Tag Archives: Chattanooga

Our First Visitor

Posted by dkrashb on

Once again, I am on the balcony when I receive a call from my sister-in-law, Megan. She is somewhere nearby but trying to follow my directions instead of her GPS got her slightly lost. She tells me the street names of the intersection she’s at and I don’t recognize them. I am startled by the realization that I have never driven in Chattanooga and, therefore, I haven’t learned the names of more than 3 streets. She and both start googling, trying to figure out where she is relative to where she wants to be. fortunately, she figures it out–she is only a block or two away. I walk down to the street corner and flag her down as she approaches our building, catching her just before she makes a wrong turn and directing her to our parking lot. Note to self: drive the next time we go somewhere so I can at least tell people how to get to my own home!

The next morning, we run through the list of place we’ve been for breakfast and the list of places we haven’t tried yet. Megan chooses the creperie near Coolidge park. The three of us walk the long way, down along the riverfront. We point out the wetland, the civil war remnants, the aquarium across the river, the pedestrian bridge, all the sights that have become so familiar to us shared with our first visitor. Now we feel like we really live here.

We reach the creperie and it is open (the last time we tried to eat there, the neon “open” sign glowed brightly, but a bolted door sent us elsewhere). The guy working there sits at one of the booths, moves slowly to get up as we enter. We take the booth he was sitting in. He slowly moves to get us menus, then goes behind the counter and starts doing something, still slowly. He seems to have forgotten that we’re there, even though it is a tiny space and we are in his immediate view. We decide what we want to eat and what questions we have and make all of the gestures indicating we need him, but he doesn’t see us. Eventually, we think maybe we’re supposed to walk up to the counter to order; we catch his attention and ask. He looks slightly startled to have his attention drawn from his slow task and comes back around to our table. We ask our questions. I am especially curious about the specials on the chalk board with names like “Diesel.” He describes half of the specials when a family arrives. He says, “We’ll talk about the rest later” and moves away to give them menus. He turns as if to return to the counter and is startled once more when we stop him and remind him he was in the middle of describing the specials. Once we get through the ordering process, which includes coffees, he goes off and starts making coffee. I wonder what he was doing sitting at a booth when we arrived with no coffee made–we are the first customers of the day.

He brings our coffee eventually and we sit and talk, making it through an entire cup with no sign of food. Our waiter/chef seems to get distracted each time someone new arrives and it’s become obvious that he had done no prep for the Saturday morning crowd before we got there. He notices that we are out of coffee and asks if we want more on one of his passes. I hand him my cup and he turns, sets it on the counter, and then goes back to cooking. Another waiter arrives then. He checks on us and we point out the empty cup still sitting, forgotten on the counter. He brings me coffee and our food arrives about 10 minutes later. Now that there are 2, things seem to move along a little faster, but we cannot help but wonder if the first guy is high.

The food is hot and good, although Pat says his mushroom crepe is greasy. Megan and I are both pleased with our crepes that wrap around combinations of eggs, meat, and cheese. We finish up and head out, walking down to the park and continuing our tour of the North Shore waterfront, ending up on the Walnut St bridge and walking over to the South side. We pause often along the way, enjoying the view, the breeze, and the mass of people out on a beautiful Saturday morning. On the other side, we debate where to go–the Hunter Museum or the aquarium. Megan opts for the aquarium and we head downhill.

The Tennessee aquarium rivals the biggest aquariums in the US with a building for ocean exhibits and another for rivers, plus a butterfly exhibit and a huge atrium with otters playing in a simulated river below and many native birds flying freely overhead (although there is so much space, you need binoculars and patience to see them). I love aquariums. Today, I have the new experience of hand-feeding a shrimp to a sting-ray. It’s fascinating to watch the rays in a shallow pool where you can pet them, but feeding one causes it to come up out of the water to position its mouth high enough to grasp the shrimp. It’s my turn to be startled when I feel its teeth graze the backs of my fingers. I wonder how life would be different if our mouths were positioned where our belly buttons are.

We move through the exhibits slowly, not remembering many of them from our last visit, we are fascinated by the diversity of life captured behind glass. The penguins put on a good show for us. Watching them shoot out of the water, popping up several feet in the air to land on the rock ledge above the water with impossible grace, makes me marvel at the specialities represented by other species. Their feet are what really catch my attention, though. Thick and strong when they’re on the rock, but flipped back like tiny paddles when in the water, I cannot comprehend how feet can transform so dramatically in an instant.

