Caching in Caruthersville, MO 4/15/2009

We are glad we aren't staying more than 2 nights here at the Lady Luck as there aren't any caches around the immediate area except one and that is in the parking lot of the casino. Mom and I left this morning with a few caches and all except for the one they were many miles away. We did find the one in the parking lot which was under a light post skirt.
Then it was on the interstate and up to the next town for our second and third caches, the first on a sign and the second in a rest area in a tree. Fourth cache was along a lonesome road in a tree. Thern it was on to Dyersville, TN for our fifth cache behind a Hampton Inn in a tree, and the sixth cache was in the same town near a movie theater in a tree. Seventh cache was also in Dyersville in a cemetery where Brigadier General Otho French Strahl is buried. Brig. Gen Strahl was killed at the Second Battle of Franklin, TN. Otho French Strahl (3 June 1831 - 30 November 1864) was born in McConnelsville, Ohio. He settled in Tennessee and was practicing law at Dyersburg when the War Between the States began. Although of Northern birth, both of his grandmothers were Southern women, and perhaps had much to do with moulding their sentiments which made him such an ardent sympathizer with the South. When Tennessee was making ready to cast in her lot with the Southern Confederacy, the young lawyer entered the Fourth Tennessee regiment as a captain (May, 1861). Early in 1862 he became lieutenant colonel of the regiment. As such he shared in the hardships of the regiment. As such he shared in the hardships and glories of the campaigns of Shiloh, Bentonville, and Murfreesboro, in which he so conducted himself as to be promoted to colonel early in 1863, and then to the rank of brigadier-general on 28 July 1863. In the hundred days' campaign from Dalton to Atlanta in 1864, he and his men added to their already magnificent record. Mr. S. A. Cunningham, who was a boy soldier in his brigade at Franklin, November 30, 1864, has given in his magazine a graphic account of the conduct and death of his commander that fateful day. Mr. Cunningham being that day right guide to the brigade, was near Strahl in the fatal advance, and was pained at the extreme sadness in his face. He was surprised, too, that his general went into battle on foot. The account of Mr. Cunningham continues. "I was near General Strahl, who stood in the ditch and handed up guns to those posted to fire them. I had passed to him my short Enfield (noted in the regiment) about the sixth time. The man who had been firing, cocked it and was taking deliberate aim when he was shot, and tumbled down dead into the ditch upon those killed before him. When the men so exposed were shot down, their places were supplied by volunteers until these were exhausted, and it was necessary for General Strahl to call for others. He turned to me, and though I was several feet back from the ditch, I rose up immediately, and walking over the wounded and dead took position, with one foot upon the pile of bodies of my dead fellows and the other upon the embankment, and fired guns which the general himself handed up to me, until he, too, was shot down." The general was not instantly killed, but soon after received a second shot and then a third which finished the fearful work. "General Strahl was a model character, and it was said of him that in all the war he was never known to use language unsuited to the presence of ladies." While the army was camped at Dalton on the 20th of April, 1864, services were held in the Methodist church by Bishop Charles Todd Quintard, of the Episcopal church. On this occasion Bishop Quintard baptized General Strahl and presented him to Bishop Stephen Elliott for confirmation, with three other generals of the Confederate army - Lieutenant General Hardee and Brigadier-Generals Shoup and Govan.
Our next 2 caches took us farther down the interstate to Trimble, TN, bet you never heard of that one, where our first cache was in Pierce Cememtery established in 1845. The cache was hidden to bring you to the cemetery so you could see the 20' x 30' Confederate Battle Flag flying over the cemetery. They say it can be seen over 5 miles away. This is a poem written by Dr. Michael Bradley a son of a confederate veteran: In 1861, when they perceived their rights to be threatened, when those who would alter the nature of the government of their fathers were placed in charge, when threatened with change they could not accept, the mighty men of valor began to gather. A band of brothers, native to the Southern soil, they pledged themselves to a cause: the cause of defending family, fireside, and faith. Between the desolation of war and their homes they interposed their bodies and they chose me for their symbol.

I Am Their Flag.

Their mothers, wives, and sweethearts took scissors and thimbles, needles and thread, and from silk or cotton or calico ­ whatever was the best they had ­ even from the fabric of their wedding dresses, they cut my pieces and stitched my seams.

I Am Their Flag.

On courthouse lawns, in picnic groves, at train stations across the South the men mustered and the women placed me in their hands. "Fight hard, win if possible, come back if you can; but, above all, maintain your honor. Here is your symbol," they said.

I Am Their Flag.

They flocked to the training grounds and the drill fields. They felt the wrenching sadness of leaving home. They endured sickness, loneliness, boredom, bad food, and poor quarters. They looked to me for inspiration.

I Am Their Flag.

