Yesterday I drove to the tiny historic town of Micanopy, Florida (pronounced MIH-kah-noh-pee). It’s considered to be the oldest inland town of Florida. Of course that’s referring to the establishment of it as a town of white people. In 1539, de Soto found a village of Timucua indigenous people there. (Hopefully he didn’t kill them all. But chances are he did. He was a brutal man, killing and enslaving vast numbers of native people in his continual search for gold.)
Anyway, I went there because of its significance in the Second Seminole War, which lasted for seven years, from 1835-1842. Again, our history classes failed us, I think. We spent so much time covering the Revolutionary War and the Civil War (four years long), but was any time given to the Seminole War? This was a significant war at the time and one example of how fiercely Native people resisted their displacement and forced removal.
The Indian Removal Act was passed in 1830, under Andrew Jackson, a horribly racist man. All native people east of the Mississippi were to move west to “Indian Territory,” AKA Oklahoma. Of the five “Civilized Tribes” who were to relocate, the Cherokee and Seminole resisted most strenuously — the Cherokee in court, the Seminole in war. (When the Supreme Court actually sided 5-1 with the Cherokee in one decision, Jackson blatantly ignored it. Does this sound familiar????)
The Seminole, like any of us, did not recognize the rights of a foreign people to take their land away from them. And, like most of us would do, fought it. Among the leaders of this fight were the renowned Osceola (pronounced Ah see oh’ lah), Chief Micanopy, and several Seminole leaders called Alligator, Wildcat, and Billy Bowlegs. Also, Abraham, a former African American slave, was a great advisor and interpreter to Micanopy and was called “the principal negro chief of the Seminoles.” He was a key participant in negotiations to end hostilities at the end of the Second Seminole War.
Anyway, I went to Micanopy, not sure exactly where I would go once I arrived, as both forts once built there were now gone. As I got off the interstate and onto the small rural road that led into the tiny and lovely town (population 800), I soon saw a sign for a cemetery. Barely thinking about it, my intuition told me to turn onto that side road. There, I followed my nose to the cemetery.
As I drove in, I was greeted by beautiful arching boughs of great live oaks. I noticed headstones, both very old and quite new, spaced out below the many trees. I drove on the sandy unpaved road/path toward the back of the cemetery. I got out and walked around, eventually deciding to sit on a bench beneath what appeared to be the oldest tree. The girth was tremendous (the diameter about 4′). It had four primary boughs, each of which was as big as a tree.
I sat there silently for a while, feeling the energy of the place. Then I began softly talking out loud—my version of prayer. I was addressing the spirits of those who had once lived there—especially the Timucua and the Seminole. I said that I was very sad about all that had happened to them, about the way they were treated, about land being taken from them. I also greeted the ancestors of these ancestors, the people who were born free to live in a good way upon the land.
It was a really hot, muggy day, but multiple times during these prayers, I felt breezes blow upon me. It felt like an acknowledgment. Eventually, I felt lighter and a smile came to my face. I took that as a sign that my prayers had been heard and that they were grateful for them.
