Easin' Along

Eastern Tennessee was enveloped in glorious fall weather last week. The leaves began showing their colors in the higher elevations, and the temperatures hovered in the mid-70s. More than a week passed without a cloud in the sky. Helen was visiting our granddaughters in Charleston, leaving Mortimer and me to fend for ourselves. Cabin fever set in quickly, and I had to get out.

On Tuesday, I clicked on a Facebook post featuring pictures of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park posted by visitors to the Cades Cove Loop. Without hesitating, I grabbed the camera bag and a couple of bottles of water, jumped into my truck, and drove the 40 miles to the entrance of Cades Cove. Although I visit the National Park several times yearly, primarily on the North Carolina side, the last time I visited Cades Cove was in the late 1980’s.

Cades Cove is a lush valley surrounded by mountains on all sides. Wildlife, such as black bears, deer, and elk, roam freely throughout the area. The Cades Cove Loop is a one-way, eleven-mile road around the valley featuring historical structures that pre-date the National Park, hiking trails, and a visitor center. I arrived at the entrance a little after five p.m., hopeful that most crowds had moved on.

From the Loop, I had a fabulous view of the mountains and the emerging color from the branches of the oak, hickory, and maple trees covering the mountainsides. They stood out handsomely against the clear blue sky. The mountains are beautiful, but I remained focused on spotting wildlife.

Traffic on the loop road was relatively light for the first eight miles, and I had plenty of opportunities to pull over and take pictures outside the truck. The meadows had turned a shade of brown and contrasted nicely with the remaining green on the trees and a few grassy patches.

At the eight-mile point, traffic slowed to a crawl. Many visitors were coming off the hiking trails and heading for the exit, and I got caught up in the rush. Typically, I have no patience for slow traffic, but this was a day to roll with it—I was in no hurry.

A couple of miles later (and fearful that I would leave without pictures of wildlife), a turkey came into view. Several feet later, I spotted several more on the opposite side of the road. Finally, I had evidence that wildlife still existed in Cades Cove. The best was still ahead of me.

At the nine-mile post, traffic came to a complete stop as I approached a small hill. I waited in line for several minutes before traffic moved again, and when I crested the hill, I saw what caused the traffic jam: a large black bear walking across an open meadow. Looky-Loos with cameras were all over the side of the road. Some were on top of their cars, some peering through the sunroof.

When my turn for a close-up came, Mr. Bear was beside the road, less than ten feet from my vehicle. He had tags in both ears so wildlife biologists could track his movements. I only had to point my camera from the driver-side window and snap away. I couldn’t persuade him to look up; the acorns had his attention, but he was large and had a thick, gleaming coat. Mr. Bear was a handsome fellow.

I hit the trifecta less than a mile from the end of the Loop. Still crawling in slow traffic, I passed two White-Tail deer grazing near the edge of a field.

I was very proud of myself for stepping away from the Man Cave on a gorgeous afternoon. It was time well spent. I put the camera away and continued Easin’ Along toward Knoxville. Traffic…who cares about traffic?

Author’s note: Please keep the Tennessee and North Carolina flood victims in your thoughts and prayers. These are hardy folks, but most of them could use a helping hand right now. Many are isolated due to road collapse and remain without water and electricity…and some have no shelter. Anything helps. The Red Cross is taking monetary donations. Thank you.

In 1972, Helen and I were newlyweds when we moved to Germany to begin our four-year stint in the United States Army. We were both filled with adventure and excitement, which helped overcome the apprehension we both kept inside. We left behind our families and the town where we grew up to begin our lives together in a country that offered an abundance of unknowns.

We moved into a second-floor apartment in a small village outside Wurzburg, Germany. I threw myself into learning the rigors of a new assignment while Helen worked hard to turn our dwelling into a home. Her job had challenges. Our German landlady kept two cows in the stalls under the house, and the smells and the flies gave her fits when the wind blew in a particular direction.

A few weeks after we arrived, we attended a company picnic, where we met many couples who had experienced the same situation of being away from home for the first time. As a result, we made many new friends and remained in touch with some of them today.

While seated at a picnic table, a young lieutenant named Paul sat across from me and began a conversation. He was immediately likable, hilarious, and someone I wanted to get to know well. Eventually, the conversation turned to where Helen and I were living. After telling him, he looked up and said, “Dayna and I are your neighbors.” Fortune had smiled on us that day.

Almost everyone I know has (or should have) friends like Paul and Dayna. We only lived as neighbors for two years, but watching Paul work in the office and at home overwhelmed me with his remarkable energy, which made me feel like a sloth. To say I was impressed is a gross understatement. Even today, when I’m sitting idly in the Man Cave,  I tell myself that Paul is probably cutting hay in the field, remodeling his barn, or out and about seeing friends and sharing his sense of humor.

