Day 13: Your Commute To/ From Work, School, etc.

Me & Patsy for the last fifteen years. And I am, without fail, LATE. My commute is about 15 miles each way, about a twenty minute trip on a good day. But it’s not bad because it’s all highway, no interstate or sitting through a million red lights in town or tourist traffic, so I don’t mind so much. And it’s scenic.

There are people who appreciate the beauty of the surrounding area & want to take a picture to capture it, & there are people who zoom through life & don’t look up & appreciate it. And then there are people like me who want to write about it and try to describe the purple mountain’s majesty. It IS truly magnificent.

In the morning, my first glimpse comes as I top the hill at the McMansions & if the sunlight isn’t in my eyes I take it all in with a deep breath & remind myself how fortunate I am to live here. I am ashamed to say that more often than not I’m aggravated that whoever’s in front of me is poking along, riding their brakes. Then there’s the congestion around the schools, but I usually slip right through. The real catastrophe comes at the McDonalds/ Weigels intersection. You can’t stir ‘em with a stick! Forget about turning left out of there. At the light, I look around, awed by how much Seymour has built up over the years. How many times have I met people at “the bank”? It’s nice to have all these amenities around, but I can’t help but miss the Dairy Delight. It doesn’t seem normal that we have so many choices on where to eat, where to have our teeth cleaned, where to get gas, & where to buy groceries. We’ve always had plenty of places to worship. On a clear day, you can see the smokies, but the Bluff is always impressive, & you can pick out radio towers & cabins dotted along the ridge.

I pass Floyd’s, with the squirrel on top of the flagpole & the helicopter on the roof (I don’t know why) & proceed with caution around the Wye. Too many wrecks through here. Too many wrecks down Chapman, period. I look for deer on the Delozier’s property, sometimes you’ll see them, & turkeys too, more often than not. The fog lays thick through the hollers this time of year, & the barn on the hill looks eerie & haunted. I like the Angus cows with their fuzzy rounded ears on the Teague Farm. On to Tarwater Stretch, & I marvel that people I have traveled with from Seymour are still cruising along in the left hand lane. That’s a death wish, if you ask me.

It’s not long till I’m at the city limits; Jim’s beautiful flowerbeds greet me. I slow, because I don’t want the po-po meeting me as well. Down the hill, the steeple of First Baptist & the pinnacle of the bank make up the Sevierville skyline. Watch for eagles, see if the Legion Building sign is boasting a book sale or pancake breakfast anytime soon. Cross the river & I’m here. Pull in the parking lot of the renovated red barn looking Co-op & try to smile & convince myself I’m glad to be here & it will fly right by.

Ten hours later, I’m on my way back, & hopefully in a good mood. Because I’m an aggressive driver anyway, after spending all day in the company of people who don’t understand, my patience is SHOT. Get outta my way. The background music of my morning ride is usually old country (or maybe classical), the afternoon is all about Guns-n-Roses, Aerosmith, or maybe some sassy Miranda. I try not to break the law, since I most certainly broke it earlier, & I hope that it cancels itself out.

Once I eventually wind my way back to my humble home, I am greeted by two slobbery pit bulls. I miss being welcomed by my border collie/blue heeler cross, rain or shine, without fail. But the man who comes out after them to open the gate makes my heart leap. And I feel fortunate to be back safely.