Birds Fly High Over the Rainbow?...Minneapolis

A fuzzy blue parrot passed by me. Andi clapped saying, “Good for you. You cute parrot that kids love. Start them off early. That’s right,” she is still clapping . I look down to realize he had a Corona shirt on to promote the brand. To whom? I wonder. Children trying to decide what beer they want?

Disturbingly enough the bird flew closer on his prey while my group ate at one of the two food courts. A small girl reached her hand out from her stroller towards his wing. I could not see how this helped Corona sell their drinks until another small toddler ran to the parrot as another Corona representative not in costume gave the parents information as they took the parrot and girls picture just like at Disney. How freakishly cunning marketers can be!

After a few days in the wilderness and nature it was an abrupt flip to enter Minneapolis for the Mall of America. Jackson Turner wrote, “And now, four centuries from the discovery of America, at the end of a hundred years of life under the Constitution, the frontier has gone, and with its going has closed the first period of American history.” What is the future?

If the future is all we have because the past does not include the frontier, and we are merely a consumer driven market, what does that say about our society? I hope we will not produce a society that manipulates children in order to reach their parents’ wallets, and possibly place an idea in their heads to buy alcohol.

Minneapolis just made me wish for the frontier once again with less push and pull to buy and more nature.

River Rats in Crescent City!!!

I couldn't resist putting this picture up from Chris Speed's pictures. It is from the Crescent City laundromat.



Wetsuits may be an ultimate nightmare for many guys and gals. The thought of wearing a skintight body cast in front of friends or strangers makes many tremble out of vulnerable discomfort. I am no different. Embarking on this trip into the ice-cold river on the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park (it is not allowed to whitewater raft in the park), the wetsuit is the one mountain I must climb before my River Wild venture. Just as you should not look down if you are on a cliff or any other tall structure so as not to become terrified, I suggest not peeking in a mirror while in a wetsuit. Overcoming my fear and anxiety, I saddled up onto the second to front seat on the right side of the raft. It felt invigorating to be in the wilderness for another day.
Each national park has meant a break from life and an exploration into how to love life more. The lumberjack in me would stay out there and enjoy the smells and noises, which I am too busy to hear.

As I dipped into the hot springs after paying my fee to enter, I scoffed at the idea that this experience and land was not free. The group had to pay to go down the river and to get into the hot springs. Where I am from, the river is free to go and come or tube or fish whenever. It also costs a fee to get into Glacier. It makes me laugh to think of the land of the Free, yet it is not free as far as money goes. Free to enter, but there must be money involved to experience. It ties into several responses our group has received for the question, “What does it mean to be an American?”. “Freedom to make a buck.”

Ken Burns film title, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea, provokes an interesting suggestion to my discovery of making a buck off national parks. The implication is that nothing else America has done is as great as preserving national parks. I can agree with the title because it does not indicate Americans made nature just the idea of national parks. Even if money is still produced, the publicity for a park brings people and tourism to an area that would otherwise be an unfamiliar location. Also, the title does say this idea of national parks is a perfect idea, but merely the best one that imperfect people and society had developed.

As far as I go, national parks guide me to where I want to be as a person and citizen. I can always come home from a park a little refreshed with a potent outdoor aroma.

A Hole Lot of Something...Glacier National Park

I never addressed the Grand Canyon because, to be honest, I don’t completely get it. I loved the climb and view, don’t get me wrong, but the amount of people who travel to see it each year about five million is a little baffling. The only reasoning I have is good marketing and it is one of a kind. There are trails to walk, and that is fun, but you can walk them anywhere. Also, most of the time walking is spent looking down so as to not fall into the giant, oh yeah, canyon. By tripping over a rock, loose dirt, or donkey poop. Even though I am glad to say I was there because I have heard so much about it, I would not put it at the top of a family vacation for two reasons. One, if I ever have kids my heart may stop merely pondering if they will fall off or have a sibling fight to the death, literally and secondly, I am not convinced there is a ton more to explore or do there than just observe.