Soon after meeting Paul, we met Dayna, Paul’s lovely wife. They have different personalities. Where Paul is always on the move, working furiously, telling jokes, or spewing expletives that would make a sailor blush, Dayna is a lovely, sweet, and gentle person who adores animals and thrives in her immense garden. They are two halves of the same circle.

The memories of skiing in Austria, driving to wine fests, and discovering Germany together made it inevitable that we would remain friends well into the future. So, on our way home from the West Coast, we asked for and received an invitation to visit them in the Four Corners region of Colorado.

Helen and I have visited them twice and love the beauty surrounding them. They have a fantastic view of the Mesa Verde Mountain Range and Mesa Verde National Park from the back of their home. Their sizable farm is always lush green and manicured. Dayna’s garden is a living tribute to her flower and vegetable gardening skills.

During this visit, I convinced Paul to take a break from expending all of his energy and sit still long enough to re-live some good times and catch up on what’s new in his life. We used his barn, and the conversation went on for hours. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, except the conversation started here and wound up over there. I’m certain our readers have friendships that are much the same, even if separated by hundreds of miles and decades of years.

Helen spent some time with Dayna in her garden, tending to her peach trees and securing fresh tomatoes for the trip home. They were fabulous.

Our visit was short but delightful. Long-lasting friendships are a treasure, and as we left, I looked back toward their farm. A piece of a rainbow hovered low on the horizon. Treasure lay at the base.

Mortimer says it’s time to be Easin’ Along. Bye, y’all.

After Helen and I enjoyed a fantastic week with our kids and grandkids, it was time to turn around and head home. We had a delightful journey on this trip to the West Coast and spent over two months camping on beaches in temperatures that never exceeded 75°. We had a few more adventures planned for the days ahead, but leaving our family was still difficult.

We drove to Fort Irwin near Barstow, CA, from El Capitan for a one-nighter. We were thankful we were only there for one night because the heat was stifling. But we didn’t know what stifling was until we reached Las Vegas and 118° degrees. Poor Mortimer! We had to feed him ice and lots of ice water until we could drop the temperature in our trailer with both air conditioners blasting away.

While there, Helen and I visited the strip several times but remained indoors. We usually park in the large outdoor lot behind Harrah’s because our long-bed truck is difficult to park in the garage. Hot weather made the garage a bit more attractive on this trip, and we went in the early afternoon when the garages were less crowded. Regardless of the eventual outcome, we enjoy playing the penny slots in the casinos—people-watching adds to the fun. Elvis (several of them) was in the building.

From Vegas, we drove to Page, Arizona, on Lake Powell, near the border with Utah, for slots of a different stripe. Helen and I visited Page several years ago to hike and take a boat ride through the Canyon on Lake Powell. Because we had visited the area, we only scheduled two nights on this trip. However, the Page area has a lot to offer, and  FOMO (fear of missing out) took over, so we read up on what was available. Most prominent on the to-do list was a tour of the Antelope Canyons on the outskirts of town.

I remembered a post by my bloggy friend, Ingrid, about her visit to the slot canyons several years ago and sent her a message asking for a recommendation. She had toured Canyon X on her trip, but we couldn’t get tickets. Helen suggested we drive to the tour offices and beg. Sure enough, two spaces were available for the 4:00 pm tour of Lower Antelope Canyon. A Military Discount made the tickets affordable, and we booked the tour. We went back to the campground and took a nap.

When we returned to the Canyon, the parking lot was full of cars and tour buses. Helen checked us in, and the tour operator directed us to a shelter for Group “E,” where we joined about 25 other canyon-goers. Helen and I were the only Americans in the group. After a few minutes, the leader called the roll and led us about a half-mile away to the Canyon entrance. The steps down to Lower Antelope were steep, but there were no more steps after that.

Once inside the Canyon, I marveled at the color and the formations. Our guide, a college-age member of the Navaho Tribe, explained that we were amid layers of petrified sand that had formed over millions of years. The bright orange sand and sweeping turns made great photo ops, and I snapped away. Occasionally, we could look upward and see a bright blue sky that offered a lovely contrast to the orange sand spiraling toward it. Once again, I experimented with black & white and placed the result next to the same photo in color here.

We made friends with a family from Poland who were hiking ahead of us during the tour. The family included the group’s grandfather, who had never visited America. Their trip aimed to show Granddad the wide open spaces of the American West. They were very charming, and Grandad often helped Helen over a large rock or two.

In addition to the bright orange sand, many formations along the path offered some interesting viewing. The residents had names for most of the formations, and I wish I could remember them all, but senior moments prevented me from doing that. I remember the names of two formations: The Lady In the Wind and the Singing Sandstone–appropriate names for both.

The trail was just over a quarter of a mile, and we climbed upward to the end long before I was ready to leave. Climbing out of Lower Antelope Canyon brought a fun-filled afternoon excursion to a close.

Thank goodness for FOMO. We’re Easin’ Along (ahead of a storm in the desert).