We enter the butterfly exhibit and hunt for the species of butterflies fluttering around us. A woman with a toddler on a leash walks around us. As she tries to point out butterflies to her young son, he spots a “caution, wet floor” sign painted with butterflies, smiles and giggles and runs up to it, fascinated by the pictures at eye level. The woman jerks slightly on the leash and says, “No” firmly as he grabs the sign with both hands. She looks disgruntled and maybe embarrassed as she sees me smiling at him and says, “Of all the things for you to look at!” I am slightly disturbed when I witness parents who lack the insight to recognize that the world looks different to a child. I would have liked to have seen her get excited that he recognized the butterflies, even though they were drawings, and used that excitement to draw him into to recognizing the real thing if an opportunity arose, but not all parents are teachers. I turn away wondering if I could have or should have helped with that situation, but involving oneself with strangers’ children is always tricky.

We enjoy the rest of the aquarium, wrapping up our visit mesmerized by the jelly fish displays. Why is it that jellies floating calmly through gentle currents are so hypnotic? Returning to the bright sunlight outdoors, we decide to take Megan to our favorite Mexican place, Taco Mamacitos, for lunch. The waiter gives Megan the full introduction to the menu and sells us both on trying their most popular taco, which I’ve not had before. It is a hard shell wrapped in a soft taco filled with goodness. It’s the first time I’ve ever eaten a hard shell taco without half of the shell crumbling all over my plate. Finishing up our margaritas, we decide a nap is in order. We return to home base for an afternoon siesta and I think, “What a perfect Saturday.”

Urban Anxiety

Posted by dkrashb on

For 10 years, we lived in what I would describe as an “urban residential area.” Located North of the Columbus downtown area, the walk to restaurants, the grocery store, the library, the farmers market was an easy endeavor. At the same time, we were nestled into a wooded ravine, keeping us cocooned and creating separation from city activity. We spent a year a few miles further North where there was less separation, but also a little less busyness. Now, we live on one of the busier streets in Chattanooga in an apartment with a balcony that oversees it all. The view of the downtown skyline is fantastic–I love keeping the blinds open so I can look out over the park across the street, the bridges over the river, and the cityscape. Being in walking distance of the majority of the things we want or need to do every day is also a big plus. But it’s definitely different.

For us, it’s a small step from where we lived before, but the noise has been an adjustment. Fireworks at the baseball stadium across the river sounded like they were going off right outside our window. We learned about the summer concert series across the river because we thought a band was playing in our living room. When large trucks go by during the day, I have to mute my phone to avoid disturbing conference calls. And, perhaps most surprising to me, sirens scream by every single day. I had no idea there could be so many fires in a town with about 300,000 residents!

We recently met a young guy who told us he had moved here about a week before we did from some small town in Tennessee that I had never heard of. He told us the name of the “big city” he had to drive to as a kid in order to see a movie. The “big city” was another small town I’d never heard of. Walking with him across the street, when I went to push the button for a walk signal, he thought I was walking off the wrong direction. When I explained my intention, he laughed and said he was from such a small town that it never occurred to him he was supposed to push a button to cross the street. I imagined a small town where he could step out in the street unassisted by lights and if a car happened to be going by, they would stop to say hello. This must be a completely different world to him.

While adjusting to the noise is a bit of a challenge (and may have something to do with why I’m only sleeping 4-5 hours a night these days), I wouldn’t give up our location. Convenience is a great benefit. For one, we can see our new bank from our balcony, which has made setting up new accounts a lot easier. We try to take a walk each morning along the riverfront between my first burst emails in the morning and settling down to work steadily for the rest of the day (and, more often than I would like, the evening). The other day, as we were strolling by the bank, our new banker was arriving. He stopped to chat with us for a minute. I can’t remember ever having a banker whom I’ve met once and then seemed like a friend the next time I ran into him. I think of my small-town acquaintance and how nice it feels to be recognized as part of the neighborhood.

As far as feeling like being part of the community goes, we haven’t made a lot of progress there yet. Working from home doesn’t lend itself well to meeting new people. And working a lot limits the time available for activities that promote making new friends. It’s easier to just jump on my bike for a ride whenever I can work it in than it is to have to be somewhere at a specific time. This leads to watching people more than being with people. Part of my problem is putting work away. It was easier to stop working when my office wasn’t across the room 24×7. Now, I think of something I forgot to do and I go do it. Once I get started, I find other things I need to do and soon, hours have gone by. Work often consumes me.

I also have a new anxiety about my career. I worry that because no one sees me answering emails at 5AM, on a conference call at 11:00PM, creating presentations at 8PM, etc. that if I step out to go get lunch late in the afternoon and miss a call, an email, an instant message, people will think I’m slacking. I’m not sure who I think would see me if I were in the office at those times, but I worry all the same. It makes it harder to put work away.

On the plus side, I can take my laptop out on the balcony for as long as I can stand the heat and enjoy the view unobscured by windows at any time of the day (as long as I’m quick with the mute button since I seem to be on the phone at least 8 hours a day). It’s a tradeoff, but I’m adjusting.

