By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
My daughter has now finished her 3rd grade school year and summer is upon us. Even she commented on how quickly it seems to have gone by. It feels like we should be maybe mid-February or early March in the school year. Like we’ve been back since Christmas for a while but still have a way to go. But, as the weather would clearly have me know, this is not the case. School is out for the summer, and I cannot fathom that we are already at this point. My child is now in upper elementary and just 2 years from moving to high school. I don’t really have words for the emotions that this information stirs within me. I am trying to think back and remember by summers as a child and other than a few tidbits, I am quickly realizing that my memory is even worse than the trainwreck that I thought it was a train wrecked carrying kerosene that is on fire perhaps seems an disconcertingly appropriate analogy.
Things I do remember from summers when I was a child are our family vacations. And yes, it is to the same beloved place that I am always writing about, but while these days I go to my hallowed Great Smoky Mountains in the autumn, when I was young, and it was just me and my mother and father we went in the summer. I remember it was very often after church on the Sunday morning of Father’s Day that we would head out. Often, we would shorten the trip and stop to stay that first night somewhere around the line where Georgia and North Carolina meet. It was always exciting once we got to the north side of Atlanta. First because we were through Atlanta and if you have ever had the misfortune of traveling through that city then you’ll know exactly why I say that and if you haven’t congratulations. But secondly, we were thrilled to see those first green hills rising up from the horizon. We were getting into the higher country, and we couldn’t be happier.
Though the summer was hot, spending those June days in the mountains always seemed cooler. Sure, Tennessee is right above Alabama, and still in the sweltering South, but apparently elevation and how much you dearly love a place make temperatures just feel differently. And if you have ever gotten near one of those ever-present streams in those mountains, you know that no matter what time of year it may be, they are perpetually in a range of temperature that makes them seem as though they just trickled from the nearest glacier. We would get to see the rhododendrons and the mountain laurel in full bloom and always were fascinated by how, when driving over the mountains that crossed from Tennessee into North Carolina, they changed color. Oddly enough, it seemed these blooms felt inspired to be pink on the Tennessee side and white on the North Carolina side. We couldn’t figure out the reason behind this as it would seem their environment was basically the same. And I do not mean that the blooms up in high elevations were one shade and lower were another. That would make sense. I mean on one state’s side of the mountain there was pink, on the other there was white. I know that sounds like I am making it up, but I assure you I am not.
It was in these mountains on a summer trip where we have seen countless bears. There was the one bear that crossed the road in front of us that had such glistening fur that he should have been doing shampoo commercials. I knew it was out of the question but the desire to give him a good stroke was immense. There was the bear near the road that my mom rolled down the window to see more clearly. Said bear took this to mean that she had snacks she was willing to share and headed our way and my mother has never rolled up a window more quickly and with more shrill vocalizations. There was the experience that probably was my favorite at an old historic homeplace with one bear cub up a crab apple tree crunching away on the fruit with his sibling sitting at a barbed wire fence nearby grabbing vines of blackberries and pulling them through his lips which were apparently made of steel as the thorns didn’t seem to hinder him in the least. There were entirely too many people too close to this fruit frenzy but to observe the gluttony was quite a sight to behold, from a safe distance of course.
My daughter will have to, at least for now, adjust to her summers involving trips to the nearby lake, short little galivants to nearby locales, and a great deal of time spent in our pool which I am very thankful that we have because otherwise despite the countless toys, games, electronic devices and the like, according to her, everything would be so terribly boring. Her summers are shorter than mine were so perhaps she will survive with no bears with glossy coats or enjoying a snack to entertain her. I suppose I can always tell her the stories about them just like I’ve done here.
Prose and Possibilities 