We Visit the Blue Spring
Written by my Grandfather, Paul A. Luce ("Granpaul") in 1991
A very very time ago in the 1800's, the Blue Spring was owned by Grandarby's great grandfather, Dr. Franklin Barnes. It was apparently one of his greatest assets during his years as a "watercure doctor." He must have reluctantly sold it after the Civil War to a chap named Green Rough. This was after the realization that the daily trains would never disgorge quantities of patients to "take the cure" offered at Dr. Barnes' sanatorium; neither would enough carriages likely unload these patients at the Blue Spring located some six miles west of Hamilton, Georgia. Grandarby's mother, Ruth Barnes Ansley Derbyshire, used to tell of being "dipped" in the Blue Spring as a child and there were gatherings there. Dr. Barnes finally gave up as a "watercure doctor"...well, he gave up all but the title which, although self-proclaimed probably, followed him the rest of his life. He became a planter in the area instead.
Grandarby had long sought an opportunity to visit the Blue Spring since she had only seen it for a short visit in 1963 with her step-grandmother, Mrs. James Jefferson Ansley. Letters addressed to the address noted on the sign, Callaway Memorial Forest, were unanswered. Finally she was told that the person to contact was Mr. Cason Callaway, Jr. He was usually in the North Carolina mountains for the summer but a letter addressed to his Columbus Callaway Enterprises office would eventually reach him.
To her surprise, it was within a few days after she wrote such a letter requesting an opportunity to see the Spring that Mr. Callaway telephoned her with a most gracious invitation to visit the Blue Spring with her family and enjoy a picnic lunch on the property. At her protest against intruding to that extent, he insisted that a picnic would make the occasion much more memorable and enjoyable. He said he would make it a point to visit with us at that time if his schedule permitted. It was a very warmly offered and sincere invitation which she accepted.
On Blue Spring Day, August 20, 1991, it dawned hot and clear with a brilliant blue sky. We had Cory and Toby as guests since Andrea had returned to work at Brookstone School and they were excited about the prospect although they probably didn't fully understand the significance of the visit. We packed tunafish salad sandwiches and stopped in Hamilton for cold drinks and mail, then proceeded out Highway 116 west to the Blue Spring entrance. The appointment was for 11 a.m. but at Grandarby's insistence we left the house early and pulled through the open wooden gate at 10:45 a.m.
Mr. Callaway was already there and came over at once to introduce himself and shake hands; he had a crew re-roofing the bath house with cedar shakes that morning. He asked Cory his name, whereupon Cory came through with "Dr. Franklin Barnes was my great, great grandfather"! Obviously he had recent coaching in the matter and was anxious to unload! On a second attempt, he did come through with his name and both he and Toby shook hands.
Mr. Callaway then began to show us around the area and I pulled our car over to the pavilion on the pool surround where he had indicated that a picnic would be most suitable. The pavilion had hewn 12" by 12" posts of oak which he said his father got from a barn that was over 150 years old; Mr. Cason Callaway had the work done in the 1930's. It stock beside a large pool of water, over an acre that was so clear and transparent blue that I thought it must be a spring pool much like several in Florida. I have never seen clearer water, certainly nothing came close in Georgia or Florida. Even the mountain runs in North Georgia grow milky after a rain and are too silted to allow natural trout reproduction.
The pool is an impoundment; a dam holds back about twenty feet of water depth and the entire pool is over 200 feet long. There are diving boards at one end; the depth at the pavilion ladder is about 5 feet and this runs slightly more shallow toward the upper end. The pavilion extends out over the water and is furnished with sofas, lounge chairs, a table with six chairs as well as extra seating; there is a wood-enclosed electric refrigerator and storage benches. The huge rock fireplace was stuffed with birch logs and had a log bin on the side as well as a large rotisserie arrangement; on the mantle were pine cones and fresh greens.
We walked on toward the Spring and notice the coarse sand pebbles of the built-up roadway were freshly raked and every small patch of lawn freshly cut. Mr. Callaway talked about the magnolia trees on the property, "the bane of my existence" and spoke of how, when his mother asked for a magnolia, his father, Cason Calloway, Sr., gave her ten thousand magnolias. "They're all over the place and they are not native to this area," he explained.
The Blue Spring is spectacular—even more than Grandarby remembered.
Gin-clear water wells upward from a deep cavern under the base of the steep hillside and begins a stream which is about 10 inches deep and perhaps 5 feet across. Three large rocks have been placed across this stream head for stepping stones and a long-handled "drinking gourd" such as hung near every Georgia spring stream a century ago, was on a nearby small tree, hung handle-down with a neat drain-hole carved in the end of the handle.
