Chikma! (I hope you are well)

Chief Tishomingo

We've moved. We've come full circle. Clark and I started our marriage here 10 years ago and were transferred with his job to Greenville, South Carolina within 6 months.  After being there for 5 years, we moved to Wetumpka, Alabama (outside Montgomery) where we lived for 5 years until now.  I should be used to moving, but it just seems to get harder!  Anyway, we made the transfer of all of our belongings and the leftovers of our adult kids to Bluff City, and we have been up to our ears in boxes for the past 3 days.  I grew up about 70 miles to the north and Clark grew up about 80 miles to the southeast, so Memphis is not foreign to us like some of our other moves.  I came here quite often as a child and had my firstborn, Leah, in the Methodist Hospital a few miles from where we are now.  So I will always have a soft spot for this city.  Which brings me to the name of our new street:  Tishomingo 
Because my high school mascot was the Chickasaws,--sorry, I know it is not politically correct to name mascots for native Americans--but I swear we really did not know that it was a bad thing--I had heard of the name Tishomingo before.  So Clark did some research and found out that Tishomingo was a Chickasaw chief, and was probably born in or around what is now Lee County, Mississippi, where Clark grew up.  He received the silver medallion from George Washington for fighting the Shawnee in the Old Northwest, and served in the war of 1812.  Now I don't know if he wanted to do that or not, but evidently he did a great job and then went back to farming, which is what he was doing before all the fighting.  Now here is that terrible part that is starting to become redundant as far as we Americans go----he was forced off of his land, even after he served his "new country" well, and was made to walk to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears whereupon he died somewhere around what is now Little Rock, Arkansas. Oh, but he got a county, a park and a street named for him.  (Also the capital of the Chickasaw Nation in Oklahoma).  But that's it folks---do what you are asked to do and you get kicked in the pants--for 500 miles, on foot.  

Why do we do things like that?  He kept his end of the treaty, and he got nothing....
  One of the first people I have met is the guy who is in our front yard right now, cutting down a 100 year old tree.   A huge part of the trunk fell on the car of another man who was painting this house before our arrival.  Apparently, it squished the entire car while he was inside painting and he couldn't even get insurance coverage because it was an "Act of God".  Oh, I forgot to mention it was his mother's car.  Looks like folks are still getting kicked in the pants around here.  But here is home now, and we'll take it on the chin, (or wherever) if it comes our way.