Category: Fundamentals

During our RV trip, our family met in Southern California to spend some time with our son and his family in the town where they live. That reunion went by all too quickly, but Helen and I were grateful for every minute of the time we had together. I’m always envious of my friends who live near their grandchildren and have the opportunity to be with them regularly.

A few weeks ago, Justin, our son who lives in California told us that he missed our mountains and needed a Tennessee fix. He was searching for airline tickets and would call us as soon as he found some that would work. He called back the next day to tell us that he booked the flights and the whole family would be with him. We were elated. Justin’s work is very demanding, and he would only be able to stay for five days.  His only request was a trip to the mountains and to spend some time with his grandmother. Helen went to work on a plan the moment he hung up.

On the scheduled day of arrival, I felt that if the children didn’t land soon, Helen would explode she was so excited. She could hardly contain herself when they entered the airport lobby and greeted them with big hugs. Let the fun begin.

The first evening was a quiet one while everyone adjusted to the time zone change.  Three hours is a big adjustment, but everyone handled it well after a quick dip in the neighborhood pool and, by bedtime, the grandchildren did not seem to notice any difference at all.

We planned an outing to one of our lakes for the first big event, but the weather did not cooperate, so we went to a showing of the Lion King instead. I was eager to see the remake of this movie and was not disappointed. The children sat in rapt attention through the entire movie as did their parents.  As a bonus, the theater recently installed large comfortable recliners for seating, and I took full advantage.

We finally made it to the lake on day two for some fishing.  A friend permitted us to use her dock and we jumped on it.  No one caught fish, but any day spent relaxing on the lake is a good one.

Although neither of our children lives in Tennessee, we do have a large number of family members nearby and when a child comes home for a visit, someone usually organizes a family gathering. Helen got the word out as soon as we knew the dates for this visit, and we ended up with 29 people for barbeque and potluck side dishes. I prepared two large pork shoulders for the meal and my granddaughter helped me by injecting the marinade into both of them.

She did well. The meal was outstanding, and it was great to see everyone. My mother, the children’s great-grandmother came and had a wonderful time.  At 91, she is something else. Mom still drives and is very self-sufficient.  She and the children worked on Helen’s latest puzzle together.

On day four, Justin finally got his wish and we drove to Abrams Creek Campground, inside the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Our purpose was not camping, we were going to fish, swim, and hike. The weather was perfect–warm with no humidity, and Abrams Creek was flowing well after recent rains. School is in session in Tennessee, so the campground was only half full and we pulled into a campsite next to the creek for a picnic.

I love this campground.  In my youth, I camped here often as a member of the Boy Scouts. When our children were little, Helen and I took them here on their first camping trip and returned often. There is a deep pool near our parking spot that is perfect for swimming and the grandchildren took advantage while their Dad tried his luck at fishing. I started out wading, but soon had to join in and took a dip in the cool, clear water.

We lingered long in the campground because no one wanted to leave. The children found a log that crossed the entire creek and sat on it while watching small trout swim below their feet. I enjoyed being back at this favorite place.  My last visit was probably 35 years ago on our last camping trip here. We chose to camp in Cherokee National Forest, the subject of last week’s post, as the children grew older and never returned to Abrams Creek. The campground is for tent camping only, so our Lucy would not do well here in the smaller campsites.  Nevertheless, Abrams Creek is a wonderful place for a family outing.

Time waits for no one, and the time to return to California came early the next morning. Everyone was up at 4:00 am for the trip to the airport.  The children were surprisingly alert for such an early hour.  Their grandfather was a bit sluggish.  Coffee helped.

With the car unloaded at the airport, everyone said their goodbyes and exchanged big hugs. Helen and I watched as the four of them walked through the doors and into the terminal. I had hoped to pump the brakes on their visit and spend it just Easin’ Along, but, five short days were just that…all too short.

