A house full of music in Cherokee Nation
November 20 - 22. Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Nothing beats the experience of walking into a local pub and having a conversation with a local middle school teacher, chasing away the coyotes from your friend’s yard with a shotgun, or sitting around the fireplace with the smell of home-baked bread filling the house. Welcome to Oklahoma, baby!
So many of the clichés about traveling are true. People get annoyed about hearing the same thing over and over again – but isn’t there beauty in the shared experience? Here are three:
Travel is about the journey, not the destination. *Cringe.* But yes, yes it is! It’s literally the point of a road trip.
Travel is about the people. And a little bit about their pets, too.
Travel is about the food. I mean… you can visit as many museums as you want, but what says cultural experience more than a breakfast biscuit with bacon and gravy? A vegan one at that. And yes, in Louisville they offer Tofu Fried ‘Chicken’ nowadays. Plant eaters CAN enjoy travel in the South. 🙋♀️
We’re nearing the end of week two and the memories of cities, skylines, restaurants and walks are starting to blend together. In two weeks, we drove about 1900 miles (3000 kilometers), visiting 11 cities. We stopped in New York, DC, Philly, Pittsburgh, Columbus, Cincinnati, Louisville, Nashville, Memphis, Little Rock, and Tahlequah.
We’ve arrived in the South.
From Gauchos to South-Central
After Memphis our next destination would have been Oklahoma City, if it weren’t for my college friend Susanne. We were roommates back in 2009, when I was a (very excited) exchange student at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Back then, it was all-nighters of studying supported by Starbucks mochas, hikes around SB, grocery trips in our roommates’ cars, and many a night of liquor-fueled partying in high heels and mini dresses. Oh yes, UCSB was the quintessential California college dream. We kept in touch over the years, visiting each other in Santa Barbara, Asheville (NC), Amsterdam, and reuniting at a friends’ wedding in Denver (CO). Obviously no-one could have known that Tahlequah, Oklahoma, would be the next place for us to meet.
Tahlequah.
Where the beards are big and fluffy, the flannels and bellies underneath them big and soft. Where the sound of hunting season opening – gunshots, are Sunday’s soundtrack.
We drove up to a beautiful country house with a chicken coop in the back for what would be one the best weekends of our trip: jamming late night with our country musician host – Susanne’s husband – listening to them sing together and him playing at least five different instruments I’d never seen before. We ate home-cooked meals by the fireplace and felt so welcomed, including by their family of loving rescue dogs and rescue kitties. It was love at first sight with Tucker – with his one skewed tooth peeking out of his mouth even when closed.
Tahlequah is located in Cherokee County, where they have one of the highest incarceration rates in the US. Not a single county turned blue here – steeped deep in Trump-propaganda. The wheels of the local trucks reach taller than my Dutch 6 feet (1,80). It is also home to the Cherokee Nation, the largest of three Cherokee federally recognized tribes in the United States. It’s people descended from members of the Old Cherokee Nation, who relocated under increasing pressure from the Southeast to Indian Territory, and Cherokee who were forced to relocate on the Trail of Tears.
With a history like that, its effects can be felt today. As a nurse, my friend sees that in her work on a daily basis. For us as visitors, we saw it on our Sunday morning walk. Folks across the street were having a little too much fun for that time of the day. Meth-fuelled fun, that is. Saturday night, hanging out at the local pub, famous country musicians played for hours and hours. The school teacher we chatted to in the pub talked about virtual schooling, not because of Covid, but because of her 13-year old pupil who has to hide her pregnancy from the rest of the class. I can’t even bare to think of the state just south from here, where abortion (starting from 6 weeks of pregnancy) was just criminalized.
Susanne tells me about the work pressure as a travel nurse in covid-time: 8+ hours of work followed by several hours of note-taking at the end of the day. Half of her year dropped out because of the pressure. Why she continues? “It sounds silly”, she says. “But I want to transform the medical system.”
And she will. Where else would the transformation of the US medical system start, but in Oklahoma? In a house full of music, surrounded by rescue dogs, one-winged chickens, and whole lotta love, in the heart of Cherokee Nation. Transformation doesn’t start in an ivory tower. It starts right where it has to begin.
