For whom the Bells Bend

By: John Denson, john@densononline.com

Published On: May 25, 2010



For those of you who read this and haven’t the slightest idea what the fuss is about Bell’s Bend, it is simple: Bell’s Bend is gorgeous, rare, rich farmland… straddling the Cumberland River, with free range dogs, chickens, and a few fenced goats and llamas, and, best of all, peace. The grass is green, the clusters of trees natural, the bodies of water quiet, and with wide-winged waterfowl free to roam.

That’s what we did yesterday at sunset: roam. Bell’s Bend is but a stone’s throw from the Belle Meade Starbucks and nobody knows it, it seems. Just go out White Bridge Road, cross Charlotte (if you dare), and go a mile or two until you see an Old Hickory exit and go west until you see a light. There’s a market on the right and an old bridge on the left. Turn left. You are there.

Then wander. You can follow Old Hickory until it ends unceremoniously in the river, or turn right at any small lane to drift through farmland and acreage within a few miles of Harding Road—as the crow flies. Or the hawk. Or maybe, if he’s brave enough, the egret.

The main thing to do while drifting through Bell’s Bend is to stop. The car. The radio. The engine. You. And just listen to the quiet and watch as nature somehow runs its marvelous course right here in the city. We did. There is no traffic. I just turned my car off right there in the street. My friend took photographs of geese and a deer who seemed completely unperturbed with us, and then, after a bit of soaking this in, we rolled on.

There are bodies of water, there are old homes, old trucks. There are sod farms. There are pastures that reach farther than any of the Frist’s estates, yet with nothing on them but grass or soybeans or a crop of something. And these sights go on forever.

Why the fuss? A developer wants to pave it all, put up buildings with fake marble facades and sealed windows and plant a few Bradford pears in some parking lots where no cars will go. They want a northwest Nashville Cool Springs, and I can imagine nothing worse.

Look around now: we have parking lots everywhere and pre-planned trees and a zillion empty buildings. Why not fill them up first, before we pave a pristine wonderland to oblivion that’s right here in Davidson County. I doubt the geese and goats and egrets and hawks are looking to “relocate.” And the problem is there is no place left to relocate. If we keep paving and erecting these brick and marble things with blue glass panes, before long that’s all there will be.

Oh, please, let us not.

And sure, those of us reading this live near this stuff, off Harding or Woodmont or in Green Hills, congested with cars and salons and Starbucks, and we like it. But if we like it it’s because we can leave it in a moment’s notice. So if we fill this whole place up with more Macy’s and commercial space and condos there will be no escape. Except Seaside. And that’s no longer an escape: it’s just Belle Meade in March. So why not have our own, quiet reserve of nature right here?

Have you been? Did you know the city built a greenway and park there? Did you know it’s safe? And when is the last time you turned off your car, rolled down your windows, and heard the wonderful sound of no sound?

There are rumors the place smells; it does: like the open country should smell, not like, instead, the corner of Harding and Woodmont. There are rumors it’s built upon trash; it’s not, but odds are your office was.

There are a few folks who live out this way and they mind their own business, and will, as long as we let them be.

Please, let us. We have enough Home Depots and Walmarts and J. Crew’s. I know. I go to them from time to time and have no trouble finding whatever it is I don’t need.

Take a chance. Drive to Bell’s Bend. See why there are “no Maytown” signs in people’s yards. Once “out” there, you’ll know. You might even pause and ask “why?”

I have, every time I go.