 

Helen and I just returned from a three-month, 8,400-mile, RV trip that still provides us with wonderful memories of incredible places, delightful people, and over-the-top food. We’re grateful for the experience and feel so blessed that we had the opportunity to do something that we talked about and dreamed about for so long. Hopefully, much more of the same is in our future. Nevertheless, once home and the daily routines re-established, it didn’t take long until I felt the pull of the place I call my Tranquility Base, a name I borrowed from the astronauts that walked the moon’s surface.

The mountains and streams of the Cherokee National Forest near Tellico Plains, Tennessee have had a grip on me ever since my first camping trip there on my 30^th birthday. To this day, I still can’t believe it took me that long to discover a place so peaceful and so beautiful, but I suppose the reason is that the entrance to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park is close to where I grew up therefore, I spent time there in my youth.

We had only been home for about two weeks when I felt the tug. Although we had just spent three months in a laid-back state of mind and hiking in the mountains of Arizona and Utah, I couldn’t help myself.  I needed a mountain fix of a different kind. Using the excuse that I needed to explore the campgrounds for a site big enough for Lucy, our fifth-wheel that is larger than our previous trailers, I took off on the first morning I had a chance. The truth is that I needed to reassure myself that a place so dear to me had not disappeared in my absence.  Silly, I know, but I had to find out.

Tellico Plains is a little more than an hour’s drive south of my home, and I could drive there blindfolded, I’m certain. The town sits on the edge of the National Forest. Less than two minutes from the center of this small town, the Tellico River, flowing out of the mountains, meets the side of the road.  It is at that point where tranquility takes over: peace and calm reign supreme. I treasure every inch of the drive along that river to Big Oak Cove campground some 20 miles away.

I always roll down the windows so that I can hear the river roar as it cascades over the rocks. Filtered sunlight makes its way to the surface of the river in places, permitting a peek of the smooth stones beneath the clear water. Occasionally, a trout will create small ripples as it grazes through the latest hatch in search of a small meal.

A few miles along the road, I stop to join other visitors taking pictures of Bald River Falls, a waterfall that I have shared with readers several times. Recent rains have provided the river above the falls plenty of water to delight all of us with a camera. A cool mist drifts away from the falling water.

Driving on, I leave the River Road to follow North River, a smaller stream leading to North River Campground, the site of my first visit over forty years ago.  I camped there with the Appalachian Anglers Society, a group passionate about fly fishing for Rainbow and Brook trout both here and in the National Park.  There were about fifty fellow Anglers at my first camping experience. The number of campers has varied over the years, but the experience is always the same…pure fun in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. On this visit, there were three empty campsites and I feel sure that Lucy could fit in one of the two in front of the stream. Success!

I spent the rest of the afternoon visiting other campgrounds along the river.  As usual, there were more campsites than campers.  Selfishly, I remain hopeful that this slice of heaven remains a well-kept secret, but I fear that the word is getting out. I trust that readers will keep that secret between us friends.

I end most visits to Tellico with a stop at the trout hatchery to watch the huge trout swim in the long runs of water diverted from the river. A visit there is especially fun at feeding time when hundreds of brightly colored trout splash madly at food pellets thrown by a hatchery employee. I didn’t stop on this visit, time was fleeting, but I did see a Ranger release trout into the River as part of the stocking program. I made a note of the location.

Being short on time also prevented me from driving to the Bald at the top of Waucheesi Mountain, another favorite.  When our children were young, we would camp at Holly Flats Campground at the base of the mountain and drive to the Bald at night to watch shooting stars streak across the sky. I loved hearing them “Ooh” and “Ahh” as a star flashed across their view. The drive down the dark mountain always put them to sleep.

Although I could have stayed for a week, the time had come to turn around and follow the River back to Tellico Plains and then on to Knoxville. As I always do, I insert my John Denver, Live CD into the player and sing along, accompanied by the roar of the River.  This tradition began with the cassette version of the album that I would use to torture my children with my singing on our earlier camping trips. A CD replaced the cassette, but my singing has not improved. My apologies to Mr. Denver, but “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” always triggers an urge to sing.  I calm down for “Annie’s Song” but still vocalize every word, loudly.

Tranquility Base…something everyone should have. The Apollo 11 astronauts had theirs, and I’m Easin’ Along in mine. Where’s yours?

