Jilda and I have traveled to some amazing magical places in this world, The Cliffs of Mohr in Ireland, Cathedral Rock in Sedona, and standing on the edge of the Pacific in Half Moon Bay, California. These places touched our spirits and our hearts and honestly made us question coming back to Alabama. But I have found a place that touches me just as deeply a few short miles from home.
On the way home from work this afternoon, I came to the stop sign near the Sipsey Fork and the Mulberry River, the two rivers join there to form the Black Warrior River which flows through much of the heart of Alabama.
Turning right would have taken me home, but turning left would take me to The Forks. I took the left.
To the casual visitor, there’s not much to see at The Forks. There’s a public boat launch and a few picnic tables under the shade of the trees. But this spot is one of those magical places on earth. In the evening when the angle of light reflection hits the surface of the water just right, it looks as though the river is flowing into the sky.
Local historians have told me that Native Americans lived here long before Alabama was a state. I swear sometimes you can almost feel their spirits there if you stand still and look out across the water.
People congregate here year round. In the summer there are families here fishing, swimming or just sitting on the banks basking in the sun.
In the spring, fishermen from across the state come to The Forks to fish. Early morning Jon boats putter upstream through the heavy mist for a chance to catch a stringer full of stripe.
Usually I see my old friend Leo Smith, the unofficial mayor of The Forks, holding court with all his friends. He’s there almost daily, fishing, running trotlines and dispensing advice on fishing and life.
Years on the water have baked his skin the color of coffee and cream swirled together and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that his veins flow with the water of those rivers. He can always tell you if the fish are biting and any news in the local fishing world.
Today, when I parked there was a lone fisherman in a lawn chair near the edge of the water. His cooler was within arm’s reach and he was hoping to catch enough stripes for supper. We said hello and then I walked around the banks just absorbing the magic of the place. I was not disappointed; The Forks never let me down.
A note from Jilda: On July 16, 2020, Rick left us; it’s been three years. I hope he still visits The Forks from time to time; no one loved it more.
