Adventures in Alabama

The Parable of The Pentecostal Tourist

Fort Payne, Alabama

Click HERE for Alabama fried pork chops recipe. 

 

Disclaimer: Some details, like names or exact locations, have been changed. 

"For whatever is hidden is meant to be disclosed and whatever is concealed is meant to be brought out into the open."

     The quote is from the New International Version of the Bible. In the New Testament, book of Mark chapter 4, verse 22, Jesus is explaining why he often speaks in parables. Parables are stories that illustrate a lesson, they shed light on a moral truth.

Wet and Wild College Kids

     

     It feels like a million years ago. My first semester of college in Wilmington, North Carolina, we had a terrible hurricane. I will never forget move in week it was raining from a tropical storm. Then a few weeks later another storm. Campus had areas that were lakes where lawns had been. Students were floating on rafts. They put laundry detergent in the flooded fountain and bubbles floated all over campus. There wasn't even time to dry out before the massive hurricane came. Things had been flooded around town before Floyd. It rained buckets for a week, everything from the coast to the piedmont was flooded. Some colleges lost the whole semester. We went back and sloshed around a waterlogged campus and town full of road closures.

FEMA Money         

      

By the spring semester, things had dried out but the mess was still everywhere. Through a roommate I met some kids my age that came to the area working for their parents’ disaster response company. They had been working disasters since they were young. They were still teenagers, but they were making six figure salaries leading teams to clean up storm damage. 'FEMA money.' They were young and fun loving and had cash to blow. There was always a whirlwind of excitement around them with juicy relationship drama and new people entering their traveling family at every new disaster location. They all had fast cars, big trucks, motorcycles, and houses in a gated neighborhood on the Intercoastal Waterway. Their lifestyle was sometimes shocking to the small southern towns where they cleaned up storm damage. Busty blonde women running heavy equipment and driving around on motorcycles raised eyebrows, but what really caused a scandal was my friend's mom and dad's swinging open marriage. They were well liked at the local strip clubs for spreading around that FEMA money. They weren’t from the NC coast though. They came up in the late 1990's following a series of storms. They were from northeastern Alabama.

        When there were no major disasters to work, they concentrated their energies back home on the family compound. They owned some acreage in Rainsville, outside of Fort Payne. There was a beautiful brick colonial with a pond and horse pasture out front. They constructed an addition on the right side of the house to hold the offices and a ten car garage, and they were working on an addition to the left side which was an exercise area and an indoor pool.

Kimsey's in Alabama

        I mentioned their hometown to my grandfather and he immediately began telling a story about a trip he took as a very young boy when the Kimsey family still lived in Georgia. He said he went to Fort Payne and stayed on Sand Mountain with cousins for a week one summer. He recalled with fondness his cousins’ home. He said they were poor but he had the best time because it was very hot and humid that summer and their place was stuck on the side of the mountain so the temperature was cooler. He said he remembered playing in the sand in their yard, which was a mountain of sand, like a dune at the beach. (The family had dug out their part of the mountain to have a flat spot for the home, a small garden, and a few animals. Their excavation revealed and broke down the sandstone that makes up the mountain, creating what definitely could have seemed like a great deal of sand for a mountain home.) He told me about his siblings and cousins piling into a mule driven wagon with a packed lunch to go to a nearby waterfall to spend a day splashing. (Turns out the Fort Payne phone book has a whole list of Kimsey's.)

A Mountain of Sand

    

    Sand Mountain is the southern tip of the Cumberland Plateau, which is the southern part of the Appalachian Plateau, to the east of the Tennessee River Valley. The Cumberland Plateau is a plateau that has sharp topographic relief, mountain ridges from tectonic folding that occurred during a time of plate movement, as well as newer valleys from the plateau being worn down over time by rivers. There are also frequent sandstone outcroppings and bluffs with sedimentary rocks made of sediments from prehistoric sea waters. Sand Mountain has two to four feet of soil generally composed of silt and sand, and then solid sandstone bedrock. The porous nature of sandstone means water can easily create valleys, waterfalls, and even caves over time. Northeastern Alabama has all of that.

Salvation on Sand Mountain

        I recognized the name that my granddad mentioned, Sand Mountain, from something I had read a few years prior. I love good nonfiction and especially southern nonfiction, and I knew I’d read a story or something, but I couldn't place it till I looked at my books. Salvation on Sand Mountain was written in the 1990s and it chronicles the trial of a pastor accused of murder. Not just any pastor though, this pastor led a congregation that ‘took up snakes’ and his wife was dead in the snake enclosure. 

