The Great Smoky Mountains National Park
How long have I been holding my breath, especially here in the Deep South where “the nod” takes on an extra level of community?
I’ve been spending time in Tennessee with the family of my nephew who moved from Miami to be closer to my niece’s family. It’s been wonderful to connect with them. And although my five-year-old grandniece has forgotten my name and calls me “that guy”–which has now become a family joke–she’s slipped me at least two handmade cards with hearts drawn with pink, blue, and purple crayons.
I won’t lie. I fear for my nephew in this state that was a key battleground site of many significant battles during the Civil War. And, yes, I know times have changed, but people tend to lag behind.
Through clouds of mayflies
a train’s horn in the darkness
follows Sherman’s March
Still, I couldn’t turn down the offer to visit the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which I’d only read about and wondered what the fuss was all about.
Past the wooden huts
held by tongue and groove joinery–
a goldfinches’ nest
We left early, and when we got there, I was overwhelmed by the majesty of the trees that surrounded me, especially the eastern hemlocks, northern red oaks, and yellow buckeyes, approximately 200 to 400 years old.
We opted for the scenic route through Cades Cove, which took us past the Methodist Church, and the Cades Cove Primitive Baptist Church. The Methodist church, in particular, caught my eye.
Cades Cove is like an open-air museum, offering a glimpse into the area’s history.It’s like stepping back in time, with all these preserved buildings scattered around.
On a broken piano
beside a hymnal’s open
page, “How Great Thou Art”
As we exited the chapel, we met some other travelers who had come from as far away as Pennsylvania to experience this hallowed ground.
Through a glass darkly
we glimpse faith, sturdy as hands
that built this chapel
As we walked back to our car, outside we were greeted by the buzz of cicadas and a chorus of chickadees, cardinals, and warblers flitting through the treetops.
We were almost ready to go home when my niece noticed cars on the shoulder of the road, and as soon as she parked the car, I rushed out into a field of wildflowers–the air tinged with the scent of Queen Anne’s Lace.
An early moon peeks
at bears waiting through wildflowers
near smoky mountains
Standing there, I became aware of the tension I’d been holding in my body. And the more I gazed at the mountains, the more I could feel the heaviness leaving my head, throat, chest, belly, thighs, legs, and then through my feet into the earth .
Caught in a blue haze
in Cherokee country
the mountain exhales