Smoky Mountains National Park

I have been watching the special on PBS about our National Parks. It has brought back so many wonderful memories. I have visited almost every one of the parks this show has pictured and described. Now knowing the background of how certain individuals fought so hard to preserve their beauty for common folk like me, I am so eternally grateful.

I have camped in Alaska and up the eastern coast of Canada, to Labrador. Although I delight in the beauty of our western National Parks, my heart lies in the Appalachian Mountains. I grew up on camping vacations in all parts of our country, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. However, the most memorable as a child, were in the Smoky Mountains when the town of Gatlinburg was only a General Store/Post Office/Gas Station. Later, after I married, I introduced my husband, Earl, to camping and we spent many relaxing weekends in the Smokies, before we had a family. Even camping there, along with my parents, on New Year Eve, in a tent pitched upon 16 inches of snow. Then, we spent quite a few busy days or weeks there as our kids were growing up. Together our family splashed in the cold, clear streams and hiked trails back to pristine waterfalls. We viewed our beloved mountains, dotted with white and pink azaleas in the spring, clothed in an emerald haze in the summer, and turning bright red, orange, and yellow by the autumn chill. After all the children were grown and it was just the two of us again, we would return, to spend our nights under the twinkling stars. We never lost the thrill and awe that the hazy, blue mountains cast upon us. After Earl's death, I joined a small group of women friends and hiked a small part of the Appalachian Trail. This is something I had always wanted to do. The timing was perfect, for in the beauty of the mountain meadows and streams, a loving God, soothed away my tears, touched my broken heart and renewed my soul.

Music

With vacation over. I now turn my thoughts to music. Preparing to teach new students to play piano. I have ten students this year. Six older students returning from last year and four new students, who have all the enthusiasm that first graders muster! It is pure joy to watch little fingers take their first steps on the keyboard.

However, my real passion is handbells. I direct a group at my church called "Balcony Bells." An appropriate name, as we rehearse and usually play from the balcony at the back of the sanctuary. Handbells are instruments that not only sound beautiful, but are fun to watch being played, especially with a choir that uses techniques, such as martellatos (hitting the bell on a foam topped table) gyro (twisting the wrist) tolling (swinging the bell at arm's length) or playing the bells with mallets. Sometimes we do play down in front or walk through the sanctuary in a procession. My choir is a fantastic mix of 14 people, ranging in age from 12 to older than me! We were out for vacation for three months and I really missed them.

I was told by a very dear friend and mentor, that bells represent "freedom." I was, at that time, coming out of an emotional prison. My friend thought that for me, bells were a true release of the one I was meant to become. This was well over twenty-five years ago, and I still think about it when I pick up a bell.

A bell has only one sound, albeit, one of a perfect pitch. Yet singular and separate notes can make one melodious chord and these chords strung together can create a smorgasbord of sound, from deep rumbling thunder to whispering butterfly wings, from harmonious waves of rippling giggles to precise marching cadence. They can also be dissident, chaotic, and disturbing to behold. It's all up to the hands of the ringer. In the same way, I am one soul completely unique from all others, perfectly made by my creator. I have the freedom to behave as I wish, or choose to put myself into the hands of a loving God. Under His control, I pray, my life will respond to His voice and fulfill His will. It is my hope that my actions will echo His kindness and mercy. That when life shakes and thumps me, that I will draw closer to Him, where He will quiet the clamor with the comfort of His love.

Friends and Family I visited on Vacation 2009

Glania and Jonathan -Punta Gorda, FL

Lisa - St.Petersburg, FL

Jeanette - Yatesville, GA

Millie(my sister) and Harry - Kennesaw, GA

Randy Millie Scott Grace

Millie Gay Michael Avery Harry

Nathalie Nicholas Krista (my son)Chris

Hike to Crabtree Falls

The walk began quite leasurely, however the going got rough because there had been a lot of rain in the past few days, so the path was slippery in places and rocks and trees had been washed onto the path.

"A Green Cathedral "

Mountain Laural dotted the trail

mushrooms

Rhododendrun

When we reached the falls, there was a lovely platform with benches in front of the falls.

Crabtree Falls

Because of the recent rains, the falls were fuller than even the postcard pictures I had seen.

Hiking to Black Rock

For me, a favorite part of any camping trip is hiking. This trip was no different.

Our trip to Black Rock was on a pleasant sun-lit afternoon.
Betty was suffering with a cold or allergy, but agreed to go.

The path was strewn with wildflowers, white

pink,

yellow,

and if you look closely, even a skunk!

Our path was actually three different trails. one up, one across and one down.

The trail across was the Appalachian Trail, marked with a white blaze.

Close up of a blaze.

The top of the ridge was a tumble of black rock.

The path even cut through some!

Skyline Drive and Blue Ridge Parkway

Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway are wonderful highways to travel. At every turn there is a new and beautiful vista to see. The weather did not always co-operate, but when it did, it was a joy to travel slow and enjoy the view.
Signal Knob

Old Rag Mountain

Big Meadow

I'm standing by a statue of a CCC worker. These men built the road.

It was a thrill to see animals along the road, especially when they came close. We saw many deer and a few bear, but the bears ran off when the car stopped.
The highways ran through Shenandoah National Park. It provided us with thrilling landscapes, animal sightings, lovely campgrounds and memorable hiking trails.

Grandfather Mountain

I looked forward to crossing the mile high bridge at Grandfather Mountain, however when we arrived the fog was so thick, we knew we would not be able to see anything. So we went into the lodge and visited the museum.
Still foggy so we had lunch.

Then decided to visit the environmental habitats.


But the fog hung on.

We went up the mountain, deciding we would not see very far.

Soon as we arrived at the bridge, like magic, the clouds started moving.

By the time we were ready to cross, we could see plainly, a mile down and across the valley.

Betty and Grace

Frontier Culture Museum

English Farm (1690)

Ducks

Gathering Flax

Irish Farmstead (1730)

Thatched Roof (Irish)

German Farm (1710)

Playing a stringed instrument (German)

German Farmstead

American Farm (1850)

The Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton, Virginia is a living history museum.

It features reconstructed working farms from Germany, Northern Ireland, and England. The American farm dating about 100 years later, is the merging of these three cultures who settled the new world in Virginia and formed this unique new culture.