The Ground on Which I Stand: Tamina, A Freedmen’s Town by Marti Corn (review)

The story of Tamina, a dispersed historic settlement in southern Montgomery County between Conroe and Houston, is both familiar and unique. One of countless emancipation towns or freedmen communities that developed in the eastern part of the state following the Civil War, it has managed to survive to the present despite overwhelming odds. Originally rural in nature and much more expansive, it now represents an isolated pocket of the past within a rapidly developing metropolitan area. The original determinants of the community are now gone or have been compromised by development along its historic boundaries, but a core of people remain, and with them remains a strong and rich heritage of independence, perseverance, and resolve. The residents reflect diversity in their share of the past; some are descendants of original settlers, some are relatively new to the area, and still others have returned after sojourns far afield. Tamina represents the intangible, but clearly evident, sense of place that draws generations to the land, even when that land has changed dramatically over time.

Through oral histories, personal essays, and compelling color photographs, including those of individuals who shared their memories through the text, documentarian Marti Corn presents an important community study, one that extends its relevance far beyond Montgomery County. The author chose to convey the story by focusing on Tamina’s families, a structure that highlights the sense of belonging that underpins the personal memories. As readers follow the family stories, they will begin to understand the viability of all similar communities within broader cultural contexts. They will also be captivated by the seemingly simple and yet profoundly provocative pictures that speak of community identity. Among them are the scene of three siblings gathered at the overgrown Sweet Rest Cemetery; the proud visage of the Rev. Elvin Ginns in front of the Falvey Memorial Baptist Church he pastored for thirty-eight years; and the starkly poignant view of William “Bubba” Webber seated alone on a whitewashed church pew set out under the trees. The words of the residents are equally compelling, as when Jaren Chevalier noted, “we are such a tight family, it would be hard to leave” (17), or when Shirley Grimes told, “When I go home, I can walk the land that was so important to me as a girl.… This is where I’m supposed to be” (69).

The future of Tamina is at best uncertain, but then that has been part of its history since the beginning. It may have been a freedmen’s town in its inception, but it is now a legacy town as well. As an important element of our collective history, it is a reminder of a time when communities sometimes evolved and survived on little more than hope and history. Thanks to Marti Corn and the residents of Tamina, we now have a model for identifying, appreciating, and celebrating similar vestiges of our shared past, even as they tenaciously hang on along the edges of great change.