Happy New Year…All Ya’ll!    We are thinking this may just be the best season to enjoy the Big Easy.

Do you love fabulous, layered sauces, and turtle soup enriched with long simmered meaty broth? Light as air biscuits served with duck confit? Grilled shrimp and homemade Boudin and Andouille Sausage? Crispy on the outside, sweet and luscious fried tomatoes? Cheese infused grits, Bourbon infused bread pudding with a meringue bonnet? Signature cocktails, and of course perfect service? The food scene here is the heart of this city. No where has the most great eats per capita. Training ground for Emeril Lagasse and Paul Prudhomme, their restaurants (NOLA and K-Paul) did not disappoint and lived up to their reputations.

No more expensive, nor hard to reserve than at our finest San Francisco restaurants, we have picked one killer restaurant a day while we are here. I only wish my mom, a wonderful chef, were here to share this with us. I call her daily just to list exactly what we ate and any food history we have gleaned, as she swoons at the descriptions, and says, “We have to learn how to make that!” Photos just don’t do it justice, as you have never seen anything look more like canned dog food than delicious seafood gumbo!  Gumbo derived its name from Africans who arrived in Mississippi, knowing okra as “gombo”, its Bantu name.

We have heard some fine musicians on the street, especially a fine singer/clarinetist named Darlene. We had to make sure we had fistfuls of dollar bills in hand to support the hardworking street musicians.

Also the wonderful singer/coronet player, Chuck Brackman, who gave us goosebumps at Commander’s Palace when he responded to my request for his trio’s rendition of Sugar Blues. Yep, really….chills and thrills.

Bourbon Street is an inebriated tourist area, with lots of performers, whether they intend to be seen as such or not.

 We are given a taste of Mardi Gras…not so different from Castro Street, San Francisco at Halloween.

Lety felt compelled to bling up and pretend it was Fat Tuesday albeit, a bit early…

The Crescent City is so named because it was built on a big bend in the river. Free ferries cross the river to Algiers, allowing a different perspective of the City. Working waterfronts, with tugboats moving barges up and down river, mix with tourist paddle-wheel ships.

So much style here! Two tango events we attended required us to get farpitzed more than in any other locales where we’ve visited the Tango community. Lety got groomed while we had a Tango lesson across the street. Groomers with topiary!

With Sugar Bowl two days away, the city is filling up fast. If anything it only makes for more music as 14 high school marching bands from all over the nation have gathered to perform together. The street performers are geared up for the start of high season and there is free entertainment everywhere we walk….and we do have to walk A LOT to digest before the next sumptuous repast!

Today, the one and the only king of the blues, B.B. King is 87 years old still traveling 360 days a year, performing 200 concerts a year with his ebony queen guitar, Lucille.  Yes, the THRILL IS HERE…!

In King’s childhood home, there was little music but he got plenty of inspiration at church.  He grew up singing in a gospel choir and the pastor there, his first idol, played the electric guitar, preached and sang.  In turn, King bought a $15 acoustic guitar when he was 12.  Eventually, playing gospel on the streets, it was the lousy tippers who led King to performing the Blues for bigger tips.

In 1948, King began working at a Memphis radio station as a singer and disc jockey called “The Beale Street Blues Boy” – soon shorten to “B.B.”  In 1948, he began recording and touring as “B.B. King”.

Yes, it was a woman who inspired King to name all his guitars “Lucille.”  It happened in 1949 when he was playing at a place in Twist, Ark.  It was very cold and they had a big garbage pail filled with lit kerosene for heat.  Two guys started fighting, and one knocked the other into that barrel, and it spilled on the floor.  The place was burning rapidly, everyone ran outside, and King left his guitar inside.  Even though the building was falling in, King went back for his guitar.  In turn, he almost lost his life.  Two people died that night, and the next day, King learned the men that caused it all had been fighting over a woman.  King never did meet her, but they said her name was Lucille.  He named his guitar Lucille as a reminder to never do something so foolish again.  And he hasn’t. He just works…non-stop. He has been honored by every musician that has played with him for his kindness and his professionalism.