        If you don't know, 'taking up snakes' is a reference to a verse at the end of the book of Mark. Jesus has come to his disciples after resurrection. He had just scolded them for not believing that he had been resurrected. Then he tells them to go out and spread the good news and those who believe will be saved. In Mark's version Jesus goes on to elaborate about the saved.

    "And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues, they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well."

        If you knew me in my youth you might know that I have always been a big fan of the gospels. That year I had just finished a semester studying the New Testament in a religion class. I've always enjoyed observing or participating in different types of religious ceremonies or services when I travel. So with my granddad's story of a sandy mountain and memories of the church I'd read about, I decided I should take a trip to see the area for myself, and to see my friends, of course.

Really 20 years ago?!

        It was November, of 2000. I remember specifically because I listened to NPR everyday to get updates on the election fiasco. We had voted but had no idea yet who’d be declared the winner. I’d moved into my first apartment with no roommates. I had a TV that sat on the floor, with a VCR, and no cable. I had like three movies; Up in Smoke, Half-baked, and Pulp Fiction. (hahaha) I had dial up internet. Back then it was all about AOL Instant Messenger, it was kind of like the first social network. That’s how I met my friends from Alabama, they were looking for people their age in the area to hang out with. My former roommate had answered a random IM and we all ended up meeting at the Monkey Junction Waffle House. Fast forward a year and I was planning on driving to Alabama by myself.

      

 I remember printing out directions from MapQuest as I packed. I left in the late afternoon and arrived around 11 in the evening. I was warmly welcomed and shown to a bedroom. My friends showed me around the next day, like a tourist; a monument to the sock industry, which had once brought international commerce to the town, the Alabama Museum, (the country music band not the state), an old cemetery on a hill, and some four wheeling in the sand above the cemetery.

        

It wasn’t exactly the sand dune granddad remembered from his childhood, most of the mountainside in the area appeared to be wooded, but where small partials had been dug out it was clearly a light colored sand, almost like the beach. After some adventurous four wheel driving we parked and looked out over the sand, and the cemetery, and the town in the valley below us. I asked about the sand. Apparently the people of the area are proud of their ground.

“It ain’t sand, and it ain’t dirt. It’s chert.”

        Chert is a hard, sedimentary rock composed of microcrystalline crystals of quartz. It is usually made up of the petrified remains of siliceous ooze. Siliceous ooze is the silica from skeletons of microscopic sea creatures. The Fort Payne Formation, or Fort Payne Chert, is a geologic formation of cherty limestone, that overlies the Chattanooga Shale Formation. It formed during the Mississippian geological era, 358.9 to 323.2 million years ago, when much of the eastern United states was ocean. It was a time of ‘marine transgression’; oceans, swamps, and deltas covered most of earth’s surface. 

       My friends told me that there were caves and waterfalls nearby also, so of course the next day I had to go exploring. I was not disappointed. The natural beauty of the area was actually much more than I expected. 

Natural Beauty

        

They took me to the nearby Little River Canyon National Preserve. The Little River Falls is the beginning of the Canyon which contains several beautiful waterfalls. These falls are right off the road and pretty easy to access. Even in the winter it is a verdant place. Moss covered rocks, ferns, and rhododendron thrive in the humidity produced by the falls. I am sure it is busier in warm months but the week before Thanksgiving in 2000 we were the only people in the park. We climbed up to the top of the rocks beside the falls and took pictures. I asked if there were other parks. Just to the north of Fort Payne on Lookout Mountain is a much larger park, the DeSoto State Park covering 3,502 acres of mountain forest, rivers, and waterfalls. The park borders the Little River. DeSoto Falls, the state's highest waterfall, is 6 miles north of the main park.

   The park gets its name from 16th-century explorer Hernando de Soto, the first European to come to the area. The valley where Fort Payne is located was home to an important Cherokee village. The village was eventually named Willstown after a mixed-race elder who became the headman. He was Cherokee but must of also been Scottish or Irish because he had red hair. The large village was home to the famous native, Sequoyah, a silversmith, who invented the Cherokee language. Tragically in the 1800's the US Army built a fort in the valley to hold captured native people until their 'relocation' to Oklahoma. The man in charge was named Major John Payne. Payne's Fort in Will's Valley saw very little action during the Civil War, as there still weren't established settlements of white people in the area. By the end of the 1800's the railroad came through and the town of Fort Payne began to grow. Northern industrialists moved in to mine the area for any mineral resources they could exploit. Coal and iron deposits were mined leading to a period of growth, making the town a temporary boom town, as they were called. Many of the historic buildings that still exist downtown are from this time. During the Great Depression the nation took stock in its natural resources and made moves to protect them. As part of Roosevelt's New Deal plan the Civilian Conservation Corps, (CCC) was created. The New Deal provided jobs for those in need of work. The jobs the CCC provided were related to the conservation and development of natural resources. DeSoto State Park was one of the many parks developed in the 1930's by the CCC.

