Author David Fleming's Epic Journey to Find Freedom Springs (and the most important documents in human history!) + an Excerpt from Chapter 5: Let Freedom Spring

By David Fleming, ESPN Senior Writer and author of Who’s Your Founding Father?

THE FIRST TIME I went looking for Freedom Spring, and the birthplace of American independence, I got lost in the woods. Like, legitimately, honest-to-goodness, How long will my family wait to call the cops? lost. When you’re on a global hunt for one of the most important documents in human history, getting lost – in archives, cemeteries, church basements, national parks and the London tube – is just part of the gig, I suppose. Besides, it almost always leads to either a great adventure, an amazing discovery or, at the very least, a fantastic story to share over a few honey ales.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, all three.

Provided you survive, of course.

Once you learn the incredible story behind the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence of May 20, 1775 – perhaps, by even reading about it on the side of a beer can – you begin to realize how 247 years later the MecDec still hides in plain sight throughout Mecklenburg County and at landmarks literally just miles from the front door of Lost Worlds Brewing. The MecDec is referenced in school names, parks, streets, on our license plates (and our best beers) and even atop the official state flag of North Carolina.

And if you’ve driven down Old Statesville Road (115) to avoid traffic on I-77, chances are, just below Huntersville, you’ve seen an oddly out of place, giant state park-style sign that reads:

ALEXANDRIANA: Birthplace of the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence.

For centuries the MecDec legend said that this swath of land, now wedged between an Amazon warehouse and I-485, contained a natural spring somewhere deep in the woods where a group of whisky-loving Princeton scholars first met to discuss formally declaring independence from England years before Thomas Jefferson ever put pen to paper.

Hoping to find what amounts to the very wellspring of American independence, I scoured these woods like Ponce de Leon for months trying to locate the spot known as Freedom Spring. During that stretch I managed to find some Taco Bell leftovers, a shotgun shell, a locked safe, a bag full of diapers, a flip phone, a sleeping bag, several snakes and one especially vindictive skunk.

But no spring.

And so, in Who’s Your Founding Father? the focus of Chapter 5 “Let Freedom Spring” became all about my final, desperate attempt to locate Freedom Spring once and for all by basically begging the pastor at Independence Hill Baptist Church (located next to Alexandriana) to help me with my search using divine intervention or any other tools at his disposal:

Before Pastor Todd sends me on my way, though, I at least want to confess,

to someone, the deep significance of this Freedom Spring and why, at

this stage of my quest, cannonballing into it would be transformative for

both me and the story. “Imagine if it actually exists, though, right? I mean,

like, holy cow,” I stutter and stammer, pleading to Pastor Todd’s back. In

one long run- on sentence I explain that, to me, because McKnitt was the

chief architect and eyewitness to it all, that makes Freedom Spring a bit like

the holy grail of the MecDec: a physical validation and connection to the literal

and figurative wellspring of our freedom, independence, and patriotism.

“In my mind,” I stammer, “it’s, like, as close as we can get to the actual

document . . . like standing among the Signers . . . like . . . like . . .”

At this point I’m just full- on blubbering when Pastor Todd slowly turns

back around. Instead of cutting me off and locking up the cabinet, though,

he’s carefully reaching deep into the back, past an ancient, tattered Bible, to

retrieve an antique, heavy pewter frame containing a grainy black- and- white

photo from 1941 of an Independence Hill member being baptized . . . in a

nearby spring.

“You mean this spring?” Pastor Todd says with a shrug so nonchalant, if I

didn’t know any better I’d swear this man of God was totally F’ing with me.

Actually, his reaction makes it seem like he’s been waiting years for someone

from the MecDec world to finally come looking for the Freedom Spring.

But no one ever has.

“Yeah,” he says, “I think I know where that is.”

Stunned, relieved, and then so excited I have to resist the urge to sprint

out of the church and into the nearest clump of woods to begin searching

for the source. I practically yell, “Can you point me in the right direction?”

Pastor Todd exhales as if mentally clearing his afternoon schedule. Then

he taps his phone and brings it to his ear. On the other end is the construction

foreman from the massive apartment complex going up across the street

who sounds like he’s either a full- blown member of Independence Hill or,

at the very least, an aspiring Baptist like me. The foreman puts us on hold

for a hot second while he hollers at his sheetrock guy. Then, after some back

and forth and assurances from Pastor Todd that we have the proper safety

equipment, the foreman says, “Well, then, okay. Y’all come on over and have

a look.”

***

Wearing our matching fluorescent safety vests, Pastor Todd and I

begin making the trek through the massive construction site. It’s an obstacle

course of torn- up ground, twenty- foot- high stacks of prefab attic eaves,

active cement trucks and backhoes beeping everywhere, garbage dumpsters

and the endless pop- pop- pop of a hundred nail guns. After about a half mile

of following the property’s gradual downward slope, we reach the deserted

northern end of the site that’s bordered by a series of freshly built retaining

walls and drainage ponds, all of it framed by long stretches of black silt

fencing. Six months ago this was all thick, tall forest. Now, only a thin, bare

minimum section of trees has been left standing to act as a natural buffer

between the future tenants and a highway off- ramp.