King has won 15 Grammy Awards and has created dozens of hits, including the “The Thrill is Gone” and “Lucille.”  He was inducted into The Blues Hall of Fame in 1980 and The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1987.

The Mississippi Delta where King was born is the distinctive northwest section of Mississippi and generally considered to be the birthplace of the Blues, with the new musical form emerging around the turn of the 19th century. But the story of the Blues dates back before the Civil War and to the West coast of Africa where countless men, women and children were captured by slave traders and shipped across the Atlantic for forced labor on Southern plantations when it was one of the richest cotton-growing areas in the nation.

Slaves from many African countries carried the songs and music of their respective homelands to America. There, amidst the hard work, fear and oppression, the slaves found a temporary escape in music and expressed both hope and despair in their songs. The musical traditions of numerous African cultures blended as the slaves worked side by side in the steamy fields of the south. Field hollers and work songs were a means of expression and communication — which were often not otherwise allowed by the plantation overseers. With few instruments and little or no money, the slaves used their own voices and clapped percussion as musical tools. Their original methods of creating music became significant elements in the creation of the raw Delta Blues style.

As slaves — and then freed slaves — became more integrated into American culture, the church became a regular part of their Sundays. While the white churchgoers sang formal hymns, the black Southerners brought their passionate vocals, clapping, stomping, and call-and-response methods of singing into their own churches. By the 1870s the Mississippi Delta was fertile ground for the roots of the blues. With its history of slavery, racial oppression, the Ku Klux Klan, and Jim Crow laws, plus baking heat, rampant illiteracy and poverty, the Delta was a cruel place for many African Americans well into the middle of the 20th century. The Blues documented the experience of southern blacks better than any other form of cultural expression.

The Delta area has produced the largest number of influential and important blues artists and, though never a major center of the music business, it is still the emotional heart of the Blues for musicians, fans, travelers, and historians.

This eventually led to acceptance of the Blues as a viable musical form and launched it into the mainstream and beyond black folk culture, forever changing the face of American music. It moved from the nomenclature, “Race Music” to “Crossover Music” for white audiences as well.

Today in Mississippi Delta, where King was born and raised, it is filled with Blues museums, but this one, The B.B. King Museum and Delta Interpretive Center in Indianola, ranks at the top. A magnificent tribute not only to Mr. King, but also to Delta and Black History.  The cotton gin that King worked in the 1940s as a tractor driver, has been restored along with this well-designed ultra modern museum including King’s beloved guitar, Lucille, and his home recording studio. The permanent exhibition is moving and at times overwhelming at the depth of negative history, but it tells the stories that must be told. We bought tickets at the Museum for some Blues performances at the still existing Club Ebony in Indianola where he comes back to play yearly at the large Blues Festival. The pre-Xmas crowd was friendly, cuttin’ a rug, and made us feel welcome as the only non-locals in a small, black southern community.

Make sure you put this on your list of places to visit — from the cotton fields, street corners and juke joints of the Mississippi Delta came a new kind of music – the Blues. Considered by many to be the only truly indigenous American music, this form that has influenced musicians worldwide is deeply rooted in Delta soil. And so is the man who helped spread the Blues as its foremost ambassador…

Riley B.B. King’s “The Thrill is here…!”

BATON ROUGE: Capital of Louisiana, and the tallest state capital building in the U.S. thanks to Senator Huey Long, sending spies out to other capital buildings under construction, adding floors and a silly little dome to ensure its place in history. The free elevator to the observation deck does give a nice misty view over the Mississippi River on a rainy day, and the interior art deco style murals and lights are beautiful. He was assassinated here 4 years later, staff say, by ‘friendly fire’ from his bodyguards. None would testify so there was no meaningful investigation; conspiracy theories abound with Roosevelt, his political rival, figuring large.

Other than the friendliest Tango group led by our new pal Dan in his home, we didn’t find much to get us excited in the capital. It had a noteworthy dive bar, the only place around with WiFi, so it seemed a small price to pay to pick up inebriated locals falling off high bar stools and relocating them on low chairs…really. However, we found a well-priced, beginners’ ukelele here and are on our way to pickin’ heaven here in Rhoda.