Touchy Subjects

   I enjoyed the parks by myself the next day. I sat for long periods of time taking in the views. Communing with nature. Exploring in the crisp November air. However, I had other things on my mind, something else I wanted to see in the area. My friends joked about their life being an episode of the Jerry Springer show everyday, but they were still sensitive about the reputation people of the region have for being slightly backwards looking. They considered themselves forward thinking people. They embraced people from all races, people from the LGBTQ community, they were involved in environmental issues because of their business, they valued their reputation as arms open type of people. They did come from a southern Christian background, but I had never noticed any of them going to church or praying at meals or anything like that. We all knew not to talk about anything controversial or political as the family was the type that wanted to remain positive and focused on whatever their current mission was. So, I wasn’t sure I could just come right out and ask them about what I was looking for. As I drove around and 'touristed' during the week I casually questioned people in gas stations, and at the grocery. I slipped in to my very strongest southern Appalachian accent and I said, “Ya, know, I ain’t from round here, I'm from up North Carolina way, and I’ll be here a month of Sundays, an I shore would just hate to miss that many services, y’all know a good old fashioned Pentecostal church round here?” Either they recommended the big church on main street or they shook their heads and pretended not to know what I was asking. After a lot of asking, I had no luck.

Beer Run

    

That Friday evening I was asked to go with a couple of the guys on the crew, let’s call them Bill and Ted. We were going for a beer run, and they needed my truck. This was a hell of a beer run, we took my F150 and an SUV  and drove to the nearest county that was not dry. As Bill navigated from the passenger seat I remember going over a big bridge across the Tennessee River. Both of them went into every convenience store we came to and bought as many cases of beer as they’d allow. Once the vehicles were full we drove back like we were driving miss Daisy or perhaps like parents bringing their newborn home from the hospital.

        Bill cleared his throat and said, “I heard ya askin’ ‘bout the Pentecostals… You lookin’ to find a snake church ain’t ya?” I was surprised and nervous, but I answered honestly with a meek nod.

         “I’ll take ya on Sunday, but we gotta go by Walmart and get you something to wear. They don’t like y’all to wear pants. And yore combat boots ain’t gonna cut it either.”

        I was so excited I would have worn a habit, or a hijab, or a g-string. I was going to see people actually taking up snakes at church! I was right about the sensitivities of my friends, I was warned not to talk about the Pentecostals or any religion or politics around the family, so I kept my excitement to myself.

         I got my appropriate attire, a floor length moo moo of a denim dress, a white turtleneck, and a navy blue cardigan. I got non-slip black tennis shoes and white tube socks. I also should not wear makeup or flashy jewelry. I planned on not speaking and just following him around with my head down. Truthfully, I was nervous. What if somehow they could tell I was some kind of queer heathen dirt worshiping witch? What if they tried to hand me a snake? My new friend reassured me none of that would happen. 

Thanksgiving Service and Singin'

       (Pictures of the church are from a public Facebook page.)

 Sunday morning I was up early, dressed in my ‘church clothes’. Bill was already up and had made coffee. I got a cup and quietly slipped out through the back of the house to warm up the truck. I had told my friends I was going to church with Bill, but not what kind of church. I didn’t want them to question the sudden change in my fashion sense. I don’t do mornings, and didn’t know where we were going so Bill drove my truck. I remember after a few turns the road seemed like someone's driveway. It was an old county road. The sun was coming up and there was a cold mist over the pastures. Everything was sparkling. I remember we went somewhere between Section and Sylvania. The ‘church’ looked to me like an old house with a gravel lot in front and a field out back. There was a lot more cars than I expected. Bill explained that this was a special Thanksgiving Service.

         “They don’t always do things like takin up snakes, but fer holidays and special occasions. Today’s a special holiday occasion, there’s gonna be a singin’ and prolly some people speakin’ in tongues when the spirit moves em. And o’ course the stuff from the book of Mark that e’rybody carries on about.”

        He meant the snakes.

        In certain areas Pentecostals take the gospel of Mark as literal, believing in exorcisms, speaking in tongues, and laying hands on the sick; and some, mostly in the southern Appalachian mountains, take up snakes. In the 1990's a series of events exposed the rural churches to national media. Some people felt that the books and tv shows were exploitative. Making a profit off of exotification of a culture that was slightly different from the mainstream. People thought no one should be making money telling a story about these poor people and the tragedies in their lives. By the 2000's the internet was further spreading the culture of taking up snakes and the churches were beginning to embrace the new people being brought into the flock.

