against the cold, still we shivered, a late-November breeze coming across the lake, its icy fingers clutching at us and grave markers alike, rustling the leaves, fluttering at, and fussing with the shredded remains of a flag.
We stood there, each of us cradling a cup of coffee, lost in thought.
History was at our feet.
Did the parents of the one whose grave marker that bore their son’s name – the so few etchings simply providing date of birth and date of death – did they follow the trail Boone and his men blazed, settling in Kentucky which was then beyond the western borders of the Thirteen Colonies?
In the little cabin Daniel had built along that Wilderness Road, perhaps Rebecca Boone had served chamomile tea to this little family, weary from their long journey?
The books on the shelf her Daniel had collected, was Shakespeare’s Henry IV among his favorites – the Bible, and Gulliver’s Travels?
As she served tea, might Rebecca have smiled at her guests’ complaint of the long journey as they removed their boots from weary feet, and might Rebecca have opened part one and read that line from Falstaff “…the chamomile grows faster the more it is trodden on” thus encouraging her new friends, even as they drank chamomile tea, to pursue their dream?
If gravestones could talk, what would they say?
And, for that matter, what will our story be?
What dream do we pursue?
