I have only been up in these mountains a few times in my life, and every time, I am absolutely overwhelmed by how much I love them. My man tells me all the time about how desperately he misses his Rocky Mountains, and I only sort of understood until I started coming here. The story is that our family's Native American heritage is Cherokee, although I don't have a lot of documented proof on this. When I come to this part of the country, where the Cherokees held out and refused to leave when the government shoved them off along the Trail of Tears, I experience the same sense of euphoria and connection to the land as I feel in my corner of Oklahoma, on the land my grandparents owned. When I ride in a car through here, my eyes are wide open, so I can take in as much as possible. If I stopped the car as often as I want to so I could take pictures, we would never make it to our destinations. I took dozens today, and I probably should write two or three posts, just to get all of them up. But that would take me away from the family weekend too much, so I will just have to edit.
I don't know why I get such a sophomoric thrill out of the childish name of the holler a couple hills away from us. The names of Appalachia are so funny to me, but not in a disrespectful kind of way. I adore them all, the sillier the better. (I'm also endlessly amused by Toadsuck Park, but that's farther west in the Ozarks.) Every time I come here, I giggle like a little kid, and say "Booger Hollow" out loud about fifty times.
My man has told me many times that someday he wants to hike the Appalachian Trail. Today I got to do that...sort of. We went to an access point, and wandered around, up the trail maybe 150 yards. They sell tshirts at the general store that say "I hiked the entire (width of) the Appalachian Trail." I seriously considered buying one. We are on the south end of the area that is considered the Great Smoky Mountains (I'm not sure where the geographical boundary is for them, but it can't be all that far away). When we went up to the trail today, it was foggy and damp and so beautiful. Normally we would have sweeping vistas from where we were, but there was something hauntingly beautiful about the fog. At this way station, they had been collecting the worn-out boots from the hikers looking to replace their gear for so long, that the trees outside are covered in them, with the limbs drooping from their weight. If I find myself able to do the trail with my man, I look forward to pitching shredded, smelly, duct-taped shoes into the trees like the other people have done. How is that for a goal on the bucket list?
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