Easin' Along

What October lacked in activity was made up for in color—I’m talking about fall color. Despite the very dry conditions (less than a tenth of an inch of precipitation), our mountains exploded with vibrant shades of red, yellow, and orange. I can’t remember a more vivid Fall season.

A few weeks ago, I submitted a post about a spur-of-the-moment trip to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains. While I was fortunate to spot a bear among other wildlife, Mother Nature was the star as she slowly began lifting the curtain on the seasonal spectacle that draws millions to our region.

Last week, Helen and I joined about forty families from our church for our annual camping trip in the Big South Fork National Recreation Area on the upper western side of the Tennessee Valley on the Cumberland Plateau. Although we are the token grandparents for this three-day adventure, we wouldn’t miss it because it allows us to spend time with the young people of our congregation.

The energy of the children playing tag, biking, scampering through the woods, and singing around a campfire (all without a cell phone) is pure joy and a delight to witness. The colors at Big South Fork were at their peak, if not slightly past, and the weather was perfect; the meals, prepared by the outing organizers, were just as good.

The abundant color remains in the lower elevations, but a good rain (if it ever comes) would wash it out. I took the picture below of the trees in our neighborhood as an example.

In summary, we spent most of October leaf-peeping, leaving out a report of trips to the dentist, eye surgery, repairs to our camper, and no Trick-or-Treaters (again). I couldn’t do that to you. That’s our October–I would love to hear about yours.

We’ll come to you next from Edisto Beach, SC, so please join us there.

We’re 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.