Tarboro -- Town by the River

TARBORO – TOWN BY THE RIVER
by Roberta Cashwell

I.
The River.

A source of Life – and livelihood.
A source of strength – and redemption.
A source of growth – and destruction.

Our river – the source.

Our town was born of the Tar River – even named for it,
As well as for our State.

Tarborough
on the Tar River
in the Tar Heel State.

Whether for the naval stores that were the products of our eastern
North Carolina pine trees,
or for the turned up heels of retreating soldiers,
we were baptized and christened
for both the sap that ran through North Carolina pines
and the river that carried away its products.

How do you harness – how do you live with –
a force that can trickle
with three inches one week
and surge to 30 feet the next?

Harness it? You don’t.

You learn to respect it.
To ride it.
Hope that it doesn’t harness you.

And be grateful for what it gives you.

II.
Rivers and railroads have threaded the seams of North Carolina,
Providing transport and commerce –
Linking towns to markets
and people to each other.

The East Carolina Railway
The Atlantic Coastline Railroad
The Eastern Coast Line
The Wilmington and Weldon Railroad

Names that once meant empires.

Some lines still thunder through town in the hours just before dawn.
Others have gone the way
of the ghost tracks on which they ran.

III

Tarboro Telephone Company was started in Tarboro
in 1895 by George Holderness and W. H. Powell.

The telephone was the phenomenon
that created the links through the air
that the rivers and railroads forged
in the water and on the land.

And Tarboro Telephone, which became Carolina Telephone and Telegraph, provided jobs – and livelihoods – as men and women left the farm and moved to town.

Imagine!

You could hear someone’s voice miles away
as if they were right there beside you.

A miracle!

IV.

Land. Farms.
Big and small.
Blounts. Norfleets. Clarks.
And Pippens.

The “Grove” rolled down to the river. Its stately house sat
on the highest point for miles around.

It still does.

The grounds overlooked the work of hundreds.

Cotton and tobacco were king and queen.

At the bottom of the hill lay the river,
ready to move the harvest
to points North, South, East and West.

Norfolk. Baltimore. Savannah. Liverpool. Raleigh.

Shiloh Landing was a bustling dock.

Its traffic, a noisy crescendo
That roared into a war
From which it never emerged.

In time, the farmland receded.
The fields lay fallow.

Houses moved in.

The house on the hill
now looked down on a town – downtown.
City government. Commerce. Banking.
Boarding and eating establishments.
Even an opera house.

V.
And it looked down to Main Street.
To the Town Common.
A small piece of green Heaven on 15 acres.

Second in age only to Boston’s famous Common.

A place for all seasons.

VI.

But. . . Summertime. Ah, summer.
The season of fullness,
when the Town Common comes into its own.

Tarboro’s Common has a rich history of Summertime living.
Within the last half-century, we’ve seen:

The town’s 200th birthday.
Thirty-five Happenings
Over 15 North Carolina Symphony Concerts
History Day Celebrations

Flag raisings – and retirings
And unofficially:
Weddings
Engagements
Birthdays
Christmas trees
Easter egg hunts
Ghosts and goblins

VII.

Tarboro is a sports town.

She loves her teams and their players.
What the sport is hardly matters,
but Baseball has long been close to her heart.

A minor league team!
We were a contender!

Games were played on the Common.
And later in the ball park,
where the crack of the bat
and the roar of the crowd
still resound.

VIII.
Walk around the Common
And you will find memories . . .
And memorials.

To those who have gone before us.
In battles, in War.

Those who fought for beliefs, for honor, for freedom.
So that we might live free

And walk where we choose.

May we never take that freedom for granted.

IX.

Born in Colonial America,
Tarboro has known war – close to home
And from a distance.

But no matter the distance,
If your own native sons or daughters are fighting,
It’s always close to home.

We’ve been called up, drafted, commissioned and imprisoned --
And sent around the world
to defend the honor of our Country
and to preserve Democracy wherever we find it.

We’ve considered it our right and privilege –
Not merely an obligation –
To go wherever we’re called.

It would always be safer, more comfortable,
To stay home
On our farms,
Beside our river,
In our houses.

But when we are called, we go.
When we are chosen, we serve.
When we are hit, we fall.

And when we come home –
However we come home –
We are honored.
Because we have served.

X

The river carries us,
Looping through the fields and woods.
It wraps itself around our town
And rocks us. . . gently,
For a hundred years.

A hundred years of peace. . .
Like a river.

And then there’s peace no more.

The river betrays itself.
And us.
Nature takes her own.

And when it passes,
We are safe -- and marked –
For another hundred years.


Have you ever lost it all?

Have you ever listened for a sound
Knowing it can only be an echo?

Have you ever inhaled
A loved one’s fragrance
Knowing it’s a phantom scent?
Have you ever glimpsed your home
Flying like a Dutchman
Inside your eyelids. . .

Have you ever lost it all?

XI
Home.
Our home within a home.

Tarborough
on the Tar River
in the Tar Heel State.

Tarboro is my home.

North Carolina is my home.

XII
We grow children here –
Several varieties,
All good ones.

Some grow up to be doctors,
Senators, teachers,
Shopkeepers.
Most grow up –
Somehow.

Some stay here,
Some move away,
And some come back home.

We grow children here.

XIII

The ultimate act
Of optimism and faith
Is to send our children forward
Into a future we have planned for
And over which
We have no control.

We birth them,
We rear them –
To the best of our abilities.

We let them go.
And we hope.

We hope that, somehow,
Their lives will be better –
Always better.

This is the American Dream.

XIV

We are a town of churches.
Houses of faith.

Sunday mornings are quiet
But for bells tolling,
Eleven o’clock chimes,
Organ music,
And choirs of angels.

We don’t dictate
Our faith or denominations
We don’t need to.

We know that prayer is private.
Worship is public
And all are welcome.

Our home, wherever we find it,
Is God’s Home.

XV

We are a town by a river.

Like God’s love,
It flows through us –
And around us.
It takes us back
And it carries us forward.

It is life –
And death.

It carries us forward.

It is our source.
©Roberta Cashwell 2010