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BBHQ Boomer Essays: |
| Our Boomer-In-Charge here at BBHQ, Hershel Chicowitz, writes frequently about current events... from a boomer perspective. He is sometimes funny, sometimes provocative, sometimes a little of each. We hope you get a kick out of our Boomer Essays. |
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There's an old campfire song that begins, "On top of old Smokie..." Unfortunately, beyond that all I remember is the parady done by Dick Biondi at WLS radio in Chicago when I was a kid:
Well, my topic today is not spaghetti; it is old Smokie, or more specifically, our recent trip to the Smoky Mountains and Lake Lanier. My mother introduced me to the Smoky Mountains and Gatlinburg when I was a kid. Gatlinburg was a picturesque, sleepy little town at the foot of the Smokies. This is a picture I took in the mid 60s from the second story of a motel right on the main drag in Gatlinburg:
Yeah, even then there was very little grass visible in the town. But there was still some cement remaining, and a few empty parking spaces. Not so today. I am told that the last empty parking spot was filled in 1978; there has not been a vacancy since. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park is the most widely visited national park in the country. The most popular time is when the leaves are changing colors -- late October. So, to say the least, we were not alone.
There was a lot of mist on Kennesaw Mountain that morning. It was good practice. There was a lot of mist, or clouds, or wet stuff, or whatever in the Smoky Mountains. There always is. Hey, that's why they call it the Smokies.
Some government agency with a lot of extra money in their budget built a large lookout tower at the highest point of the Smokies, Clingman's Dome. You can hike up about half a mile from the road (and I do mean up) and then walk out on a concrete platform and see endless..... mist. On a clear day, you can see 20-30 feet out into the air. It was not clear when we were there.
It is ironic (and for us naturalists, very fortunate) that while it may be shoulder-to-shoulder in Gatlinburg -- 5 miles away, you can have an entire forest to yourself. We got up early one morning and hiked out to Laurel Falls. What amazed me was the total silence... until we were about a hundred yards from the falls.
We were on the trail and at the falls for over 90 minutes. In the entire time, we saw only about 3 people. (What bugged the heck out of me, though, was that two of them were talking on their cell phones at the time! Gees, those people should be forced to spend a week listening to Cindy Sheehan yap.) The mist or clouds aside, it was a gorgeous view, just about wherever you travelled. This is a panoramic shot at Cade's Cove I took with my little, digital camera. It's pretty good, but of course, the camera does not do justice to the grandeur of nature:
Georgia on My Mind After we conquered the Smokies, we returned to Atlanta, this time camping on Lake Lanier, where we had stayed last year. Oh, I know. Everyone who has written to me about camping says something like, "Not me; not any more. My idea of camping is a Holiday Inn." Well, fine. But you have no idea what you are missing.
Yeah, that's the tent there. We're gonna' sleep in that. Follow the instructions, work up a little sweat, pound some tent stakes... and you're living in paradise:
Yeah, we slept in that... and mighty comfortably, too:
While Atlanta Burned I am generally against the defacing of any property. Those people who carve their initials in trees, rocks, and sidewalks should be forced to spend a month camping with Cindy Sheehan. But I make an exception here. I am not sure how Generals Lee and Jackson and good ol' boy Jeff Davis carved their likenesses into Stone Mountain... but I do have to admire their skills. Why, they even got General Lee's horse, Traveler, in the sculpture.
'Course I also wonder how they were able to do that while Union General Sherman was marching across Georgia. Perhaps the Confederate boys were focusing too much on vanity and not enough on victory. But then again, I was not there; so perhaps I should not judge.
Leave it to our generation to ruin a perfectly good campfire song, huh?
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Exploring My Roots: A Chicowitz History
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