There are days on a road trip when the universe hands you iron, fire, and history… and then follows it up with something delightfully weird just to keep you on your toes. Orr Park was exactly that.

We’d already spent the day weaving through Alabama’s industrial past — places like the rugged remains of Sloss Furnaces and the echoing brickwork at Tannehill Ironworks — only to land in Montevallo with a little road-trip exhaustion and zero expectations.

But that’s the thing about the road: when you’re tired, hungry, mildly annoyed, and ready for the day to be over… that’s usually when the magic hits.

Orr Park wasn’t planned as a grand finale. It was a funny little add-on, one of those weird stops I toss into itineraries for no other reason than “Dusty loves weird stuff.” And honestly? I do too.

What we found wasn’t just “weird.”
It was whimsical.
It was unexpected.
It was alive in a way dead trees usually aren’t.

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🌪️ Storm Damage, Broken Cedars & a Coal Miner With a Vision

Before it was a fantasy forest, Orr Park was a quiet 40-acre greenspace along Shoal Creek. Locals loved it for its ancient cedar grove—towering, old, and rooted deep in Montevallo’s history.

Then came the catastrophic 1993 ice storm.
The grove didn’t stand a chance.

The storm tore through the trees like an uninvited guest: splitting trunks, ripping limbs, and leaving behind a graveyard of shattered cedars. The city planned to haul the dead wood away, grind the stumps, and move on.

Everyone saw destruction.
Everyone except one man.

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🪓 Meet Tim Tingle, the Chainsaw Rebel of Montevallo

If you’re imagining a trained sculptor working in a velvet-lined studio, stop right there.

Tim Tingle spent 37 years as a coal miner — underground, covered in dust, and very much not surrounded by delicate art supplies. But he had an eye for creativity.

After the storm, Tim went to Orr Park hoping to pick up a few logs to carve at home.
He was told no.
The cedars were sacred. No cutting allowed.

But when the universe tells an artist “no,” the universe should really be prepared for “watch me.”

So Tim came back with his tools.
Waited until no one was looking.
And carved a horse head into a stump.

No permission.
No applause.
Just faith.

He carved a second stump.
Then a third.
By the sixth, the city finally caught him — and Tim admittedly expected police lights at his door.

But Montevallo surprised him.
Instead of punishment, the city council voted to let him continue carving the dead trees… as long as he kept things family-friendly and left the living trees alone.

And with that quiet act of rebellion, Tinglewood was born.

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🪵 Walking Through an Enchanted Forest

The first time Dusty and I came to Orr Park, it was peopley — birthday parties, kids running around, families camped on the fountain. One particular group refused to move from the spot I wanted to photograph (because of course), so I did what any seasoned traveler would do: took the photo anyway. Around them. With enthusiasm.

But the sculptures? Worth every bit of the chaos.

A gnome peering from behind a stump.
A wrinkled face with eyes deeper than the grain.
A dragon climbing skyward.
A wizard with a beard longer than my to-do list.

More than 30 carved figures now line the walking trail, each one growing out of a stump that once symbolized loss. Only the dead wood is carved; the living trees still stand tall, forming a canopy above these wooden guardians.

It’s whimsical.
It’s a little eerie.
It feels like the forest is awake.

Dusty, of course, took one look around and said:
“This is Labyrinth energy.”
And she was right. It’s the kind of place where your inner child comes out swinging with a wooden sword, daring goblins to show themselves.

If you want to see Orr Park through that lens — childlike wonder, nostalgia, and a touch of Henson magic — go watch her version on her channel. It’s perfect.

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🧭 Return Trip, Dashcam Footage, & a Hidden Letterbox

We loved Orr Park enough to come back a second time during Alabama Road Trip #3, mostly to snag dashcam footage… and partly to plant a little mischief.

There’s an old wheelbarrow in the park with a tree growing straight through it — a delightful little accident of nature reclaiming the junk we leave behind.

We tucked a letterbox underneath it.
Because what’s the point of weird stops if you can’t leave a little treasure behind?

We also found a random toilet in the woods.
I don’t have a moral to that story — it was just there, staring at us with porcelain judgment. Sometimes the road just gifts you a toilet.

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🌟 From Storm Ruins to a Town Identity

Today, Tinglewood is beloved.
It’s the beating heart of Orr Park, a place where families wander, kids play, and visitors stop just long enough to let imagination take the wheel.

The impact runs deeper than tourism. Montevallo now hosts the annual Tinglewood Festival, celebrating art, community, and chainsaws (yes, really). Live carving demonstrations echo through the park each fall, honoring the legacy Tim Tingle started with a single secret sculpture.

This forest isn’t just art.
It’s healing.
It’s connection.
It’s proof that destruction doesn’t have to be the end — sometimes, it’s the raw material for something extraordinary.

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🔮 Echo’s Corner: Whispers of Wood & Weathered Magic

Cedar trees have a strange way of remembering things.
Long before storms ever snapped their limbs or split their trunks, these ancient guardians held stories in their rings—droughts survived, fires endured, whispers carried on cold Alabama wind.

What most people don’t know is this:

Cedar doesn’t rot easily.
Even after death, the wood stays firm, fragrant, and stubbornly resistant to decay. That’s why Tim Tingle’s carvings hold their shape for so long—cedar is a natural storyteller. It clings to memory.

There’s another curious bit of lore tucked into Tinglewood’s roots:
In old Appalachian tradition, carved faces in tree stumps were believed to keep watch over travelers. Folks called them “wood spirits,” guardians meant to guide wanderers safely through forests and along footpaths.

So when you walk through Orr Park and catch the carved eyes following you—don’t worry.
They’re doing what they were carved to do.
They’re keeping you company.

Some say the storm awakened something in the cedar grove.
Others swear the spirits were always there and Tim just revealed the faces they already had.

Either way, the next time you wander beneath Montevallo’s green canopy, listen closely.
You might hear a low hum in the grain, a soft echo of chainsaw teeth and forgotten storms, and the quiet reassurance that even broken things can become guardians.

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🧭 If You’re Exploring Alabama’s History & Oddities…

Orr Park pairs beautifully with Alabama’s industrial history. If you’re planning your own road trip, these nearby stops tell the bigger story of the region:

• Sloss Furnaces: The Ghosts of Birmingham’s Iron Empire
• Tannehill Ironworks: From Fire to Forest
• Brierfield Ironworks: The Confederate Forge That Armed a War

Each one shows a different kind of resilience — fire, industry, creativity, and the strange ways places reinvent themselves after destruction.

Want more weird, wonderful, and slightly mischievous roadside stops?
Join the TMP Insiders list and get new stories, hidden-history guides, and free field-journal pages delivered straight to your inbox.
Let the road remember you.

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