The morning sun shafted into the depths of the spring enhancing the clarity and beauty of the spectacle. The spring made a small pool about twenty feet in diameter, lined completely with rock. Two small dead tree limbs could be seen with great clarity at a depth of about 10 feet. I used these to focus my camera upon, mounted on the tripod for 1/15th of a second indicated exposure in the forest shade. The upward gush of water doesn't ripple the pool's surface as it rises, no dimpling or eddies give it away, yet between the stepping stones a spring flow of 10 inches by five feet across races downstream—500 gallons a minute, Mr. Callaway explained. The spring is a constant 64 degrees, Fahrenheit, becoming 67 degrees in the swimming pool below.
"The spring will make you yell," Mr. Callaway said; "the pool is cold, but the spring will make you yell out loud when you get wet!"
He asked where Ansley Farm was and when told, said he knew Oak Mountain from early times when he and two friends would camp overnight when they rode horseback from Columbus up to the Gardens. He told about one "ridiculous camp" prepared for them on once such ride (apparently the camp, the supper, and the forage were arranged for them in place, as must have been the dismantling of the area next morning) wherein one of his companions appeared for a silver candelabra supper in the middle of the woods, dressed in his grandfather's red velvet tuxedo.
Mr. Callaway pointed out several walking trails and urged us to try them; one led back to the pool area, and he commented on how the pool was designed and completed. It was truly engineered and manufactured to an unbelievable extent. The pool area was originally swampy, runoff of the spring was by way of a heavily silted valley. It was there, near the highway, that Dr. Barnes must have been observed by the neighbor, wading in the creek on one of the coldest winter days according to the History of Harris County, Georgia.
Part of the western hill had been sculpted and recontoured to slope well clear of the pool making clearance for a single lane road. All of the silt had been removed from the drainage area and the pool floor had been carved down into the layers of bedrock which formed the impervious bottom. The entire pool had been sided with natural rock masonry, including a recessed gutter built back from the pool's edge; all water-contact surfaces were natural rock or masonry.
The narrow roadway was filled over the uncovered bedrock and the drainage ditches on either side were done in masonry, both sides and bottom. They were obviously transited and graded to handle any runoff, moving it rapidly to a point downstream of the dam. Nothing_ but water from the Blue Spring was impounded in the pool and all of the spring-run was itself sheathed in masonry.
Now, nearly a half century after Callaway's transformation of Blue Spring, the woodland setting has re-grown and appears never to have been disturbed. Sizeable oaks arch over the sculptured hillside once shaven by bulldozer and well kept lawns and plantings occupy the area which was once a wild silt bog.
Although deep into August, the Flare Azalea (A. prunifolia) Cason Callaway, Sr. is credited with discovering and which is native only within a narrow thirty-mile radius of this area, was in full bloom. Cason Callaway, Jr. said the species bloomed all summer until September. Another, a white variety (A. arboretium?) was also in bloom and we discovered a few when we drove down the forested roadway.
It was a thoroughly enjoyable visit and Cason Callaway, Jr. was a very gracious host. He asked if Grandarby thought that Dr, Barnes would approve of the changes they had made at the Blue Spring she and all of us heartily agreed that he most certainly would been pleased.
Mr. Callaway said that his father had frequently mentioned Dr. Barnes and the "water cure" hospital he erected on the hill now occupied by the large pavilion which seats 90 for a meal. They have perhaps some traces noted of the 75-year-old frame structure when the pavilion was built. One of the blacks, his father told, said that Dr. Barnes had instructed him to put some wettable sulfur into the second, much smaller, spring outlet from time to time. Such enhancement might temporarily enhance the "mineral content" of spring; part of the "water cure?"
We returned home by 2 p.m., having taken pictures, eaten the picnic lunch and abuzz with the novelty of having seen the mythical Blue Spring which formed such a large part of the dreams of Dr. Benjamin Franklin Barnes, Grandarby's Great Grandfather and Great, Great, Great Grandfather of Cory and Toby, Taylor, Preston, Ansley. It was an outstanding, unforgettable event!
About 6:00 p.m., the boys having gone with their mother to their own house, Grandarby said she "felt prickly all over." I advised her to take a hot shower right away and she did. Essentially all of us were close together throughout our visit to the Blue Spring and I felt no prickly symptoms, "just in case", I felt a shower might help if she had contracted poison ivy or redbugs, even though it would be somewhat late after six or seven hours earlier exposure.
