Blues, haints and bayous: snippets from the Deep South: Something old, something new, something red, white and blue

Still following the ancient Cherokee trail we crossed the Oconee River where they would have crossed. At that time there would have been a grassy bank stretching for acres back from the river. That tract of land—some 633 acres of it—was later donated by the Governor of Georgia, John Mileage, to build a seat of learning, a decision that had earlier been approved by the state assembly. The whole area he named Athens after the city in Greece where the great educators, Plato and Aristotle, had lived. Georgia, thus, became the first state to charter a state-supported university in the country.

There was little or no funding. A log cabin was used for early classes. Two lecturers took in their first students in 1801. No town, as such really existed. There were just three houses, three stores and a straggle of a few buildings along Front Street. The students boarded where they could. The first board of trustees had one thousand dollars with which to establish a library collection for their studies.

Amazing to think that students might even come. But they did. And the solution for growing more was clever, too. The land adjacent to the seat of learning was sold off bit by bit to raise money for the continued construction of the school. The university graduated its first 10 graduates on 31 May, 1804. And as the town grew, so did the university.

Today, it stands as the University of Georgia, one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and it occupies buildings all over the small city of Athens. The university is the hub that makes this city hum. There are now some 35,000 students, and on a Sunday, Athens is literally chockers with students chatting in every bar, restaurant and cafe in town. And occupying all the parking spaces. We love the buzz of these university towns, and will miss all this when we leave.

Our route took us on to Madison, another of those quaint towns around an historic central square. Named after a president. Madison, too, is a bit of a hub, as it was on the old stage-coach route from Philadelphia to Charleston, then on to New Orleans, and today is a good stopping point for many crossing routes. It was once considered the 'most cultured and aristocratic town' on that stagecoach route. It is still gorgeous.

Folk dismounted the stage coach, and stayed. They build fertiliser factories, an oil mill, a grist mill, carriage factories, steam gunneries, bottling works and distilleries. Many small business of such individual enterprise were developed in those early days making it all a terrific success. The owners then set about building themselves beautiful new homes to celebrate their success.

Madison has another amazing collection of those beautifully-crafted antebellum wooden homes which the union army’s head honcho, General Sherman, thankfully found too beautiful to burn when he sacked the city. Though, having gone to West Point with the local pro-Union senator, Joshua Hill, might have been a contributing factor in that very smart political decision. So the homes are still around to enjoy.

Many wearing the flag of the nation on their porches as American folk tend to do. We are quite used to this. But, in this very town we came upon a first for us, something we are not at all used to: a mail box for the disposal of old and ruined American flags. We had never heard the like before, so investigating this, we soon learned that there are right and wrong ways suggested by the various authorities to dispose of old American flags if you are an American. You might place the old flag in one of these mail boxes made available for the purpose. This one is offered by the Legion and they dispose of retired flags with dignity. You might burn the flag, which is also considered quite appropriate. But, to accompany that burning, it is recommended that you have a dignified and respectful ceremony, and ensure the flag is burned completely. To ashes. You might pay someone to recycle it. A little ceremony, as you fold up the flag while packaging it to send to the recyclers, would be considered appropriate. You might recycle it yourself. But, if this involves cutting it, then beware, there are precise instructions that should be followed. Cut it in half vertically—but under no circumstances cut into the blue star field. Cut it in half horizontally. You will then have 4 pieces that have been cut. Once a flag is cut it evidently is no longer officially a flag so you can dispose of it as you wish. Though it might be wise not to use the pieces as a cleaning rag.

Amazing to me how these flags have become so venerated by some citizens in some countries that even the ragged bits of fabric are treated with such respect. I have no idea what we do in Australia. I think most old flags probably go to an unremarkable grave via a trash bin along with any old junk. But, then, I missed out completely on the patriotic gene, and would not know. I cannot see how any of it makes one whit of difference in the scheme of bigger things. But one thing I do know: if we have problems as a country our flag, no matter its condition, is never going to fix them.