From Mary’s Desk:
For instance, Friday night we sat at the table above, in the Great Smokies National Park, sweltering in the heat, with a cool wash cloth across our shoulders and a beer wrapped in a foam holder wishing it would cool down. Our plan was to hike the Roaring Fork nature trail Saturday with a cooler weather prediction and only a 20% chance of rain. Except, it poured during the night, our campsite was lush and wet, the grasses and bushes as high as our chest. Neighbors hung out their ground cloths and tent to dry.
We decided to move on and get the oil changed in the motor home in nearby Newport before getting up on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
We never did figure out what went wrong and why the route set by Google led us astray from 321 to 70, or maybe it was the highway department. But, the rolling hills of the Tennessee countryside were green and peaceful with little traffic on a Saturday, and I just took pictures of old barns as Jim trustfully kept driving and driving and driving.
It was definitely the long way around. But, we reached green, green, Greenville. Its also Green County, TN. It was late and we didn’t get to see the Andrew Johnson home or museum. He was President after Lincoln, a southerner who didn’t exactly settle things after the Civil War as equally as Lincoln had planned to.
The barns ARE lovely. I couldn’t always get them in passing, but they were numerous and different.
Of course, its Jim who finds us a safe place to stay at the end of the day and unhooks the Bronco and sets us up on level ground. He knows where to shop and what stations he can get into and out of for petrol. He researches the way before us and gets us ready for the next destination or activities if there are interesting things to do and see on the way. He never moves without checking his tires and considering our safety. Its an art. So, I salute Jimmy the Artist along with my three daughters this Mother’s Day.
(I know he’ll laugh loudly when he learns I consider him and artist.)