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.