Three
It was like that when I moved to the Great
Smoky Mountains of western North
Carolina the spring of 2001.
My home was atop a knoll in the Nantahala National Forest, known for its ragged
mountain tops, dense forest, abundant rivers and lakes, some of whom are man
made. Surrounded by white pines, oaks, and hemlocks, the area is also home to
abundant rhododendron, mountain laurel, flaming azalea and myrtle. Alongside
the road flowered Solomon’s seal, red elderberry and black eyed Susans, black
bear, white-tailed deer, wild boar and turkey are rich in number. This is Davy
Crockett country.
The Great Smoky
Mountains were everything my Dad said they would be. In the mornings
and evenings you could often see beautiful blue mist he had long spoken of in
this diverse biosphere. Even the sunset was surreal. Purple clouds with plucky peach-orange interspersed
and scalloped mountain ranges, one after another.
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