After having so much fun exploring Fort Granger, I decided to look around for more historical places to visit near me. I came across the City of Franklin’s website that has a helpful list of historic parks. First on the list was Harlinsdale Farm. Occasionally, when there is a festival in downtown Franklin, they run shuttles from Harlinsdale Farm to downtown Franklin. I had parked there once, but it hadn’t dawned on me that there were things to do and see there. It’s a large property and when you drive in, you could easily mistake it for large fields with some private structures on it.
The farm was founded in 1933 by Wirt Harlin. It was once a breeding farm for Tennessee Walking Horses. The most famous of which was Midnight Sun that won two World Grand Championships in 1945 and 1946. The land where the farm sits also has Civil War history. Confederate General John B. Hood’s Army of Tennessee was destroyed holding a line at the Harpeth River near Harlinsdale Farm.
There is a long driveway leading into the farm, and on this cold December day, there was not much activity. My first glimpse of other peoples came as I was looking for a place to park when I passed a large dog park with at least 10 people watching dogs wander around. The dog park looked like a simple field with a fence around it. I’ve always found dog parks amusing as a surrogate activity.
I found parking in a small lot behind the dog park with good access to several of the dilapidated buildings, a pond, and the main barn. I first came to an old shed with some interesting antique pieces of farm equipment. There was a sign to “Keep Out”, and even though it was open with no obstacles, I respected the sign’s wishes. There was a set of rickety stairs leading up to a dark loft that beckoned me to explore it’s musty spaces, but I did not give in to the urge.
My next stop was the original home that was occupied as recently as 1980. It was in disrepair, but it reminded me of the antebellum houses that I’ve seen at places like the Hermitage. I could not access the house, but I could peek in the windows. The view from the front porch contained the beautiful sprawling fields of the farm with the old water tower at The Factory at Franklin in the distance. I imagined this was a wonderful place to sit in a rocking chair on a summer evening.
I walked towards two large barns with silos that had seen better days, and I was worried that I was not supposed to be walking around the area. I thought a maintenance person would come and shoo me away. I had a tendency to be a bit neurotic when it came to respecting other people’s spaces, but I figured since the farm was owned by the city, it was public property. I continued on where I found a trail leading into the woods, and trails always called my name. I decided to see where it led. I found a sign a short way in that warned of a steep and woody path.
After following the path for about a tenth of a mile, there was a sign that warned of a steep overlook. I was immediately excited to see the view, so I picked up my pace. I came to a high area with a low fence overlooking the beautiful Harpeth River. I took in the sights for several minutes before continuing on. I was still somewhat confused as to whether I was allowed to be walking on the trail or if it was purely an equestrian trail. Clarity came when I happened upon a sign that described the traffic patterns expected on the trail. Bicyclists and hikers were meant to yield to horses. This makes sense, and I was happy to oblige.
The wooded path was not long and it dropped me into a grass track that was two miles long and ran the perimeter of the farm. Comfortable and convinced that I was a citizen exploring an open area, I decided to follow this track on foot and see where it led. The trail took me through beautiful open fields behind wealthy neighborhoods, and I thought how fun it must be to be a kid that lives in one of those neighborhoods with access to such a large and free space.
I came across the trailhead, and I understood that I had actually started at the midpoint of the trail. There was an informational center like you see at hiking trailheads with maps of the area and a list of rules. I found two interesting details in this booth. First, there are bicycle tool stations someplaces for unlucky cyclists that may need to change a tire or adjust a derailleur, and, second, a red ribbon tied to the back of a horse indicates that it has opportunities with its temperment. The list of rules even dictates that a rider alert and teach passerby of this rule if they seem to be oblivious as I was.
I studied the map of the farm for a few minutes and charted my path forward. I followed the trail back toward the two barns I had passed at the beginning and headed towards the placid pond in the distance. There was a gaggle of geese traipsing the banks of the pond. Signs on the bank indicated that the pond was stocked with fish you could catch and release as long as you had a valid fishing license. This seemed like a fun, clean place to take children for some light fishing.
As I continued down the path, a group of mountain bikers flew by me and seemed to be enjoying the relatively docile terrain. This was a good place to come and do a few laps on a mountain bike with nice scenery and safe surroundings clear of obstacles. Ahead on the trail was a staircase leading down to the Harpeth River and a sign that indicated this was a launching zone for canoes. The sign clearly laid out the various stops along the Harpeth and how they are identified. I followed the stairs down to the banks of the Harpeth and watched the quick water rush by as I thought of Siddhartha obtaining enlightenment on the bank of a river. This seemed realistic to me. The water flowed with the same rhythm as life, never stopping and going around impediments with little resistance. The Harpeth had a feeling of the Old South, and I was sure it was held in many memories across many generations.
The trail concluded at the horse arena and main barn. There were several buildings in the vicinity. Two old houses, several barns, and stables dotted the small, central area in front of the Walking Horse arena. I imagined how alive this place must have felt when it was thriving. I wondered if anywhere thrives like that then or ever before in the past, or was this a product of my imagination. I chose to believe the former, and I wished this for the generations of people to come.
As I was finishing my tour, I came across the gravesites of two horses, Gen.’S Major General and Midnight Sun. The headstones were nicer than most human’s gravestones. They were large and well maintained with a nice, white picket fence surrounding them that kept people from desecrating the sacred ground. Major General’s inscription stuck with me the rest of the day. “Champion of Champions. Sire of Sires.”