        

From a selfish place as well as an honest one I was excited about seeing the taking up of snakes. As a former choir girl I was also excited about hearing some hymns. I was about to find out that a singin’ was not the traditional hymns I’d learned in Methodist choir. Soon after we had found our seats somewhere in the middle of a large wood paneled room with a podium at the front and several rows of pews then rows of folding chairs, I heard people beginning to sing. Only I couldn’t understand the words. It was like the Sound of Music, 'doe ray me' type notes. Then slowly they began to get louder as more of the congregation joined in. Eventually the notes turned into words and they were belting out a song I’d never heard about revelations and the gates of heaven. The voices of the men were especially strong, like they were competing to see who could be deepest and loudest, the paneling seemed to vibrate. When they were finished with a few songs in this style, I turned to Bill wide eyed.

    “It’s called a singin’ cause they’re singin’ the Hymns of the Sacred Harp, not a choir performin’ stuffy operatic crap, ya see?” I heard. It sounded awesome.

    

What I saw you could say was less than awesome. Bill was right, my outfit was dead on, three other women had exactly the same thing on, they smiled at me. Only one of them had what appeared to be a full set of teeth. Poverty was obvious, down to the smell. While other churches I’d been to smelled like freshly scrubbed and perfumed people crammed together and maybe slightly sweaty by noon, this church did not smell like soap and au de toilet, it smelled musty. Mildew. And some of the people had stains on their clothes, obvious untreated ailments, and no real concern for personal appearance. Part of that could have been the ultra conservative nature of their religious views, but mostly it was poverty. Walmart was the only place around to buy clothes and that was cheap crap from Asia that wore out even faster when washed by hand and hung out to dry. The older ladies looked like they had made their dresses and took more pride in their appearance. Several men wore overalls.

        I listened to a sermon about being thankful for forgiveness because of the strength of temptation and the power of sin my human self would never be able to resist.

         “God has the awesome ability to forgive and protect us.” Ahh, here it comes… “In the gospel of Mark we are told of all the ways God is miraculous through us, simple humans, but special because we are his children.”

        With that he nodded to a lady off to the side at a table. She slowly opened a wooden box. The people were hushed, and at the edge of their seats. The man raised his arms and bowed his head and began to pray.

         “Oh father, protect me as your promise, thine will be my way, as I take up the serpent thy protect me, as you have and I know you will. Amen.”

        And the congregation said amen.

      

 He sat down his bible. Then he carefully reached into the box, quietly talking under his breath, soothing, as one would talk to a pet or baby. He was talking to a rather large snake. He held it up and walked up and down the aisle, showing the snake to his flock.  I don’t know enough about snakes to tell you what kind it was and I honestly think the whole thing had me a little in shock because I don’t remember details about what happened next.

         I remember after the snake went back in the box there was more singin’ and lots of hands in the air as different church members testified to the miracles they were thankful for. They asked for prayer requests and several sick or injured people came to the aisle where a group of older women circled around them and put their hands on their heads and shoulders, praying loudly, not an organized or in unison prayer, but each lady at her own pace and volume praying in her own words to alleviate the infliction of the person they were touching.

        Several ladies spoke in tongues, one interrupting a prayer for peace during the country's political turbulence which they believed was a sign of the coming times. She wailed incoherently with her head arched back and her hands above her. The people said ‘amen’ and ‘praise the lord’ and ‘let the spirit speak’ until she was done, and then they all said ‘amen’ in unison. That was the end of the service.

        Everyone exited into the parking lot where they broke off into groups to talk about what a week they’d had, who’d got married, or died, or moved away. Even if they knew already they still talked about it cause they didn’t seem to have much else to talk about. There was food getting set up out back, but we weren’t staying.

        I think I was silent the whole way to the big house. I was thinking about all the songs and the snakes when I got out of the truck and went inside. I didn’t even think about my outfit till I heard Mama Bear in the kitchen hollering at Bill.

     “You took her to that snake church?! Damn it Bill, she won’t never wanna come back down here, thinkin’ we’re a bunch of snake handlin’ hillbillies, oh lord!”

    I looked down at my outfit, blushed, and went upstairs to change into my tee shirt, jeans, and combat boots. I felt some sort of combination of empathy for the people of the church and shame for having gone there for the entertainment of my own curiosity, for being a cultural voyeur. Somehow I was reminded of the odd mix of feelings I had as a child in Cherokee seeing the animal acts and the street corner chiefs. The twinge of guilt churning in my belly was settled by the homemade fried pork chops, beans, and greens my friends served up for lunch.