For years, I mistakingly believed that “working a double” meant twelve hours. This naïve opinion stemmed from my early retail experience in Pigeon Forge, where the stores were open 9-9. So if I worked open to close, that was “a double”. When I went to work for 911 dispatch, I learned that was not the case. While 12 hours of demanding tourists is enough to kill anybody, it barely holds a flame to spending 16 hours in a 20×20 room with three people tethered to three computers each and a radio system the size of a refrigerator. You don’t get a 30 minute lunch break reprieve in another room, you eat right there at your console with your headset attached. You can go to the bathroom, but you better make it snappy. And that’s the 8 hour days. You don’t work sixteens every day, just the days when weather catches you & your coworkers unaware. Because if you knew a big snowstorm was coming and you didn’t think you could get back, then the county would put you up for the night in some luxury accommodations–the Landmark Inn. It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but it was close to work. And if you got stuck at home, well, the Rescue Squad would be sent to retrieve you. IF they got time, that is. The county has a limited few that are…
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fi…replaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.” So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no. I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging. Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains…
Alright. Y’all have to read this book. It will take you one day. I would say it will take you one hour, but it won’t, because you’ll have to stop after every story and laugh, then read it to anyone standing near you, then call everyone you know & read it to them. Repeat x81 (that’s how many stories there are). Then you’ll call me & tell me what an excellent recommendation I gave. You’re welcome. Messing With Tourists There’s supposed to be a picture there. Oh well. Here’s a couple of my favorite segments…
This post began January 5th, 2015, and finally came full circle months later when I realized I was waiting on the owner of the pigs, as I knew I eventually would. “Have you seen those two big pigs down here? They’re up on the hill…in some chain link fence….” Yankee trails off as I squint my eyes at her, trying to determine if she just launched into this story or if there was a prelude that I hadn’t been tuned in for. Rewind…replay….no. “Which road???” I ask. “Chapman Highway.” Mighty long road. “Where at on Chapman?” “Uhhhmmm…I can’t think….it’s up on a hill….there’s chain link around the property…” She’s vaguely gesturing with her right hand. “What’s the closest business or road to it?” “….I’m not sure….” “Is it before Zion Hill or after?” “After.” “Is it before Sugarloaf Road or after, or do you even know where Sugarloaf is?” “Yeah, it’s after.” “Is it after the Wye?” “No, it’s before.” “Okay, so they’re between Sugarloaf & the Wye?” “No. It’s if you’re leaving Sevierville, before you get to Sugarloaf…
Two funerals in two days is too many. It makes you think about your own mortality, that’s for sure. Rex Pitner was killed on his tractor Tuesday evening, but by all accounts he went quickly & doing what he loved. I will miss Rex. He was a big man, which if you judged by looks alone you would think he was easily riled. That was not the case. He had an easy smile & loved to kid me. I dished it right back out. I never saw him angry, which is something, because he was in the stor…e at least twice a week (& despite our best efforts, we typically end up eventually ticking you off one way or another). He never ever ever had an ink pen & always wrote a check. I didn’t mind loaning him my pick-of-the-litter ink pen because he never failed to give it right back. If it hadn’t been disrespectful, I’d have liked to slip one in with him tonight. Hate for him to be unprepared 😉 Happy Trails, Mr. Pitner…
Most of you remember him as “The Mule Man” at Silver Dollar City and later, Dollywood. Somewhere, my mom has a picture of he & I together in front of the mill, me grinning like a mule eating sawbriars. Later, when I came to work at the Co-op, I was astonished when he came walking up to buy sweet feed. I hadn’t thought about him in twenty years, & thought he was long gone to heaven. He was OLD when I was little! But here he was, just acting like a normal person, shopping at th…e local feed & seed. I remember after he left, I was beside myself! I had just been in the presence of a real celebrity!!! Gary & Judy were laughing because he was just a regular mountain man to them, & unbeknownst to me, had lived right over the hill from me “in the valley” years ago (& missed it desperately, as he would tell anybody that asked). Red, indeed, was a regular customer, I came to know soon after. I was always dazzled to wait on him & would engage him in conversation every time I had the opportunity. He worked at The Mine in Governor’s Crossing for awhile & would regale me with stories of the tourists who remembered him from their vacations in years previous, taken with their parents. And now here they were with THEIR kids, & had to have…
Today I’m thankful I live in the south. Can y’all even imagine me in Yankeeland? I’m thankful for the flowering dogwoods, magnolias, & crepe myrtles. I’m thankful for the summer days where it’s too hot to even swim, {forget about getting married 😉 } I’m thankful for the accents that use every letter in the word. I’m thankful that most people still have enough manners to hold a door open or let you in front of them in line if you’ve only got an item or two. I’m thankful that we have people willing to keep history alive by re-creating the War of Northern Aggression. I’m thankful for the music of cicadas in the late evenings. I’m thankful for all the little festivals celebrating bar-be-que, apples, & catfish. I’m thankful for fried food, sweet tea, cornbread, & beans. I’m thankful that we’ve captured the hearts of everyone who passes through. I’m thankful that we have a church on every corner. I’m thankful for days spent fishing for trout on the foggy Clinch river, hiking & tripping over the mountains in the Great Smokies, & going even further south to visit the historic cities of Charleston & Savannah. I am thankful the south still exists as a place and as a mindset. Wherever you go, take the south…