Taking off for the “Outback” known as the Creole Nature Trail, we passed through Lafayette (Zydeco, baby!), and over lots of bayous, including this one requiring a ferry ride across. Lety was sure she could get to the birds…so close….so close.

Although we had hoped for a sighting of a wood stork, we were rewarded with lots of roseate spoonbills in the air and on the ground.  One sleepy alligator and a swamp deer also was visible 15 feet from the raised walkway a couple miles back into the Sabine NWR, the biggest swamp river basin in the U.S. We slept about 50 feet from the ocean, by the sign telling us not to drive into the waves.

We were the only home not on stilts here, as Holly Beach was completely leveled by a hurricane a few years ago. Now, with about 60 houses on stilts, it looks like it is invaded by big ugly bugs.

Disappointed that we could not paddle our kayak on the famous Bayou Trace in the Atchafalaya River Basin, we had our first shrimp and okra gumbo in Breaux Bridge, LA from one of the renowned Breaux family chefs. I thought I hated Okra! Ha! With enough spices, that slimy green stuff just thickens the stew!

We were inundated with rain, causing flooding in the small towns along the “Spanish Trail” AKA the “Seafood Trail”. Driving through deep splashing water killed our propane fridge for a day until it dried out under the van, and we opted for higher ground to get to New Orleans safely. We hope to get back to Breaux Bridge to paddle the famous ‘Bayou Trace’ flowing under the eponymous bridge, when flooding and nasty snags won’t be such a worry to us kayakers.

Hats off to Major General Ulysses Grant. His creative strategizing led to a crucial Union victory here. Unfortunately he first had to conclude that 17,000 dead Union soldiers was enough, to find his winning strategy: a siege. After trying countless direct amphibious attacks from the Mississippi River (where the Confederate Army up on Vicksburg’s high ground repulsed them, and repeatedly sunk Union gunships like sitting ducks below them), he tried mining under the fort and setting explosives, failing once again to breach this impregnable site. He also built a bypass canal to no avail.

The Mississippi River was the conduit of supplies and new recruits for the Confederacy. President Lincoln told Grant that Vicksburg was “the key” and said, “The war can never be brought to a close until that key is in our pocket.” Grant finally changed strategy, marched his troops across the River 60 miles south, marched 100 miles northeast to take control of Jackson, and marched along the Southern Railroad to the west to Vicksburg’s eastern perimeter. He built 8 miles of zig-zagging trenches outside the Confederate lines…and kept them pinned into their own fortifications until 1/3 of the 30,000 Confederate soldiers were too ill to fight, their water was contaminated, and there were limitied supplies of food and munitions. 46 days of this made General Pemberton see that his options were surrender or rescue. When he was notified that the Mississippi Confederate Army was too weakened to provide support, he surrendered.

This enormous site with a 16 mile road tour, is filled with bikers, walkers and joggers…. over 1000 monuments, and as many trenches. I enjoyed sitting in the spot where Pemberton and Grant met to hammer out the terms of the surrender. I kept thinking…why did 17,000 Union and plenty of Confederate soldiers have to die to come up with a less violent and more effective strategy for gaining control of this important piece of ground? At least Grant continued to think more strategically when he set the terms of surrender: lay down all arms, pledge never to fight the United States again…and then go home. What good would 30,000 prisoners of war do for the Union who would have to feed them? Too weakened to fight, they just had to make their way home as best they could. I wish they could have sprouted wings as I recall the hardships the weakened soldiers had trying to get home in the great novel, “Cold Mountain”. Still better than the conditions shown in the great movie, “Andersonville”, (Camp Sumter) where 45,000 Union troops were imprisoned in Georgia with no food, water and overrun with disease. More than 13,000 soldiers died from the deplorable conditions in the Confederate prison.

