Providence Canyon & Pasaquan

Georgia’s “Little Grand Canyon” is a wonderland of colorful canyons, sandstone spires, and coniferous trees. Quite possibly the least expected landscape you can find east of the Mississippi.

I'm not even gonna ease into it…this park is in GEORGIA. Not Utah, not Arizona…Georgia! And it's the most beautiful place in the Deep South no one's ever heard of…not Georgia natives, not nearby Florabama locals, and no one I met in the Carolinas or Tennessee had a clue about it either. There's something very interesting about that to me. Here I was, planning a whole road trip around visiting a place that not even the locals had ever heard of. But I'm used to going places that the general public isn't too privy to…that's a big draw to seeing those sights, for me. It's almost like being a lobbyist or spokesperson for disenfranchised destinations. And it's a responsibility I wear proudly, like the 46 pins on my denim jacket, because the world is awesome and there's a whole lot of it that doesn't get the recognition and attention it deserves. And I like to be the person to bring that to you.

So naturally, it was quite the honor to be a Yankee teaching people south of the Mason-Dixon line about the beauty that's in their own backyards…no planes necessary – not even a full tank of gas necessary for a lot of these southern gents and belles. I met quite a few folks who hadn't heard of the place pictured above, while I was on my "Quick South Trip" – labeled "quick" because it was initially supposed to be a very last-minute, tiny, two-state less-than-a-week-long adventure, but then it ultimately evolved into a 10-day, 2,000-mile road trip through six Southern states. What can I say, sometimes I just can't help myself. But every time I met someone who said they hadn't heard of Providence Canyon State Park, I whipped out my handheld internet and showed them immediately, with the enthusiasm of a knife salesman all jazzed up to unload an awesome new batch onto some new prospects.

Some folks I met even took a moment to jot down the name of my new favorite state park for future reference. Now that makes me really happy. Spreading the word, drawing//raising genuine interest to new and exciting places…it's a feeling similar to someone looking to you for advice and you replying with a perspective they'd never considered, but that resonates so well. I love playing roles like that for people.

Providence Canyon State Park is known as Georgia's Little Grand Canyon, and it's in a little town called Lumpkin that is far more scenic than its name leads you to believe. You ride rolling hills to get to this colorful canyon of pink, orange, purple, red, and white sands. With scenic overlooks all around the rim and 10 miles of easy to really rugged trails, it's ideal for adventurers of all ambitions. It's considered one of the Seven Natural Wonders of Georgia, and it's only 45 minutes south of Columbus, and just over two hours south of Atlanta. Easy hour and 45 from Montgomery, Alabama too.

Georgia's friendly, so naturally, we got along great. I saw a family of four (plus one dog) struggling to take a group selfie, so I offered to take it for them, as I always do. And they couldn't have been kinder to me or more eager to return the favor by taking photos of me. One of their sons took a photo of me with his instant-print FujiFilm camera. As soon as he snapped it, his mother gasped! "Matty, what did I tell you about taking pictures of people without their permission?!" Matty looked puzzled as if he still couldn't understand why he was being scolded for something so sweet and innocent. I love that innocence in kids. Those natural behaviors that haven't yet been altered by the shackles of enforced societal norms.

I chimed right in so Matty, and his mom would both know how ok I was with his sweet spontaneity, "Oh no, no, it's perfectly fine! Actually, Matty, I was hoping you'd take a photo of me with that cool camera." He smiled sweetly, looked down at his camera, and pulled out the picture it printed. He shook it wildly, "Gotta shake it up good. The air helps make it developed." The kid only had a few shots left in that thing, and he chose to take a picture of me with one of them. And even sweeter, he gave me the photo to keep. It's way over-exposed, can't see much of me at all, but I kept that little treasure clipped to the vent of my convertible Camaro for the rest of that road trip. Now, I keep it pinned with my precious postcards, ticket stubs, and travel-themed Christmas ornaments that cover the cork-board backdrop of my desk.