Seeming a little disoriented, Pastor Todd stands at a dead end on top

of a high embankment and stares intently down into the woods. Nearly

seventy- five years ago, when Independence Hill regularly used Freedom

Spring as its baptismal font, the church dug out and framed a small wading

pool for submersion. And for several minutes, Pastor Todd silently surveys

the woods for these remnants, searching back and forth like the captain of a

ship leaning out over his bow, desperately looking for land.

My sense is he’s feeling a little sad, or angry, seeing this once sacrosanct

spot reduced to a parking lot and storm drainage for millennials.

Until finally he stops and points.

“Ha! There it is!” he shouts.

In a flash, I’m surfing down the loose embankment, hand over fist, up

to my waist in dirt, dust, and brambles. When I approach an orange plastic

construction fence marked with numerous warnings, I realize Pastor Todd is

still right beside me and now, just as I predicted, my partner in crime. While

we game plan how to manage the fence, the initial wave of joy and excitement

is replaced by a strange and suddenly overwhelming sense of urgency

to get to the small, reflective brook just thirty feet away.

I want to fly there in one giant leap, like in a dream.

Because, at this distance, John McKnitt Alexander’s Freedom Spring—

the actual wellspring of our country’s patriotism and independence— appears

to still be alive and flowing.

But just barely.

Feeling the same way, Pastor Todd simply stomps on the waist- high

plastic construction fence with his foot and waves me onward like an

usher. As we approach through the thick woods, the spring looks more

like a small mud puddle. It’s underwhelming and sad, at first, like finding

sections of the actual Berlin Wall behind the urinals at the Main Street

Station Casino in Las Vegas. Just below the spring, though, I see the remnants

of the wood- framed baptism reservoir. It’s about five feet wide and

fifteen feet long, with steps on one end, and must be about four feet deep.

For safety’s sake, it looks like someone years ago tried to cover it with a

chain link fence that has been pulled back to reveal the tank is mostly full

of sediment and leaves.

Now at the spring’s edge, as soon as I stand still the sound of bubbling

water tickles my ears.

I exhale and chuckle in disbelief.

We found it. We actually found it. Incredible.

When I look up, I’m shocked to realize that we’re at least one hundred

feet practically straight down from the top of the ravine. As soon as the natural

secret- alcove features of this place begin to take shape, it becomes easy

to picture McKnitt and the rest of the MecDec brain trust gathered around

here, sitting on log benches, cups in hand, in the middle of some spirited

debate about how best to proclaim our independence.

Without thinking, I drop to my knees at the water’s edge and reach

into the crystal- clear pool. I cup a tiny amount of water from the Freedom

Spring in my palm. As the liquid leaks through my fingers, I realize I don’t

really have anything clever or meaningful prepared for this moment. The

old- timers in Charlotte are fond of the Revolutionary- era toast of “Huzzah!”

Instead, I just kind of salute the spring with my hand and then repeat what I

think is the most important revolutionary phrase from the MecDec.

It’s something the Freedom Spring crew probably first uttered and toasted

to right here at this exact spot 245 years ago, as tensions with England escalated

beyond repair.

“Free and independent,” I whisper before taking a tiny sip of the water.

Good lord. This is completely nuts.

I’ve just shared a drink with our Founding Fathers.

Well, that, or I’ve just given myself a historic case of Alexandiarrhea.

These incredible, serendipitous moments happened so often during the research and writing of this book that I eventually gave them a cheesy moniker: MecDec Magic. And the collaboration with Lost Worlds Brewing might just be the greatest bit of MecDec Magic of them all.

Lost Worlds’ amazing marketing guru, Sherri Johnson, has been a close family friend for decades. And I met and became friends with owner Dave Hamme just last year when – get this – our kids wound up going to Davidson Day’s senior prom together.

At the start of 2023 when we first met to discuss a potentially groundbreaking book/beer collab I told Dave and Sherri about my epic adventure searching for Freedom Spring. And before I had even finished telling the story we had already come up with a plan to revisit the spring together and collect a few precious drops for the MecDec Honey Ale recipe.

Now that I knew exactly where I was going it was great to be back in those woods again, back at that sacred spring, reconnected in some tiny way with our country’s first, true Founding Fathers. While the water bubbling out of the ground is still crystal clear, the area itself has seen better days. The baptismal font is in disrepair, full of debris and covered in old chain-link fencing. And the once pristine spot is now framed on the southeast by a parking lot and a muddy drainage pond.

Standing there at the Freedom Spring in early March, Dave, Sherri and I were already daydreaming about the next possible phase of our collab: after the greatest book/beer launch party in history on May 20th, maybe we would turn our attention to renovating Freedom Spring back to its original glory as a functioning spring and historical meeting spot where the Lost Worlds family and fellow history nerds from around the world could gather and raise a glass to toast Charlotte’s restored status as the true cradle of American independence on May 20, 2025 -- the semiquincentennial anniversary of the MecDec.

I'll see you there. Unless I get lost.