Within 5 days, the only other Mississippi River obstacle was toppled, and President Lincoln stated, “The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to the sea.” Mississippi was readmitted to the Union in 1870, but Vicksburg remained occupied by Federal Troops, in this case ‘United States Colored Troops’ until the end of Reconstruction in 1877….that must have chafed some Confederate be-hinds! White rule returned with a vengeance  until the Civil Rights Movement and Brown v. The Board of Education ordered equality under the law in 1954. However, much of the South sabotaged segregation far longer. Atlanta, for instance, did not desegregate their schools until 1970!  What is it with the South? Every time (daily) I see a monument to Jefferson Davis, I want to yell, “You lost! ….in battle, in court, in public opinion….Give it up! Don’t celebrate your awkward, ugly history…”  Imagine Germany today putting up monuments to Hitler. Why isn’t it shameful today to celebrate historic efforts to continue human slavery?

It was bound to happen eventually, the “meh..” point in our travels. Our unflagging curiosity and enthusiasm since August 2012 is challenged by Alabama. Perhaps it is because my son is home from college visiting our friends in Albany, CA and…I wanna be there with him!

Perhaps the multigenerational poverty, seeing people and places where “tough times” is a chronic condition, not a new concept from a recently bad economy. Driving through too many small towns where the housing stock is characterized by stove in trailers, or every 5th house is boarded up, burned and sagging, creates sadness in any compassionate person. Maybe ugliness, like observing a merchant ( a new immigrant himself) denigrate an older black man with a snarl (he lost our business instantly) is getting to us. We found some downtowns with populations of 17,000 just like Albany, CA where there was no WiFi and no public bathroom available in the Downtown area, no matter how many merchants we asked. Was it our attire? Accent? Did we just look too much like Blue State people to merit their welcome? We just weren’t feeling that Southern Hospitality in Alabama. But then again, we failed to visit Birmingham, the “Big City”, where they might even have Wi-Fi somewhere in the Downtown area….

We got a momentary thrill from some local art exhibits like the amazing glass exhibit at the Montgomery Museum of Art! Watch out Dale Chihuly….you have some competition out there!

 We also got a lift from a wonderful children’s museum, ArtWorks, especially the duct tape art…..

…and this totem pole:

Perhaps we are just tiring of constant movement? We have had at least week long stops monthly with friends and family in Reno, Los Angeles, Santa Fe, and Nashville, providing the comforts of home: wifi, laundry, great meals and deeper connections. Part of the problem is that we now enter the land of antebellum architecture and civil war sites, which gets less thrilling after multiple examples. It is hard to get excited about states that still celebrate the Confederate President’s Birthday with a state holiday.

Also, after the very moving Civil Rights exhibit in Auburn Sweet (Atlanta), every other similar exhibit pales in comparison. Even walking the Selma-Montgomery Civil Rights March Trail over the Edmund Pettus bridge where Bloody Sunday occurred, felt unremarkable as the downtown there is mostly closed down due to the loss of manufacturing jobs overseas. We keep seeing the results of this flight in small towns across the South. Depressing. This is why the Blues exist as a musical form…to bring joy from suffering. We are hoping that getting to Western Mississippi to explore the Mississippi Delta Blues Trail will inject us with, “What “The blues are… living, loving, and, hopefully (sic) laughing”, as Riley B. King said, (A.K.A. B.B. King).

We wonder how those who have been domestic traveling for almost three years (see the travel blog: www.Everywhere Once.com) handle the travel blues. The main blogger has solved the problem by becoming a skilled photographer who creates photographic essays, and writes less. They travel in a larger RV towing a city car (the two of them live in about 5 times the space that the 3 of us share in our 17 foot RoadTrek). Maybe that extra space is exactly what is required for extended travel in a vehicle. We are thinking we may need to rent a furnished apartment for a couple of weeks and “layover” for a rest…but where? New Orleans is calling, with a ready supply of our passions (extraordinary food, lakes to paddle, trails to bike, quirky artistic culture, and live music and Tango!)…maybe after everyone else’s holiday travels end. Then again, we will miss the rural South’s lousy economic position in this gas guzzling nation… that allow us to fill up our gas tank once again for $2.95/gal.