She showed me a tiny speck on her arm that (if you really concentrated on watching it) moved, very, very slowly. She took the shower!
Beginning thereafter, Grandarby broke out in the worst case of redbugs I have ever seen! They peppered her right leg, lower back and front with even a few beginning on her toes and between her fingers. As I write, it is one whole week later and they are still going strong, although beginning slight improvement on the sixth day after exposure. She was treated with anything that might help for redbugs, also known as harvest mites and chiggers. On Grandarby's extremely fair skin they are spectacular indeed: I told her that she looked as though someone had stood her off at about 80 yards and peppered her with #9 birdshot and then turned her around and shot the other side!
I kidded her about as much as I dared...she was not a "happy camper" about transporting these bugs on her hide; they itched unto torment and formed swollen bumps under the skin. Of course they grew worse with any scratching administered and Grandarby grew very short-tempered and mean with the extended days of contagion.
I devised, and record here for posterity, the Ansley Farm Chigger Cure. This was offered in perfectly good faith to Grandarby who only finally laughed demoniacally and never tried it once."
Ansley Farm Chigger Cure
A quantity of stumpwater should be accumulated as opportunity presents and placed in a covered jar in the refrigerator, in quantities up to one quart. Also some practice of both dance and chant should be arranged prior to need and a fresh-batteried flashlight should be maintained, along with a small covered jar capable of holding 8 ounces of fluid. Both flashlight and jar should be utilized in practice as coordination of both is necessary, over one's head, when undertaking the cure. The new moon is the best time, but any time in the darkness of the moon or on a dark and cloudy night is a good time.
Gather together the following items:
- A complete, clean change of clothing, head to toe
- Small covered container (8 oz. min.) of cold stumpwater
- Flashlight or battery lantern for each person
- Watch or clock with exact correct local time
- Spouse, blood relative, good friend (maximum 4 plus self)
Select beforehand, if possible, largest rock available; it must have a small, level area on top for footwork.
Depart for site in ample time for ritual commencement at exactly 12:00 midnight.
Get nekkid and insist each accompanying person do likewise.
Uncover container of stumpwater and holding both stumpwater and flashlight overhead by 11:59:45 p.m., light all flashlights (directing some toward performer although rapid occasional side flicks are permitted), begin dance and chant promptly at 12:00:00 midnight.
Dance consists of two taps of each foot, alternating right and left at two taps each, and keeping time to monotone chant. Pause 47 seconds between each dance/chant and repeat entire procedure 6 times. One of the accompanying persons should be appointed timekeeper and counter. Begin anew if any part of the routine is interrupted by sniggers, snickers, gasps, stifles or titters. Double the total rounds of performance remaining if unexpurgated levity is encountered. Dance/chant begins, so slowly pour the stumpwater over head and shoulders, etc.
Monotonic Chant:
Redbug, Redbug, gonna be a dead bug
Now that you're well fed bug
Glad you're not a bedbug!
Red Bug, Red Bug, gonna be a dead bug
(Pause 47 seconds, do dance/chant/pause 5 more times; more if penalty required as per above.)
The above procedure now qualifies me as a Water Cure Doctor.
Lights may be turned out between dance/chant rounds to conserve batteries.
Beware:
- Howling dogs
- Mosquitoes, blister beetles
- Low Helicopters
Be careful also that fresh clothes are hand-held or hung well away from new redbugs.
Note: when Grandarby typed this, she shook her head in bewilderment that she had 1. married me 2. remained married for any length of time, much less almost 47 years, to such an idiot.
When I told Jimmy Dent about our visit, he exclaimed, "That's the best place in all of Harris County to get redbugs!" He had learned to swim there at the Blue Spring Pool as a boy in the 1940's – 1950's.
Later the same day at the store, Cason Callaway III came in and before the topic of redbugs had been mentioned, he remarked, "I like to go to the Blue Spring but I can't take the redbugs!"
We discussed why Grandarby got into the redbugs and no one else did; the conclusion that she must have sat down among them was fostered by centering their location on her body. She had remained down by the Spring and sat alone on the shady stone bench while Cory and Toby helped me carry the tripod and camera high above the Spring in order to take some photographs along the flow of sunlight. I sat on firm ground moss at the base of a large tree well above the site and at the time I wondered about redbug risk, for me, not for Grandarby who seemed perfectly safe down below. This was the only time during our visit when we were apart.
Here endeth the saga of the worst case of redbugs I've ever seen and a week or more of Grandarby's life that can best be characterized as among the lousiest of them all! Was it worth it? It certainly was unforgettable.