News has arrived that our next-door neighbors, Tom and Sandy Story, have scaled the Great Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. They wired us a picture of the lead sherpa, Tom, pointing out the crown of the legendary peak, and another shot of both explorers, smiling, fresh and satisfied -- on top of Old Smokey. -
The couple pulled out of our shared driveway over 10 days ago in their camping machine and we are happy to report that all continues onward as planned. You may recall seeing the machine on this blog before, all hitched up to Kathleen's bug, as if ready to tow bed, sink and groceries across America. (photo below)
We haven't been told if the couple actually has close relatives in these faraway hills, and we're not sure about the origin of this tale, but we will repeat it anyway, in honor of our adventurous friends. It's about hillbillies on their first family vacation in Nashville. One day, the father took his son into a large building. They were amazed by everything they saw, especially the elevator at one end of the lobby.
The boy asked, "What's this, Pa?"
The father responded, "Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life. I don't know what it is!"
While the boy and his father watched in wide-eyed astonishment, an old lady in a wheelchair rolled up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched small circles of lights above the walls light up. They continued to watch as the circles lit up in the reverse direction.
The walls opened again, and a voluptuous twenty-four-year old woman stepped out.
The father turned to his son and said, "Go get your ma!"
-
On top of Old Smokey,All covered with snow,
I lost my true lover,
For courting too slow.
For courting's a pleasure,
But parting is grief,
And a false-hearted lover,
Is worse than a thief.
A thief will just rob you,
And take what you have,
But a false-hearted lover,
Will lead you to your grave.
The grave will decay you,
And turn you to dust,
Not one boy in a hundred
A poor girl can trust.
They'll hug you and kiss you,
And tell you more lies,
Than crossties on a railroad,
Or stars in the sky.
So come ye young maidens,
And listen to me,
Never place your affection
In a green willow tree.
For the leaves they will wither,
The roots they will die,
And you'll be forsaken,
And never know why.
(Author unknown)
