Somebody told me when I came back to Nashville ....

Land Between the Lakes

 What could bring me back to Nashville? Work could - if we still had an office and everyone had not gone remote.

On an impulse, I flew back to Nashville. I had some friends I wanted to see, friends who came on the tail end of Nashville time. Sending myself into motion seemed easier. What struck me was how little I felt. No swell of emotion, no tug at the heartstrings. It was just another place, one where I’d spent more than quarter of my life, but not one I clung to. 

By year 12, I badly needed new scenery. I did not leave with the same trepidation as when I left Ohio. The time to go arrived, and I would not regret the time I had. However, I was smiling about the next destination.  

Physically, plenty had changed. More bland apartment buildings, overpriced condos and houses that don’t fit their neighborhoods. The airport had a brand-new concourse a 1950s air travel style, but baggage claim still moved slower than molasses. The attitude of the place hadn’t changed. Terrible drivers, putting your life in danger by taking a walk. 

There was much I didn’t need to do. Over the years, I hit every major tourist location in the region. Besides, Old Colorado City has a pair of angel wings that never has a line. Lower Broadway would seem to guarantee a COVID-19 diagnosis (to be fair, I’d be disappointed if I went to Kid Rock’s bar and didn’t catch a communicable disease). 

Ultimately, people who mean something to me are still there. Almost two years after moving, I can say making new friends and social groups has been extraordinarily difficult. Due to age (early 40s) and major societal complications (ahem, COVID-19), I have a very small social circle. I don’t say this seeking sympathy, just stating fact. So I went where the people are. I didn’t get to see them all thanks to the pandemic. Still, there was plenty of substance. 

My friend Meg and I went up to the Land Between the Lakes. The weather improved for the weekend after a surprisingly cold Friday. The wildlife stayed far away at the Bison and Elk Prairie. Dozens of bison grazed in a distant meadow. They were easily visible but far enough that we could get out of the car to observe them. The elk mostly sat in the forest, unable to hide in plain sight as they do when the foliage fleshes out in spring. 

We ended up hiking close to eight miles of loops around lakes near the LBL Nature Station, which houses animals native to the inland peninsula. A prescribed burn of the prairie near the station closed a number of trails that day. We started with Hematite Lake, a 2-mile lake loop. A chorus of leopard frogs echoed at the far end of the easy but heavily trafficked loop. The Honker Lake trail was almost empty, and we turned around at a levy separating the lake from the open bay on Lake Barkley. 

Prescribed burn

Hematite Lake trail

Honkers Lake shoreline

 On Sunday we stopped at Grand Cru, still looking much like it always had. The bank next door is gone, a 20-story luxury condo tower under construction. A stop at Publix was not essential, but it was nice to see the grocery where I stopped to calm down amid all those brutal commutes (the friendly employees of public do make a different at 15 miles of idiot drivers). Meg and I had tapas and wine at Barcelona. There were long walks around the Donelson neighborhoods near the Stones River's confluence with the Cumberland.

I got together with some of my old work crew on Monday afternoon. I couldn’t come that far and not see some of my closest friends. Visiting has been complicated by my company closing the Nashville office and making everyone remote. I had not seen any of them since October 2019, when I returned for a work trip. But they had not seen each other seen March 2020, when the office closed from a COVID-19 lockdown. 

Visiting Nashville did mandate one stop – the old cul-de-sac on top of Cloverhill. The old house looked about the same. But that was not why I wanted to drive past. I half-hoped to spot one of my neighborhood cats. Actually, I dreaded it. Those cats brought light and color into my final year. With them eating and snoozing in the yard, I never lacked for company. 

As we drove up the hill and turned onto the court, I felt a bit of dread. I could be accused of abandoning the cats, although they were wild creatures outside of feeding spots. I tried to pet one as we prepared the moving caravan to Colorado, and she darted into the bushes. They were not pets, mostly local color, but I still had some sense of responsibility. Maybe I worried they might dart away again, remembering meals no longer deliver twice daily. 

I scanned all the spots as we stopped. One of the neighbors stood at the door watching me. I felt no need to identify myself. 

But there was no sign of them. If the cats still romped in the dusk, they took a break on this balmy evening.