Tennessee Waterfalls

I was tired. Not of traveling, per se. But the routine. The loneliness. The constant movement every week. It was time to try my hand at settling down.

That place ended up being Tennessee.

I’d built an app for myself, compiling data from various government resources, in order to help me figure out where to plant roots. It told me two places: Texas or Tennessee.

I visited them both, found Texas to be too hot, and Tennessee to be just right. Within months I found myself in a serious relationship. Did my app actually work?

Well, not that soon, it seems. We broke up after nearly two years together.

We were preparing to get married. I was finding my way into the church. She was finding she didn’t want to come with me.

I leaned hard into my newfound faith. And shortly thereafter, found myself in a counselor’s office, talking through it all.

The Ritual

I did what came naturally to me as I processed it all. I’d go to my appointment, talk, “do the work” as my therapist would say. Then I’d hop in the car and drive to the next trailhead on the list.

There was a saying in the therapy I did: “Pick a trailhead and see where it goes.” Speaking metaphorically, of course. But I took it literally.

I’d spent years chasing stunning landscapes, but now it was time to chase my own thoughts. To bring them into captivity, and see what was left.

The Waterfalls

Tennessee has a lot of waterfalls. Something I didn’t realize until I started photographing them. It became an unofficial goal of mine to visit every single one of them in the state.

Counseling got me talking. The trails got me moving and processing. But standing at the base of a waterfall, the immense power of water crashing into rock could silence it all. By the time I reached the falls, I’d done enough. It was time to just stand there.

That’s where I found peace.

Cummins Falls took me three attempts to see. Years earlier, a flash flood trapped a number of hikers, and someone died. The state began requiring permits to hike, and strict rules about when you could go down.

I didn’t know any of this. I’d treated it like every other trail. Just show up around sunset and hope for the best. But I got turned around and told to come back at a better time. The second time, traffic got me. Each of these drives was a solid hour from where I was living.

Three drives, six hours round-trip. But I got the shot. The light was golden, the falls practically deserted. It remains one of my favorite photographs in Tennessee.

Machine Falls became my second home. Just outside of Manchester, Tennessee, this waterfall felt forgotten by everyone but the locals. But the water rolling over those dark rocks never got old. I came back here, time and time again, to watch it change over the seasons. And every time, it felt like the first time.

Rutledge Falls, another in the Manchester area, felt like cheating. It sits behind an old church, just off the side of the road. The hike is maybe 5 minutes, yet you’re greeted with this monstrous cascade. I spent a solid hour just sitting, watching, listening.

As I got more involved with my local parish, the hikes stopped being solo. The people I was entering the church with needed the woods as much as I did. So we started going together.

Rather than being alone with my own thoughts on these trails, there were conversations. And the waterfalls were just as good for being together as they had been for being alone.

I’d chased the world for years. Iceland, mainland Europe, the Philippines, the great American West. Tennessee was quieter than all of them. And it gave me a space to heal, a space to find community, a space to find peace.

Even as I write this, the nostalgia for those woods, those waterfalls, those conversations hit hard. Maybe it’s time for another hike.