Okay, I know this is a lyric of the Ray Charles’ standard, “Georgia On My Mind”, and he was born in Albany, GA. But it is the State Song so I take artistic license to use it in the title to evoke, uh…the sweet sound of music emanating from the South! I will just list the heavy hitters from the music scene in this town: Little Richard, James Brown, Otis Redding, and the Allman Brothers. Favorites, all!  Redding (like my darling Patsy Cline) was killed in a small aircraft accident, just a month before the release of his biggest hit, “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay”.

James Brown, from Augusta, recorded several hits here. Little Richard is a native of Macon, and the TicTocRoom where he washed dishes and started his musical career is still on site. The Allman Brothers lived in the “Big House” (18 room, 6,000 sq. ft. mansion), now a museum to Southern Rock. This town is on the “Antebellum Trail” and appears to have more gorgeous, well-preserved Greek Revival and Italianate mansions like the Hay House, but many of them are up for sale. The Downtown was dead; locals explained that it had been a major manufacturing area, most of which left the area for India, Central America, etc.

Steven and I, attended college near San Francisco just after the “Summer of Love”….and yes, unlike Bill Clinton, we inhaled. We recall “Be-ins” in Golden Gate Park with the Grateful Dead, and Janice Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company. We still love the Dead, Allman Brothers, and New Riders of the Purple Sage. Although Duane Allman and Barry Oakley are buried here in Macon, visiting “H and H Soul Food Cafe” is like visiting Duanne Allman’s gravesite. Mama Louise still serves the same vittles (Meat N’ Three) as she did for the Allman brothers, and the walls are a testament to their long relationship.

Tango remains alive and well in Macon, as we enjoyed their weekly “Practica”…far more fun and educational than our practice sessions in the WalMart parking lot!

On the way here we also had to stop at the Uncle Remus Museum in Eatonton, GA. The tales of Uncle Remus, and Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book are my earliest story memories. Br’er Fox thought he finally had Br’er Rabbit in his clutches as he was stuck fast to the Tar Baby….”Please, Bre’r Rabbit, whatever you do, don’t throw me in that Briar Patch!”  …and that sly rabbit slipped away, safe as can be when thrown into the Briar Patch, his playground.  The author of the Uncle Remus stories, Josh Chandler Harris, was my distant cousin Lucy Stanton’s next door neighbor at Wren’s Nest in Atlanta. Her portrait of him hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. He was a humble man, and reported that his response to her request to paint him was, “Why would you ever want to paint ME?” Lucy Stanton answered, “Because I love you”. He said he couldn’t argue with that and proceeded to sit for the portrait.

Until “Song of the South”, the Disney rendition of Uncle Remus’ stories, Disney had only used “voices”, not actors, as he produced animated stories. The first actor he ever hired was James Baskett to play Uncle Remus, showcasing black talent for the first time in a feature film. “Zippity-do-dah, zippity-ay, my oh my, it’s a wonderful day!…”, was one of the great songs from the movie.  We are pleased it has crossed our travel path once again, not just in the title of our travel blog.

Our second day in Macon was spent hiking the prehistoric mounds, and trails through the swamps and along the Ocmulgee River in the National Park. This site was the biggest dig in the U.S. as the WPA provided 800 employees to meet the archeaologists’ goals for preserving a site of continual human habitation for 17,000 years. Unlike the Camp Leaky site we visited outside Las Vegas (see blog blog: October 2012) that has no objects showing human habitation, the Ocmulgee site provides the important “Clovis Point”, a Paleoindian chert spearpoint . The name Clovis came from a site in New Mexico where they were first discovered. Among the oldest discovered in the U.S., they are usually found among ancient bones from long extinct mammoths, mastodons, and other large mammals.

We originlly were not planning to visit Athens, in spite of it being a major music scene in Georgia. The B-52s and REM came from here, and the scene still rocks on as it is a college town. Campy Art fans and University of Georgia fans enjoy seeing “Uga”, the English Bulldog mascot dressed in drag, among other costumes, throughout town.

