The 13 trips she made to Maryland's Eastern Shore are the most awe me as an Historian. She stole from family and friends much like Tubman did when she escaped enslavement in 1849. Tubman grew into a fearless conductor along the perilous routes of the Underground Railroad, guiding enslaved people on journeys that stretched hundreds of miles to the north, ending on the free soil of Pennsylvania, New York and Canada.
The 200th anniversary of Tubman's birth is celebrated this year and there are many monuments to her in the landscape of her native county. The rising waters of climate change are washing away the memories of Tubman that are embedded in the coastal marshland, only to discover that I was headed to the Eastern Shore to learn how people remember this Black American freedom fighter.
Tubman waded into tall grass and maneuvered through dense forests during each rescue. Tubman was guided by the stars as he moved. The ultimate outdoors woman, according to a Maryland State Park Ranger, was someone who made the region her ally as she resisted slave patrols and a system that held Black Americans as mere chattel.
I know that Tubman's time here is over. She escaped to free soil in Pennsylvania more than a century and a half ago and only returned to the Eastern Shore for the rescues of slaves. I wanted to return to Tubman's land to better understand how her past informs our present.
Tubman was dedicated to securing America's best ideals in the face of its worst sins, including slavery and racism. Historians and the National Park Service believe that Tubman was born in March 1822. She began her career as a conductor when she was 30. When the Civil War broke out, her reputation for bravery was already established. Tubman risked capture if he joined the Union's front lines to defeat the Confederates.
Her service as a nurse, a relief worker, a scout, and a spy earned her a pension decades later. Tubman established a home for aging and indigent Black Americans, many of whom, like her, had little means of support during their final years. Tubman promoted efforts to win votes for Black and white women up until her death, even though she never fully retired.
Tubman is celebrated for her ability to make a lot of trouble. The voting rights activist and two-time candidate for governor of Georgia is one of the people who admitted their debt to her. Tubman is credited with inspiring her own efforts to raise the political consciousness of Americans. There is a plan to put a portrait of Tubman on the $20 bill. Americans may have the chance to carry Tubman's likeness with them as a reminder that the nation's prosperity was made possible by women and men who had so little and yet contributed so much.
I made a pilgrimage to the place where Tubman was born. I drove across the low-slung, open jaw of the bay to the eastern shore from the state capital of Annapolis. I traveled to Tubman's native county on two-lane roads that took me past small farms and waterways.
Tubman was born on the Delmarva Peninsula, which is also known as Delaware-Maryland-Virginia. Slaveholders shuttled a young Tubman between work in fields, waterways, yards and homes, often separated from her family.
Tubman's story is told on the walls of two visitor centers that blend into the gray and brown of the natural landscape. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service tells her story at the Blackwater National Wildlife refuge. The story of Tubman is told at the Visitor Center which is operated by a partnership between the National Park Service and the Maryland Park Service. To introduce guests to Tubman's life and work on the Eastern Shore, the visitor center invites them to discover how she knew the area. Tubman was able to rescue scores of people because she knew how to navigate the region.
Black Marylanders are proud of Tubman. There is a fight against slavery and racism. Descendants of Tubman's family are among the locals. Donald Pinder, a local businessman who was involved in protecting Tubman's memory, died last year. The museum and educational center is located in a storefront in the small city of Cambridge. There are epic history and local memories on the walls. Tubman's life has been celebrated by generations of Black Maryland farmers, sailors, and rural families who have grown up far away from cities like Baltimore and Washington, DC.
The trials Tubman faced as she steered loved ones across the rugged landscape and out of bondage inspired Mr. Pinder to encourage me to get outside. I was able to follow his directions to the cemetery. A group of gravestones were visible from the narrow country road. I found out that it was Mr. Pinder's family graveyard and that he sent me there. Tubman used to live on the Eastern Shore. Black Marylanders who were Tubman's neighbors but never joined her freedom train were honored. The past and the present are both companion tales.
A Park Service site dedicated to Tubman was in the works when I first visited the area. The only sign of what is now the Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad National Historical Park is a marker on the side of the road. The answer is through the land. The natural world is so important to Tubman that the Park Service encourages even casual visitors to know about it.
As an enslaved girl separated from her family, Tubman tended their traps inside the visitor center. Tubman learned how to navigate the Eastern Shore's forests and waterways while working in the timber fields. Tubman attributed her survival and success to her faith. The Tubman Byway is a 120-mile route that maps Tubman's journeys.
Under the gloom of an overcast sky, I walked along a path that leads to the visitor center. It was the sound of my feet crunching against the gravel that made me realize how large the area was. I couldn't figure out where the scratching came from. I was able to hear my own breath. Even though I was close to the park rangers, I still listened for human voices. Tubman kept an eye out for the sounds of slave catchers trying to stop her freedom mission.
When I told a Friends of Blackwater volunteer that I was interested in understanding Tubman's experience, he suggested a slow car ride along the Wildlife Drive. Tubman's travels included the smart and studied company of other inhabitants who, like her, were able to survive by understanding the terrain. I was not losing money for the company. A red-winged blackbird kept talking as we lingered above the wetlands on a raised platform. A statuesque white great egret stepped gingerly through a shallow inlet in search of lunch. Local eagles regard the resident red fox as a meal, but I keep an eye out for it.
Climate change is making the terrain that was the site of Tubman's earliest exploits very different today. The transformation took me by surprise when I saw the ghost forest. In the salty waters of the bay, decaying trees stand tall, weathered to an eerie gray color. There are skeletons of oaks and pines that defy efforts to preserve Tubman's memory.
I ventured farther off the beaten path out to Parson's Creek and a thread of water that was known as Stewart's Canal in Tubman's time, because I felt inspired. The enslaved laborers who cut the canal that serviced timber production left a scar on the bridge that crosses the wetlands. Grasses are starting to claim it. Tubman and her father, Ben Ross, felled, chopped and wrestled trees along these waterways as they were freed from slavery. The scenes of Tubman's labor are almost idyllic.
Even if I didn't hear the voice of God that she said guided her journeys, Tubman's country had a ritual quality that felt almost spiritual. Tubman found her purpose here. Black women walk in her name as a tribute today. After the killing of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis, Linda Harris and seven friends walked a total of 116 miles. On my walk alone, I quietly hummed to myself, even if I wasn't paying attention. The trek wasn't just about mileage. For my mind to gather itself, I needed to keep company with my own thoughts.
The Underground Railroad routes Tubman followed had a patchy network of allies, secret passages and safe houses. Tubman used quick, strategic thinking to foil the patrols and slave catchers that policed the Eastern Shore. I imagined her with moments to think about her world and what she meant to it.
When it is estimated that 50 percent of the lower Eastern Shore's high marshes will be gone by the year 2050, Tubman would encourage people to take a long time to discover her memory. Land has already been lost to rising tides according to satellite images. The places where birds used to stop as they traveled north and south are gone.
Tubman's story points to the nation's highest ideals after two centuries. Aspirations for freedom, dignity and equality are still high in the man-made world. Tubman's story shows the land she knew so well. The Tubman Park and the Blackwater refuge are both part of the same story. Tubman fought against slavery on the land where she lived in the 19th century. The climate challenge of our time may be discovered along the way.
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