But people watching is interesting. Lots of visitors wander the streets. Chattanooga attracts people from all over. Plus, it’s summer time and the ever-blowing breeze from the river attracts people to the waterfront all on its own. I am not the only one watching. Cameras lace the park areas, observing secluded corners from lamp posts. I always wonder who is watching me as I walk by and what they think I’m up to. Security seems to be a primary concern. Cops patrol on bicycles, Segways, foot, and in cars. Between the cameras and the police presence, I find myself wondering if I’m in danger. Funny thing how security can make you feel insecure. Perhaps the anxieties that motivated people to hang cameras and hire extra cops taps into my own anxieties?

I told myself before we started this venture that I had to remember that no matter where we moved, I was still taking myself with me.  Trying to avoid the disappointment of expecting a new life along with a new place, I coached myself that I couldn’t expect to be a new person.  Yet, I find that I secretly hoped I would leave my anxiety back in Columbus.  My husband once told me when we were planning our great escapade that he worried that even if I didn’t have a job, I would still be me.  He didn’t really mean this as an insult.  🙂  He just meant that I can get obsessed and anxious about anything.  I can take the most enjoyable pastime and turn it into a stressful burden in no time–I’ve even managed to do this with learning relaxation techniques.  It’s a skill I don’t take pride in, but it comes from a lifetime of believing hard work is central to character.  The lesson I continue to try to learn is how to relax into the work.  The philosophy of enjoying the journey as much as the destination comes hard for me.  I constantly remind myself to be where I am, to experience fully what I’m experiencing, and to let the next moment take care of itself.  After all, right now is all we have.  But goals loom large and distract from the joy of each step along the way.

I take a deep breath.  I look out over the view.  I remind myself that I am here, sitting on my balcony, my feet pressed against warm concrete, cars rolling by below, writing purely for the pleasure of writing.  Chattanooga is a beautiful place.  And I am in it.  The early morning light highlights the yellows in the trees, giving the scene freshness.  Birds sing loudly enough to hear them over the traffic.  The breeze still holds the coolness of the night and delivers it to me in soft waves.  I think briefly about the work I didn’t finish yesterday, but bring my attention back to now.  I finish my coffee and put my laptop away far less anxious.

Riding the Riverpark

Posted by dkrashb on

The Tennessee Riverwalk parallels the Tennessee River as it winds it’s way East through the city and then turns North. As a cyclist, I anticipated enjoying this highlight of Chattanooga on a regular basis. After our move, we didn’t have the energy to explore it until a week after we’d settled in. But, I talked my husband into a short, exploratory ride late on a Sunday afternoon. We didn’t actually get started until close to sunset, so we knew we weren’t going to get far. However, we didn’t anticipate failing to find the route!

We crossed over the Walnut St Bridge and found an entry point, but it involved switch-back ramps that were not designed for bicycles. We ended up heading West instead of East, running into the end of the route after only a few minutes. Although the West route led us through the river park in front of the Chattanooga Aquarium, right on the waterfront with it’s spectacular fountains, it wasn’t much of a ride. We headed back East and searched for a route to the West. We ended up on a cliff in front of the Hunter Museum, precariously perched on the cliff high above the river. Fortunately, there were hand rails. Since the sun had set, we gave up, made our way back to the Bridge and headed home.

What do you do when you fail to find a highlight you’ve been looking forward to? Start up Google Earth. From the vantage point of a satellite, I spotted our mistake–in the Bluff View Art District (another must see spot in Chattanooga), the route East requires riding a short distance on the road to a bridge that crosses a highway and safely deposits riders on the route.

Pat (hubby) takes a trip back to Columbus the next day and I decide it’s a good time for me to check the accuracy of Google Earth that evening. After a long day at work, I have 1 hour between my last office-hours call and the start of my first late call (one of the joys of working with a global team is accommodating vast time differences). I hop on my bike and head out.

Sure enough, Google is right again. The river walk is easy to follow once I find the entry point. I can’t help but think about the San Antonio river walk in comparison. The key difference is that Chattanooga actually has a river. San Antonio created a man-made stream that is akin to the stream that flows through the Venetian casino in Vegas. It’s nice, but it’s not nature. In contrast, riding along the Tennessee River is a polite form of nature. The route is man-made concrete, wooden board-walks and bridges. The river has been dammed and the development is plentiful, but the park areas along the ride preserve natural wetlands and woods along the way as well. It’s like Disney meets the Everglades (minus the mangroves and alligators).

I push myself a bit climbing the hills. One of the climbs gets me out of breath. I push harder, feeling the burn as I stand to climb the steepest parts of the trail, daring myself not to sit until I’ve reached the top. I feel my calves flex, my heart accelerate, and my arms pull against the handle bars. The feeling of strength pushes me forward. I am sweating in the heat, but smiling as I top the final climb. It’s a short climb–easier than the climbs in and out of the river valleys in flat Columbus, even. The views of the river are what make me smile.