However, while in Atlanta we learned that Lucy May Stanton, my cousin thrice removed (her closest aunt was my great, great grandmother), is exhibited at the Georgia Museum of Art, so we had to become Athenians for a day! With over 10,000 pieces in the permanent collection of American Art here, it was thrilling to see 12 of Lucy Stanton’s paintings displayed, get a warm welcome from the curator of the Lucy May Stanton exhibit, and an invitation to dinner! Betty Alice Fowler was also able to provide the exhibition catalogue, filled with details about Lucy Stanton’s training, education and experience, and 58 paintings beautifully reproduced. Clearly, Lucy Stanton has become an obsession for this dedicated curator.

Betty Alice sent us off to view the Lucy Stanton house in Athens, where I met neighbor Mayor Gwen O’Looney, toured her house, and met her portraitist painter husband John O’Looney (see his self portrait below). Clearly, eccentric and creative Southerners are thriving in this lovely town…rare Obama supporters in a very Red State!

I have learned so much about the amazing Lucy May Stanton, truly a revolutionary in her time. I had seen some of her paintings of family members at my mother’s home, but never knew she had an international reputation as a miniaturist portrait painter on ivory, the first to apply Impressionist painting technique to the 15th Century genre. She also was the first American Painter to paint miniature portraits of African Americans, expressing their dignified characters and personalities.

 In Atlanta, I viewed photos of her miniatures owned by Emory’s Woodruff Library, as well as her original sketches and correspondence, along with two large portraits of my great grandfather and the family progenitor, my G-G-GF. Lullwater House at Emory has a painting of my mother’s grandmother Ida, and we received a tour of the house by the Emory President’s wife, Debbie Wagner, who has Grandma Ida featured prominently.

The Lucy May Stanton family connection has opened the homes of many gracious Southerners to us, enriching and personalizing our traveling experience greatly. I will write a blog solely on the topic of Lucy May Stanton as we will again see her work at the Met in NYC, the National Portrait Gallery in D.C., the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Boston Fine Arts Museum. It has been thrilling to see her work, meet her fans, and enjoy swimming in the same DNA gene pool with her.

Growing up in the Greater Los Angeles Municipality, I know from “Sprawl”…and the resulting traffic. However, LA is contained by mountains and ocean, unlike Atlanta, which just keeps seeping out in every direction. Trying to accomplish our adventure goals in all parts of the “City” and its’ immediate suburbs meant hours of inching…along…in…traffic. We were also on a cleansing diet for a week and couldn’t even drink cocktails at the end of these long days on the road (see the blog, “Fried and Battered”, November 2012 to explain why the extreme diet was necessary). However, the sites we visited were just outstanding and we stayed here for a full week. The Arts and Music Scene is well funded here by Coca-Cola Chairman of the Board, Robert Woodruff of the eponymous Art Center Atlanta. But other adventures called to us as well:  Silvercrest rail/bike trail conversion (goes West to the border with Alabama),  4 tango events with our new tango pals, and the outstanding exhibit, “Black Jaguar, Shamanistic Arts of the MesoAmericas” at Emory University’s Carlos Museum.

The CDC Musuem (Center for Disease Control and Prevention) promised to be filled with ghastly pictures of Ebola Virus and Guinea Worms (Yippee!!), but was really too geared for younger children to be very interesting to anyone who reads even a little science or is thrilled by really disgusting photos of the effects of tropical diseases.

An exhibit, a monument, an inspiration to what one person with resolve and great sacrifice can accomplish, is displayed at the Civil Rights Museum. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s efforts along with many regular citizens, far braver than most of us, ensured that, “Freedom and Justice for All”, meant something. We spent 6 hours there and were speechless most of the day with emotion. Martin Luther King, Jr. was raised in the Ebenezer Baptist Church, now owned by the National Park Service. His grandfather and his father were the preceding pastors here, as pictured below on the pulpit. We sat in the original pews listening to recordings of Dr. King’s sermons here, with Mahalia Jackson singing back-up hymns. So strong, so brave, and so loving.

We were struck by how young he was, age 26, when he led the Montgomery Bus Strike and led the Southern Baptist Leadership Conference. His intense study of Mahatma Ghandi and application of the principles of non-violence gave the protests national coverage as the world watched passive protesters including elders and children be set upon with attack dogs, clubs, tear gas, firehose spray, and horses…just for demanding that the U.S. Constitution, keep its’ promise to Black Americans. For this he and his family received up to 40 death threats a day and a bombing of their home, he was jailed 14 times, and he was criticized by other Southern Baptist pastors for creating unnecessary trouble and risk for the Black Community.