It's funny, I'm not nuts about kids in general. I don't think I want to have any of my own…too much work, too much responsibility, too much time away from me, and everything I love in life. Plus, I think it's a good rule of thumb that you need to want them a lot more than 13% before you go ahead and have them. And there's just far more of me saying "Nah, not for me," than "Heck yea, let's have a bunch!" But there are some kids I meet that I just want to pour so much extra love into. Some kids I just really connect with. I would love to try being an art therapist for kids someday. I'm tempted to specify and say "kids with special needs," but I think every kid has special needs. Every person has special needs, unique gifts…everyone deserves to be treated with love and kindness, and extra care. But the ones we're drawn to in particular, those are the ones that…there's something there…some wavelength we have in common, something we're going to teach or provide for each other.

I watched this little boy tell his mother, "I love you, Mommy," as he leaped into her arms, and she lifted him off the ground, squeezing him and spinning him around with glee. Her face told me that spontaneous act of love from her baby meant more than anything in the world. And I tried not to cry in that moment...emotional being that I am. Better get back to talking parks and van life with veteran dad. As soon as I told him about my blog, he offered to take a zillion pictures of me for it, and he had so many questions and so much encouragement. "Wow, that's so inspiring. Keep doing what you're doing. Keep pursuing that dream. OH! Right here! This spot's perfect…here let me get a shot of you over here…face that way so I can––nah, maybe more over here––gotta get that dope America shirt in the shot. George! Quit it! Sit, George!" 

George was the only one of them I could've done without. George was the rambunctious dog who didn't listen and intimidated me with his muscular demeanor and dead, lifeless eyes. Yup, you guessed it… I'm not a dog lover, either. There are a select few canines that have won me over, but this one didn't stand a chance, with its pointy ears, pointy face, pointy teeth, and loud, awful mouth. He also wasn't very photogenic, but he seemed nice with the kids, so I couldn't completely condemn him.

I talked to Matty's parents about our mutual love of America's parks and good old-fashioned road trips. They called Providence Canyon the South's best-kept secret, and they refused to acknowledge Florida as the South. Especially Jacksonville. When I mentioned I'd gone as far south as Jacksonville on this trip, Ryan replied, "Haha, oh, that's not the South," and his wife agreed. I laughed! This was the third time I'd heard this while in the South. First from folks in Savannah and then from a woman who lived in Jacksonville! I got such a kick out of it. A woman who worked at Bank of America in Jacksonville––a 5-star BofA if you ask me…they fixed me right up with a brand-spankin-new card after my original was frozen probably due to zigzagging in and out of states and making weird purchases from all sorts of vendors––she fully admitted that Florida, especially Jacksonville was not really the South. "Oh yea, have you noticed that no one has an accent here?" Truth is, I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I've heard any kind of southern accent anywhere in the state of Florida.

Georgia has a different kind of twang than South Carolina––love a good South Carolinian accent. And Alabama's is a different strain altogether...sometimes it can be a little hard to understand. But even the no-accent Floridians agreed that Florida was its own breed of location, exempt from the South, even though it is, in fact, the Southernmost state. 

I told Matty's parents the next offbeat destination on my list: Pasaquan and much like everyone I'd met before them said about Providence Canyon, they hadn't heard of it. "Really, just about half an hour out that way? Some kind of arts village or something?" Nope. They hadn't heard of it, and these were true Western Georgians. I didn't realize just how lesser-known the sights I was seeing truly were until I was bouncing from one to the next. 

What some refer to as a folk art palace, others call a quirky, colorful compound. Simply put, it is a pretty big building surrounded by unique carvings and massive murals, every inch of which was hand-painted by the builder and visionary, Eddie Owens Martin, later renamed Saint EOM (pronounced Ohm). When he was just 14 years old, he ran away from his abusive father, hitchhiking all the way from Atlanta to D.C., then on to NYC. There, he made a living as a street hustler, dope dealer, gambler, bartender, drag queen, and eventually a fortuneteller and artist. This was back in the 1920s, and he lived in the city that never sleeps until his mother passed away in 1957. St. EOM went back home to Buena Vista, Georgia, changed his name, and continued his fortunetelling career out of his mother's old farmhouse. He drew quite the crowd with his vivacious energy, lavish robes, elaborate feathered headdresses, and his beautifully manicured nails.

