He's the only man I know who loves to take detours for pictures, or just to look up close at something, or who will stop any time I have a yen to. Picture taking is actually just an excuse to see something beyond a cursory glance, I think.
Driving through the Smokies yesterday, I saw my first-ever eagle and scores of wild turkeys. Mike fed a crow with crumbs in his hand. I told him about the time--some forty years ago--camping in Vermont, that a crow brought me a ballpoint pen, then rode a piece on my bicycle handlebars.
We stopped in Cherokee and talked for a long time to a woman who taught me a lot about Cherokee culture. They now have a school, preschool through 12, in which all courses are taught in Cherokee. She was proud that the culture is being maintained through language and regrets that her own mother didn't teach her Cherokee. She told us proudly about the new hospital and educational grants, thanks to the casino business. Before leaving Cherokee, we had an Indian taco--meat and vegetables on fry bread.
After all the bright lights of Gatlinburg, Pigeon Forge, and Sevierville that overstimulate and make me tired, it was wonderful to drive through the Smokies. We both remembered, riding through those tunnels, how we used to say, "Blow the horn, Daddy" --and he did, mine and Mike's.
Mike woke me up at sunrise yesterday to take pictures of the Rock City barns. When we were growing up they punctuated every road trip, as did the Burma Shave signs all along the roadsides--little riddles a phrase at a time.
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