Twenty years ago, our church began a tradition of adopting families in a small, rural Appalachian community, and providing them with gifts to brighten up the Christmas season. In previous years, Helen (adorable wife) and I have adopted families and shopped for them, but three years ago (post-retirement) I volunteered to deliver the gifts to the Community Center which serves as the collection point. On Monday of this week, our volunteers gathered at the church for another year of spreading cheer.

I arrived at the church to find it already abuzz with activity. Stacks of wrapped boxes and brightly colored gift bags sat in SUVs ready for the trip.  I placed gifts for two families in Freddie (my car) and joined the group inside for last minute instructions from Margaret, our volunteer leader and organizer, and a prayer led by Mark, our associate pastor. Minutes later, the convoy moved out.

The Clearfork Community Center sits in the tiny Appalachian town of Eagan, Tennessee. Eagan is a former coal mining community tucked into the Clearfork Valley a few miles below the Tennessee and Kentucky border. Our church has always referred to the area as Roses Creek. I don’t know where that name comes from unless it is the name of one of the small creeks that flow into the Clearfork River running alongside the community center. Hopefully, a reader will tell me.

We left Knoxville in heavy fog to begin an hour and a half drive traveling 75 miles north on I-75. We planned to cross the Cumberland Mountains in Campbell County and meet up at the state line in Jellico where all nine cars would form a convoy to Roses Creek. The fog persisted until I punched through it at the mountaintop, around 2,000 feet above sea level. The bright sunshine illuminated the dense fog covering the valley floor and I couldn’t restrain myself from taking pictures from Freddie’s front seat at 70 miles per hour (photo above). I was the fifth of nine cars when I arrived at the rendezvous point.

Within about five minutes the rest of our group arrived, and we began snaking our way up, over, and around the mountain to our destination. Once again, we found ourselves beneath the fog that filled the valley. We proceeded slowly for the last 20 miles and followed a creek for most of the drive. In some respects, this is an area forgotten by time.  We passed several abandoned homes and small country stores that I assumed sprang up at a time when coal was king. Coal mining continues in the region, but the coal industry offers few jobs now, and there are even fewer young men willing to brave the dangers of coal mine work.

 

I remembered a few landmarks from previous trips and, after about thirty minutes, they came into view and we were turning onto the gravel drive leading to the Community Center. Everyone began unloading packages.  Margaret had organized the families by name and number and we completed the unloading and assembly process rather quickly.  The director of the Center was on hand to greet us. She was truly grateful for our support as well as excited about the joy that would come from the recipients. I’m not certain when the families would receive the gifts. None were present when we were there. 

I spent a few minutes walking around the community center. Mounted on the entry hall wall was a large picture depicting mining activity during the 1920s. Other pictures told the story of the people who had formed the community around the same time. From the time Helen and I began adopting Roses Creek families, I’ve always felt a kinship to the people of this region.  My father grew up here with two brothers raised by a single Mom.  He left after serving in World War II when the GI Bill made college affordable.

The center itself once house the Eagan School, but a former nun named Margaret Cirillo came to the area around 1960 to assist Appalachian families and secured a grant to convert the school into an institute for the benefit of the job-starved residents of the Clearfork Valley.  Margaret has devoted her life to the people of Appalachia. A YouTube Video tells her story and I have posted a link to that video that is viewable by clicking here. Margaret was not there to greet us, but I hope to have the opportunity to meet her sometime in the future.

The director prepared cookies and sandwiches for our group and we enjoyed them before the return to Knoxville. By the time we said our goodbyes, the sun had penetrated the fog with just enough light to reach the floor of the Clearfork Valley. Looking to my right as I drove away from the center, I spotted a small clapboard house below the road. A chimney poked through a tarpaper-covered roof, billowing smoke.  Stacks of split firewood surrounded the house.  I guessed that the owner gave up on coal long ago…probably for reasons having nothing to do with heat.

I drove on feeling extremely blessed for the life I have — Merry Christmas to all, especially to those in Roses Creek. We’re Easin’ Along…