St. EOM wasn't afraid to express himself or to pursue his creative passions. And the money he made fortunetelling helped bring his vision of Pasaquan to life. "I built this place to have something to identify with, 'cause there's nothin' I see in this society that I identify with or desire to emulate. Here I can be in my own world, with my temples and designs and the spirit of God." He was eclectic. Never cut his hair because he believed it to be his antenna to the spiritual world. EOM dedicated 30 years of his life to constructing his artistic, spiritual, somewhat psychedelic, sanctuary inspired by African, pre-Columbian Mexican and Native American cultures.

EOM told continued telling fortunes and being uniquely him until the last days of his life. As his health began to decline, EOM grew increasingly more depressed and ended his own life at the age of 78. And like many artists, EOM received little recognition for his work during his lifetime. But today, Pasaquan is an internationally recognized visionary art environment that the Pasaquan Preservation Society (PPS) has been working to preserve for the past 30 years. And you can tour the space Friday through Sunday from 10 am to 5 pm. 

While I admire the creative forces that propelled EOM to create this space just for him that many others, in turn, identify with as well, I was surprised by how I felt during my time there. Much of his use of color reminded me of loud pieces I've painted in the past. It was certainly fun to marvel over and just fun to get there, to this place, I'd never heard of, and no one I'd ever met had never heard of. I was giddy walking through the entrance, admiring those first glimpses of pizzazz, but the deeper I moved through the artist's space, the less enchanted I felt. It was a strange experience, but really, how could it have been anything else?

There were a handful of cars in the gravel lot out front, and I thought I'd heard laughter and chatter coming from inside while I was on my way in. I even thought I'd spotted some shadows moving from one room to the next. Parts of this place, inside and out, really felt like a maze. The more bizarre I began to feel, the more I tried catching up to the people who were surely just a few steps ahead of me. But I never did.

I was determined to shake the eerie feeling and see every speck of artistry, every wall, every inch St. EOM spent 30 years of his life creating. And I did just that. I left no creepy, brightly-colored corner unturned. And then I felt like I wanted to leave quickly. I didn't want any more of the unusual vibe to latch onto me – I didn't want the eccentric echoing music to linger any longer in my mind, so I flew back through the maze to find my way out. Back to Buena Vista, a place I'd never left, but somehow did, and man did it feel good to get back on those rollercoaster roads, tearing through farm country in my temporary Camaro. 

The strangeness returns as I write about Pasaquan. It wasn't the experience I expected to find there. Even looking at the many photos evokes something unusual within me. A sense of pride also surfaces, similar to the feeling I get when I'm mining for gems, and I find one...even if it is a weird, scaly one that I'm not enamored with.

But don't let my one experience shape your potential experience. I won't even let my one experience stop me from going again if I happen to be in the area. It's interesting how different factors create different results. Had I seen people touring the place with me, maybe I would've been less spooked or not spooked at all. If I'd been walking through with someone I knew, our vibes and impressions would've been ping-ponging off each other. If it had rained, I might not have gone. If it had snowed, I might've stayed even longer. You just never know.

I like to share my experiences for exactly what they were. And I'd say my time at Pasaquan begs further investigation. If you go, let me know what you think and feel while you're there. And if you've ever had the slightest inclining to explore the Deep South, don't you dare skip Providence Canyon State Park. It's like a little piece of Utah made its way to a town nobody knows in Georgia. And in terms of natural beauty, it was the most gorgeous thing I saw on my 2,000-mile "Quick South" adventure.

But how did I even hear about these places? Roadtrippers.com, of course. They are THE best source for finding cool things you never knew were out there. I wouldn’t plan a road trip without them, unless of course, I just want to just drive and drive and let the signs dictate where I go. And since plane travel is feeling less and less likely this year, I’m deeming it the year of the road trip and taking it as a sign that we should all be planning our next one. (I’ve already got five new routes in the works on my Roadtrippers Plus page.)

If you’re intrigued, click here and use my promo code: FPRT235XTX to sign up and get $5 off your Roadtrippers Plus membership (it’s $29.99 a year). Map it out, (reach out for tips 🙋🏻‍♀️), then hit the road and find your peace in a piece of Americana.