Smoky Mountains

    The cold April wind blew through my light brown hair as our 1966 maroon Cutlass Oldsmobile wound through the Great Smokey Mountains. It was Easter vacation and  my nine year old mind drifted as we slowly made our way around the mountain heading for Cherokee, North Carolina. My dad wanted to stop along side the mountain road and skip rocks into the stream. The mountain stream was ice cold water because it was melted snow that had made its way down the mountain. from the winter. The first signs of spring was evident. There was green leaves blooming from the trees everywhere we looked.
    As we removed our shoes and socks my Mother unpacked the picnic basket loaded with goodies we had brought from home. Our feast included fresh bread, cheese, grapes and  homemade ice tea. The red and white table cloth my mother spread over the picnic table reminded me of my Grandmother’s house. I snapped back to reality when my Dad splashed the cold mountain water on my legs. He was picking up smooth stones skipping them all the way across the stream. I tried my first stone and it landed two feet in front of me with a thud sound. My Dad threw his head back and let out a huge laugh. After a lesson from my Dad I was skipping rocks as good as he was in a few minutes. I found out how good  I was when my Dad offered me a whole dollar if I could skip the rock of his choosing across the stream and land it on the other bank. I watched as he carefully chose the stone. My mind drifted as I dreamed of what I would buy with my dollar. In 1966 a dollar was a lot of money to a nine year old. Heck it was a lot of money to anyone.  I had wanted a pair of Indian Moccasins to wear. The shoes were an ash brown made from cow leather. I would certainly be the best dressed girl in fourth grade at Tara Elementary school if I had those moccasins.
    My mother called my Dad and I to lunch. He sat the stone on the picnic table as my mother poured the sweet tea into our glasses. We ate and talked not realizing we had an audience. Two chipmunks had joined our party and not long after a group of blue birds had joined them. They were after the fresh baked bread. I left small pieces of  bread on the ground around the picnic table. Soon after a raccoon had joined in and wanted to be fed too. It was a good thing my Mother had baked several loaves of bread for our trip.
    My Dad stood up from the picnic table and was ready for my rock throwing challenge. I was ready to get my dollar he had promised me. I grabbed the rock from his hand and took a deep breath. I released the small stone  and it skipped perfectly across the stream landing gently on the other  bank. My Dad was impressed with my new stone throwing skills. He reached into his pants pocket and produced the old wrinkled dollar bill. I took the bill and stuffed it into my jean pockets. I was proud that I could now afford the shoes I had wanted and best of all I could buy them at the Cherokee Indian Reservation.
    My Mother stood alongside the picnic table and put the left over food items back into the picnic basket. My Dad and I strayed down the side of the stream picking up odd colored and odd shaped stones. We had decided to start a rock garden when we got home and we would need some pretty rocks ro display. All of a sudden we heard screams coming from my Mother. We dropped the rocks and ran  as quick as our legs would carry us. to our picnic spot. To our amazement there was a mother brown bear along with her two cubs. Apparently they had smelled the food from afar and had to join in on the family picnic too. My mother was so frightened she had jumped into the car and locked all the doors. For some reason I felt no fear of the bears. My Dad and I stood about fifty feet from them as they ate the remaining food from the picnic basket. The bear cubs were so cute and playful. I wanted to play with them but my Dad made me stay away. My Mother tried to get me to join her in the safety of our car. I was as taken with the bears as they were taken with us. Soon the food was gone and the Mother bear decided it was time for her and her cubs to head for the stream for a drink of cool water.
    We watched as the bears crossed the stream and climbed the other bank into the forest. We loaded the remainder of our things into the Olds and was back on the road to Cherokee with a story that would stay with us for years to come. I bought my moccasins and had enough money left over to buy a small stuffed baby cub replica. I still have that cub and moccasins forty one years later.