I’m having trouble understanding the people who are going to sightsee the ruined areas of Gatlinburg. They ogle, they take pictures, they take souvenirs of ash and more. They are trespassing on all that remains of many people’s homes. 

I know people are curious, but melted aluminum isn’t “cool”, what’s left of the Castle isn’t “awesome” and the dregs of the apartments on Ski Mountain aren’t to be gawked at. I’m just sickened by what thrills certain people. I can’t bear to look…I still have trouble digesting how many people lost their jobs, their businesses, and their transportation. 

That Monday night I sat in my living room, surrounded by my life’s work. I can’t fathom what I would try to make it out with. I have no doubt that Shug would get the dogs and hopefully a chainsaw. I’ve lived in this very house almost my entire life. It was built by my great-great uncle for my Grandmother when my momma was still a wee tot. I reside on what remains of the original farm. I know every inch. 

My town has grown up around me. All these people have moved in and brought with them their restaurants and their way of doing things (namely driving entirely too fast and not waving when they see you working in the yard). 

So say my neighborhood caught on fire. Say I had two minutes to grab and git. What would I take from my lifetime of memories? Would I take my sweetgrass basket from Charleston? Would I make a grab for some of my most treasured books? And what about my loads of photo albums and scrapbooks? My collection of Coach bags beckoned me…I finally determined that more than likely I would just have to hope the things in my pocketbook would sustain me for a few days. But what if I didn’t have the presence of mind to even get that much?

The road would be clogged with all the yuppies. I’d hafta put Patsy in 4-wheel dig and hope for the best. We’d make west, towards Knoxville. And I might not stop till I got to the mighty Mississippi. 

So that was what I was thinking that Monday evening as I sat paralyzed keeping updated via Facebook. As I prayed for my friends that were trying to get away. As I wondered what would remain of our mountains when I rose the next morning.

I ticked off the known losses in my head. Would downtown survive? It wasn’t looking too good, and Dollywood was in peril. My county was burning down. Evacuations are unheard of here. Our mountains protect us from violent storms but how can we protect our mountains? 

It was around this time I thought of my good friend I made while dispatching. I decided to check on her, knowing if she was at work I wouldn’t hear from her. She’d be into it up to her eyeballs.

Again, the news wasn’t reporting much. All the action was on Facebook. 

Another friend was curled up on her couch, much as I am now, watching Lifetime movies with her Jack Russell terrier, when her phone began to ping with notifications from friends. They were checking to make sure she was ok. And her response: “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because she lives in Pigeon Forge. And the fires were at the Chimney Tops. And everything was fine at six o’clock. But as she flipped over to the news, finally finding a station that was airing anything about it, it was almost too late. The pounding at the door for evacuation got her moving. She grabbed her dog, her purse, and her laptop and made for the door in her pajamas and houseshoes. No makeup, no bra, and no idea which way to go. The fire was on both sides now. She lives on Wears Valley and Black Bear Falls, across the road, was fully engulfed. 

Luckily, my friend’s house was spared. But what if it hadn’t been? What if, one week later, she was finally permitted to go back to see for herself, and was confronted by the sight of people–locals and tourists alike– driving up and around her neighborhood, gaping and taking pictures and pulling over to scuff through the rubble for some artifact to take home and put on their shelf as proof to their grandkids years from now that they got to see Gatlinburg on fire?

Can you imagine, as a local, fighting your way down Ski Mountain Road Monday night? It’s hard enough in the summer in broad daylight. Now set it on fire from both ends & put some burning logs in the middle of the road. Add darkness & people screaming in your ears. 

And now imagine you’re on vacation in the mountains for the first time. You’ve driven this road exactly one time: earlier today with the aid of a paper map the check in desk provided you with and your GPS. And now you can’t find your map because the power went out when the lines began to melt and your GPS isn’t working because the smoke is obscuring satellite signals. 

Don’t cancel your plans to come to the smokies. We’re just a little bit damaged right now, but don’t feel guilty for coming & enjoying yourself & having a good time. But please, be respectful. Keep your distance. We’re still mourning. You any have lost a piece of your favorite vacation destination but we lost our jobs and homes. We need y’all, almost as badly as we need your prayers.