I was at Sumter when they began in jubilation. I was at Big Bethel when the infantry fired its first volley. I smelled the gun smoke along Bull Run in Virginia and at Belmont along the Mississippi. I was in the debacle at Fort Donelson; I led Jackson up the Valley. For Seven Days I flapped in the turgid air of the James River bottoms as McClellan ran from before Richmond. Sidney Johnston died for me at Shiloh as would thousands of others whose graves are marked "Sine Nomine," - without a name - unknown.

I Am Their Flag.

With ammunition gone they defended me along the railroad bed at Manassas by throwing rocks. I saw the fields run red with blood at Sharpsburg. Brave men carried me across Doctor's Creek at Perryville. I saw the blue bodies cover Marye's Heights at Fredericksburg and the Gray ones fall like leaves in the Round Forest at Stones River.

I Am Their Flag.

I was a shroud for the body of Stonewall after Chancellorsville. Men ate rats and mule meat to keep me flying over Vicksburg. I tramped across the wheat field with Kemper and Armistead and Garnett at Gettysburg. I know the thrill of victory, the misery of defeat, the bloody cost of both.

I Am Their Flag.

When Longstreet broke the line at Chickamauga, I was in the lead. I was the last off Lookout Mountain. Men died to rescue me at Missionary Ridge. I was singed by the wildfire that burned to death the wounded in the Wilderness. I was shot to tatters in the Bloody Angle at Spotsylvania. I was in it all from Dalton to Peachtree Creek, and no worse place did I ever see than Kennesaw and New Hope Church. They planted me over the trenches at Petersburg and there I stayed for many long months.

I Am Their Flag.

I was rolled in blood at Franklin; I was stiff with ice at Nashville. Many good men bade me farewell at Sayler's Creek. When the end came at Appomattox, when the last Johnny Reb left Durham Station, many of them carried fragments of my fabric hidden on their bodies.

I Am Their Flag.

In the hard years of so-called "Reconstruction," in the difficulty and despair of years that slowly passed, the veterans, their wives and sons and daughters, they loved me. They kept alive the tales of valor and the legends of bravery. They passed them on to the grandchildren and they to their children, and so they were passed to you.

I Am Their Flag.

I have shrouded the bodies of heroes, I have been laved with the blood of martyrs, I am enshrined in the hearts of millions, living and dead. Salute me with affection and reverence. Keep undying devotion in your hearts. I am history. I am heritage, not hate. I am the inspiration of valor from the past. Look Away, Dixie Land!

I Am Their Flag.

People have said the flag is one of several mega-flags being erected throughout the South "for history, heritage and honor." Others have described the display as a "political agenda" and a warning to motorists on Interstate 155 that they have entered the South - a country within a country. Oh Boy!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our last cache was also in Trimble and was located at one of the only 4 covered bridges left in Tennessee. Of Tennessee's four historic covered bridges, the Parks Covered Bridge is the only one in the western portion of the state. The Parks Covered Bridge is situated in south central Obion County, approximately 20 miles from Union City, the county seat. Originally, it was located between U.S. 51 (State Route 3 to the west) and State Route 211 (to the east) just north of the Dyer-Gibson County line (Trimble Quad, 428 NW), about one mile north of Trimble. Until 1997, it was located on private property and not open to the public, and the bridge spanned the Obion River Drainage Canal. In 1997, due to erosion at the original site that had endangered the historic bridge, the community salvaged as much material as possible and rebuilt the bridge in a city park, Parks Plaza, in nearby Trimble. According to Mr. Hamilton Parks of Trimble, his grandfather Emerson E. Parks built this bridge in about 1904. The Parks or Trimble Covered Bridge, originally spanned a drainage ditch dividing two fields on Parks' farm. Although the bridge's primary purpose was agricultural, local traffic used it until 1928, when the highway department built a state route with a modern bridge nearby. The bridge remained on the Trimble farm until its relocation in 1997. The bridge originally contained a 28-foot Kingpost truss and two approach spans, 15 and 16 feet long. Tin covered the diagonal lateral bracing that was extended outward from the center of the truss. The curb-to-curb width was 11.4 feet, and the out-to-out width was 12.4 feet (plus bracing). Weatherboarding covered the 10-foot high bridge, which had an open area at the eaves for light and ventilation. A gable roof initially covered the bridge, but a tornado destroyed the original roof in 1914. After the tornado, Mr. Parks replaced the gable roof with a flat shed roof. The Parks Covered Bridge is the only known Kingpost truss covered bridge in the state. After its 1997 relocation, it still retains its original Kingspost truss, but is covered in weatherboarding and a gable roof.
Well that was it for the day as we drove 30 miles back to the coach and Mom did our logs and I showered and watched TV. By that time it was dinner time and we ate and called it a day. Well time to close for today but we will see you all again and we love you all. Mom & Dad