Well, brethren, the Lord has truly blessed us with a glorious day this day. We should all give thanks for these temperate days of autumn -- golden days, my Rebecca would have called them, and she would’a been right. The winters draw on all too quickly. My horse, Bess, she hates the winter. And, mercy!, she’s a finely turned beast, and she serves me well, but she exhibits a fairly cantankerous spirit when the freezes hit and the snow flies. So today we’re giving thanks for these last sweet days of autumn.

Mercy knows I’m thankful that the winter months are moderate enough here in this fertile valley of east Tennessee, and I’m thankful that the Lord has led me here to do his work. Only been to it these last three years, but I feel strangely at home in this place called Ocoee -- called Ocoee by the Cherokee. Means "apricot vine place." Ocoee -- right pretty word. Right pretty place, too.

I came out of Virginia down through the Gap and made my way to the fair Hiwassee. The Widow Brown runs a boarding house over near the Henegar place, and that’s where I keep myself most of the year. She sets a fair table, the Widow, and the company gets lively enough when the flat boats come down the Hiwassee. Lively enough for this God-fearing old widower, anyways.

I preach for the Methodist faith, I do. Not that I’ve always preached. I had a piece of land, a small farm, when I started out. Grew some tobacco -- had a right fair crop in the fall of 1830. Had Rebecca with me then, and a pretty thing she was, too. She’s with the Lord now, though. She died in childbirth. Lost the baby, too. 'Twas a baby girl. Lost them both.

I got really restless after that, and I determined that the Lord was a-callin' me to do some of His work, so I set off for the Methodists, and headed for East Tennessee. One of these days, I may head back home -- I do think on it from time to time -- but right now, my callin’ is here. I know that for certain. Men of God are needed here, and even though not a day goes by that I don’t ache to see Rebecca’s sweet face, I wish I could have been here sooner. My soul burns for the troubled Cherokee -- the "Principal People" of this land, their land. It’s a hard stone the Cherokee have been handed, and the heartaches and hardships being dealt these people will surely leave a scar upon this place of Ocoee. I fear for the lives of the women and children, and I fear for the souls of the perpetrators of this great wrong. They do occupy my prayers, these people of the Cherokee nation.

And yet. ... Even as the flatboats were being loaded at Rattlesnake Springs, the settlement of this place marches inexorably onward, and with great spirit the settlers are lookin’ to the future and puttin’ down roots. This little territory has just organized itself into a county. Gonna call itself Bradley. Bradley County. Fair enough name. There was a right fair commotion over just where the county seat was to be. The folks around here sure can get riled up about things political. Some felt that the county seat needed to be located over to the east, on some property that had been Cherokee land, a place called "Deer-in-the-water." That didn’t happen, though. They’s a spring somewhat south of here, located on some property claimed by a man named Taylor, and his place is well known to the trappers. It’s a spring, you see, and water is one of God’s gifts that -- well, mercy! Could grow to be a right smart town. Certainly seems to be a stoppin’ off place for all sortsa folks.

Most who come here are sure thirsty for the Lord’s word! This place is a fertile place for His work as well as the corn and tobacco. And I must speak of our meetin’ this summer. There’s a hillside up from the Hiwassee that seems to be touched by God’s own hand. There’s a stand of cedar trees right in the side of the hill that overlooks a fair valley. There’s several homeplaces round abouts, and a right friendly place, this Chatata Valley. This summer we built a brush arbor under those cedar trees, for a meetin’, and mercy!, it were a powerful time for the Lord’s work. That meetin’ went on for three weeks! We had a few souls who would meet for prayers all through the mornin’, and long about midafternoon, the wagons would begin to pull in, and the singin’ would start. By the time I was ready to preach, the Spirit of God was a living, breathing thing in these people, and it moved through the crowd like a hot wind a blowing up a storm. A three-week meetin’! The Lord surely blessed us all that time!

They’s talk of settin’ up a church on that hillside -- an actual building where folks could meet all year round. It is a fair place, and it has a feel to it, a richness, a. ... Mercy! I’m a preacher, not a poet. But it is a good place where God’s work could be done.