A turning point in public support was the coverage from Chicago, where Dr. King said he met greater animosity than any other city, including Black Sunday during the Selma/Montgomery march. Dr. King just used that abusive experience to call for the “March Against Fear”, and filled the Washington, D.C. Mall. He clearly presaged his death as he begged that the struggle continue, stating that he may not be around to see it to its end. Below is his wife and youngest child at his 1st memorial service.

His lasting message to us after a life of sacrifice for the principle of freedom…

…in need of a great, high end burger joint! Otherwise, this small city in Western North Carolina has it all. We were impressed by the number of independent book stores.  With this greater sophistication, there are of course, higher prices for services like the YMCA, organic food, and high end chocolate stores. The city also gets an A+ for window design. One clothing store is well known for a yearly window display created by the staff, all made of paper.

  I can’t remember what this store sold, but it was eye catching and invitingly weird.

I guess when you have the Biltmore in your town, you would just have more sophistication than the average WNC town. Vanderbilt’s 255 room home, was done up for Christmas. Their floral design curator has 12 full-time staff, as every inch of the place is decorated with fine detail…65 tall trees, wreaths, swags in the house, the visitor center, the onsite hotel, Village and Vineyard. His goal was a castle bigger and finer than any in Europe.

Okay, Vanderbilt, you won, but we find the Hearst Castle on the California coast more of a realistic size for an American magnate, and featuring more American Art and Design. Wouldn’t most of us choose a weekend riding horses, having cocktails at the Neptune pool, while hanging out with the artists of the day? Perhaps, that is just this California Jewish cowgirl’s bias.

Right after earning my brand spanking new driver license at the age of 15 and a half, I celebrated by driving for a long five hours through the nicest country – all the way from my Kentucky hometown, Louisville, to the Great Smoky Mountains right on the borders of Tennessee and North Carolina.  Right up there at the highest point, Clingsman Dome (6,643 feet), my friend and I backpacked and camped out for several days.  It is the highest mountain of the entire 2,174-mile Appalachian Trail and the third highest east of Mississippi.  Imagine my heightened excitement being in the deep wilderness on the top of that old mountain as a teen!

Forty years later, I was so much looking forward to it once again.  Alas, to my dismay and shock, the drive is obviously not the same, especially the last twenty mile or so before the west-end of the entrance to the mountains.  Gone were those wet lushly green forests, now flattened and filled with a near-nauseating, heavy-traffic drive through some of the most extreme tourism business sector I’ve seen in a while.  Included there were stacks of blinding flashing billboards, massive gigantic factory stores, and especially these massive theme parks – along the stretch.  There were a Titanic ship, promising that you can touch its iceberg (Ha!), a “King Kong” clinging on a skyscraper tip, “Dollywood” ads everywhere.  It felt endless!  I can just see Henry J. Potter’s smirk of appreciation.  At last, we entered the National Park, the cool stillness of the blue misty air.  The Great Smoky Mountains have not changed.  Whew!

The misty mountains are part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which was established in 1934.  This park we were told proudly while we were in Tennessee is the most-visited national park in the United States.

As we drove into the National Park, the view of the Smokies was just as you might imagine – the smoky bluish haze sitting serenely just above the mountain tops. The name “Smoky” comes from this natural fog, giving the impression of large smoke plumes from a distance. This fog is most often seen in the morning and after rainfall.  Mainly, it is formed because warm humid air from the Gulf of Mexico cools quickly as it reaches the higher elevations of Southern Appalachia.

This is a lovely area of natural stunning beauty and a hiking paradise.  We spent only two days relaxing at the Smokemont Campground where we hiked 8.2 miles along side pristine mountain creeks and rivers, and picturesque mountain ranges, with pristine mountain streams and rivers. Ah, I felt the serenity floating within me, just like when I backpacked here as a teen. <smile>

Sally