If I wanted to train for a race, this would not be the place for me. The slippery boardwalks and plentiful pedestrians make high-speeds dangerous. But I am not racing. I am enjoying. I finish my ride satisfied that this highlight will not disappoint.

Southern Sledding

Posted by dkrashb on

Whenever I go to a new place, I particularly enjoy discovering things that are different there. I grew up in the Mid-West where we had enough snow to go sledding every winter. In fact, I grew up feeling sorry for people who lived in places where they didn’t get snow and didn’t get to sled. Having recently moved to Chattanooga, I assumed it was one of those places. I have yet to discover if there will be enough snow for sledding in the winter, but what I did discover is that, in Chattanooga, no one actually needs snow.

Here, grass sledding appears to be all the rage. The sled of choice is a simple piece of cardboard. Perhaps there are high-performance grass sleds available–teflon coated cardboard or maybe graphite would be slipperier–but I haven’t seen any so far. What I have seen is people having a ball sliding down grassy slopes on 95+ degree days without spending a penny. To boot, grass sleds are 100% recyclable. Now that’s what I call inventive.

I watch groups of children with their parents sliding down the grassy slope from my balcony. Summer fun at it’s finest. They begin to gather in the afternoon, making the most of the last days before school restarts. I think back to my own childhood summers. They lasted forever. Hanging out under a shady tree–or, more often, up in it. Once, a summer storm was blowing in, whipping the branches of our giant silver maple into a frenzy. I followed my brother high on the limbs, riding the tree like a crazy swing swaying frantically in the wind, our mother below yelling up at us to be careful. I remember seeing her face and recognizing her indecision–torn between letting us have fun and calling us down to safety. Then there was a bolt of lightening and her face shifted instantly into decision–she hailed us back down to earth.

I imagine the parents on the hill and their relief at having something to offer their children that is both fun and safe. After all, what is childhood without a few grass stains?

Shooting the Moon

Posted by dkrashb on

People walk in Chattanooga a lot. It’s part of the city’s identity. It’s also part of the reason we ended up here. Chattanooga offers total coolness when it comes to places to take a walk–both literally and figuratively. The Walnut St Bridge tops the charts for popularity.  Connecting downtown to the North Shore, Walnut St Bridge was converted from an old wooden bridge for cars to a pedestrian walkway. The entire bridge is dedicated to people-not-in-cars–imagine that!  Paralleling Walnut St Bridge to the West, the Market St bridge also has sidewalks on both sides and a good share of its own pedestrian traffic, although there is plenty of car traffic too. There aren’t many places that you can’t walk safely in Chattanooga. Maybe that’s why they don’t have traffic problems?

I intended to shoot the moon (I know it’s a pun, but it makes me giggle) after hang gliding last weekend, but I missed the true full moon because hang gliding was so exhausting that I slept right through the moonrise. So, I shot the almost-full moon the next night instead.  [Photography lesson learned: a monopod is not the right solution for long-exposure shots with a big, heavy 100-400mm lens. That said, some of the blurry shots are still interesting.]  We raced out to the Market St Bridge to find a place to shoot just before moonrise.

Standing on the bridge after another hot day provides the relief of the cool breeze that seems to be constantly blowing over the river. I admit that when we visited last January, we didn’t find this breeze so refreshing, though. People go by in all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and fashion styles. My favorites are the cops on Segways. The blue lights on the Segways always make interesting light patterns as they travel across the bridge. You can hang out on the Walnut St bridge–there are benches. The Market St. bridge is not so hang-out friendly. As we wait for the moon to rise, our fellow pedestrians rush by without pausing, although usually with a friendly greeting.

No one seems to wonder what we are doing there–I suppose a camera offers it’s own explanation. I imagine this town is familiar with gawkers and photographers alike. I have seen photographers far better equipped than me wandering around the riverfront, shooting the fantastic views of Chattanooga’s downtown area–there are a lot of subjects to choose from.

Shooting requires concentration. Trying to hold a big lens still in a strong breeze becomes a sort of meditation: position yourself, take a deep breath, set up for the shot, breathe out, hold everything as still as possible, snap the shot. The moon rises quickly–as if it’s worried it’s late for it’s nightly appointment. In the fading sunlight, it glows big and orange. I see the man in the moon clearly through my lens and wonder who decided it looked like a man. But, I feel the pull of it’s magic.  What is it about the moon that makes my blood run at a different pace?  It looks so naked hanging there in reflected light, yet what does its nakedness reveal?  That the moon still seems mysterious in a time when it has been picked clean of all its secrets speaks to just how magical it is.  This night, it looms large and poses for me only briefly.