When my dad announced that he would be taking medical leave from work to the family a while back, my mom immediately suggested a boys trip — and while I’m unsure if she actually wanted us to enjoy ourselves or instead wanted to enjoy peace and quiet back home (likely both), my dad & I took her up on the suggestion!

Something that has interested us both for quite a while is the Mississippian ‘Indian Mounds’ — earthy mounds allegedly built within the last 1,000 or so years by American Indians, which my dad happens to be.

But the story so often given to us and the actual story are seldom the same, so we decided that we must put boots on the ground and figure out this mystery for ourselves.

We’d leave from home in Charleston, South Carolina, and work our way west, into Alabama. We’d plan to make stops at Ocmulgee Mounds National Historic Park, Moundville Archaeological Park, and Etowah Indian Mounds State Park — but as with any good road trip, the best stops would be the ones we had no idea even existed.

The story of the origin of these mounds seems clear enough; American Indians, namely the Mississippians (a name given to all the tribes in this region), decided to carry baskets of dirt, leaving no obvious source crater for material, and build giant mounds for uhhhh… religious reasons? Here’s what trusty Wikipedia has to say:

“The Mississippian culture was a Native American civilization that flourished in what is now the Midwestern, Eastern, and Southeastern United States from approximately 800 to 1600, varying regionally. It was known for building large, earthen platform mounds, and often other shaped mounds as well. It was composed of a series of urban settlements and satellite villages linked together by loose trading networks. The largest city was Cahokia, believed to be a major religious center located in what is present-day southern Illinois.”

Yeah, sure.

Dad and I set our sights and departed from home.

Our first stop was Ocmulgee Mounds, a site managed by the National Park Service, which means it boasted all that the Park Service is known for; good stickers and a lot of restrooms. Here there was, unbeknownst to us, an ‘earthen lodge’ — a small building built inside the mound. Or rather, a mound built over a log structure. They’ claim that this particular place was one of ‘historical significance’, where ceremonies might have been held.

But I, having been standing under the Georgia sun on a less-than-brisk June day, thought it most likely that they just built a place that would stay relatively cool during the summer.

It is always interesting to visit Park Service sites. The small maps provided by Rangers & the signs throughout always reveal how little we know: “archaeologists believe, historians think, evidence suggests.” Next time you walk through a historical or natural site, pay attention to the wording used in the signage. It may show that we know far less than implied!

Ocmulgee Mounds is inside Macon, GA, and feeling as though we had spent adequate time there, we ventured back into town, visiting what had just glistened across my Google Maps, ‘The Big House’ — aka The Allman Brothers Museum.

This museum, which is the house that the band lived in from ‘70-’73, is stooped in history and is beautifully maintained. For $20 per person, one gets access to many items and exhibits — rooms, drum sets, posters, the band's first payroll check, golden records, and more. My dad, being from Georgia, is a huge fan which is why we originally went. I, obviously much younger, only knew the band for their hit ‘Jessica’ — the intro song used for the famous show Top Gear.

But I still thoroughly enjoyed my time here, maybe even as much as my dad — so much so that I have added a sticker from the museum to the very exclusive club found on my truck's glovebox.

If you visit, you’ll soon find that this is one of two locations in Macon significant enough to warrant a visit for any fan of the band; second being H&H Soul Food, a classic southern diner where the band routinely ate. The brothers, at this point in time lacking funds, were often fed for free by diner-founders Mama Louise and Mama Inez. In return, they brought Mama Louise on tour once they ‘made it’, where she also cooked for them, cementing her as a cherished figure in the band's history.

We next made our way to Tuscaloosa, passing the Mercedes Benz Museum & Visitor Center at their large factory just east of the city on I-20, promising to swing by on our way home.

Tuscaloosa is obviously known for ‘Bama & the Crimson Tide, but 30 or so minutes south lies ‘Moundville’ — a site along the Black Warrior River home to quite a few mounds & a museum. Managed by the University of Alabama, this place is beautiful and quiet. Locals go for runs & bicycle around the perimeter road, while very few out-of-town visitors actually swing by.

And that’s a real shame. These sites are, yes, less physically intriguing than the Grand Canyon, but they are surreal in their own sense. Civilizations existed right here. Thousands of years ago. And while the general consensus is ‘yeah, the Indians were here’, it seems insane to suggest that the story begins there.

Regardless, standing in these places really puts our significance in perspective; we play a huge role in the life of those around us, and therefore in the world at large, yet simultaneously we are mere specks on the human timeline.

There is a large issue with these sites at the moment — it seems the Oklahoman Creeks have decided that they would like all the artifacts out of every museum in the southeast. And as federal law permits, they have taken them. I understand, especially with my father being Creek, the significance of these objects — but I am unsure if emptying every museum in the region of their artifacts, and therefore of the Creek story, is a good idea.

On a better note, if you ever happen to be in Tuscaloosa or rolling through, T-town Cafe, seen below, is a must-visit. Fantastic pancakes & biscuits — another gem of a southern diner.

Working our way back east, we decided to swing by the aforementioned Mercedes Benz Visitor Center just off I-20 — but it seemed to be ‘closed for training’ not just to us, but according to Google Reviews, for many throughout the past few weeks.

Seeing as any good road trip has its detours, I instead told my dad about a place I had visited prior — Little River Canyon National Preserve, found in northeast Alabama.

Heading home, we swung through Cartersville, GA, where Etowah Indian Mounds State Park can be found, which is actually where the most vertically stunning mounds we visited were.

Sitting alongside a beautiful river, one can easily imagine the Mississippians building dams to catch fish or do really anything besides carry buckets of dirt up an ever-increasing mound for no particular reason.

But honestly, that’s the entirety of what I was wondering towards the end of this trip: How do we know so little about the past? And why do we so often assert that we know more?

It seems insane to say that the Creeks built these mounds 1,200 years ago when we know people were in North America at least 40,000 years ago. Even more so, it seems insane to assume that they built them by hauling dirt in woven baskets. I mean, one mound in Cartersville was rebuilt after being dug through by archaeologists — they used a bulldozer to do so.

Even more shocking — what will people think about us in even 1,000 years? Or 10,000? Will a skyscraper be viewed as some ‘religious ceremonial grounds with many individual tombs, with windows high above the ground so that the priest class stowed in the tower could keep watch over their civilization?’ Will my truck, which will no doubt be around in 10,000 years (#ToyotaTough), be viewed as a chariot? Or a tool in a religious ceremony?

Or will they get it right; ‘some of them spent 80% of their biweekly Wall St. income on a shoebox they sleep in for 4 hours, while others just drove around because they got bored.’

Whatever the case, there’s a world out there waiting for you to explore. And you don’t have to go a 3 days drive or a 16 hour flight to get there. This weekend, pack your bags and get Out There.

Until next time,

Bryce