A family vacation is usually not be based on looking at a hole along with hundreds of other people crowding around nature. I may be wrong, but I thought nature was to be observed in silence with that Lee Ann Womack song “I Hope You Dance” acting like a broken record with the line, “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean” because you do feel small beside the Grand Canyon.

With that, Glacier National Park is much more for me for if I choose to vacation for a long period of time. There climbing is a limitless exploration and feels safer and more tangible. Also, the mere contrast of warmth or normal mountain temperature with glacial rock is astonishing. Green combining with white blends together to form a new color, one no Crayola manufacturer can name.

There is also a town close by, Columbia Falls, with people chugging along with a tinge of Northern Exposure. So if camping in the park over a motel is not something I desire, then I can stay in the town to witness the magnificence of the mountain at my door. The mountains are unmistakably breathtaking and easily viewed from anywhere in town instead of at death threatening heights such as the Grand Canyon.

For me the beauty and awe is the same as the Grand Canyon but cheaper and more omnipresent. Two million visitors come to Glacier each year, and I can see why. The Robert Frost poem “Fire and Ice” comes to mind while in the park. This mesh of greenery and ice working together to produce a landscape anyone would need to reach enlightenment. If the world were to end like in the poem, I would just chose to be in Glacier when it did.

Where Starbucks was Born

Fish, bread, glazed nut aroma, postcards, tacky gift shop t-shirts, and some fruit gave me a ton to look at as I spent my hour at Pike Place Market away from the others in my group. It is nice to have this time for myself. I made googley eyes at the fish throwers because astonishingly enough they are very attractive with lively sense of humors. The sounds of people talking and laughing as well as street musicians carried me from one spot to the next in the market. The overwhelming smell of coffee and sweets concealed any fish stench. Families strolled along with no rush since it is in fact, Sunday. This day could not start out any better in my semi-mecca, the birthplace of Starbucks.

Unfortunately, my new red shoes- which I could not wait to wear- wore me. Yes, they were cheap for a reason because the backs of my heels began to hurt early on, and by the end on the day, I had walked possibly more than in any other city, and my heels were beaten. Wanting to complain and scream all day to my group, I refused to since I had shown them off so candidly and stupidly the day before as being a great find. Now I walked/ limped in silent pain coupled with lower back strain.

The day progressed and we had traveled away from the market to the Underground tour. Since the tour had sold out without the entire group buying tickets, Dr. Spring, Emma, Shirah, and myself sprinted back to Pike Place Market for Emma to purchase a mug from the first Starbucks. Dr. Spring ran us across the city doing high jumps over fire hydrants, but I lagged behind praying that somehow my heels would evaporate.

I glanced at the city, I felt bits of Portland with a more matured atmosphere. Buildings seemed a little cleaner and more historic while people dressed a tad more on the business side. Duck boat/land trips quacked around the city and pier (ah tourism). Father’s Day brought families out and about. As I saw the kids swarming their dads, I hoped to see mine soon. I also remembered these kinds of trips as a kid a little more clearly; I complained and punched my brother, Michael, while mom tried her best to make everyone happy. If the family outing was on a Sunday, I definitely got a spanking (a Sunday ritual of mine it seemed).

The Underground tour reeled in families just as any other attraction or tour we have encountered. This one proved very different from the rest. As the guides explained how the city came to be, I soon realized each anecdote did not pave this iconic picture of Seattle. Instead, the tour showed what the 1800s truly realistically, which is similar to the twenty-first century, full of mistakes and inventions.

Seattle used to not have plumbing, so it dumped into the ocean. Then once Thomas Crapper gave them plumbing, toilets worked in reverse anytime the force of the tide flushed it back up and shot it out onto the poor sap using it. Seattle burned down with a mixture of all wooden buildings and wooden boxes of wine. I am surprised it did not go up in flames sooner than 1889. 1907 Seattle got the bubonic plague due to their inefficient food storage bringing in rats. Rat-tails, at one point, actually earned citizens ten cents (equivalent of three dollars) if turned into the government. Finally, Seattle began again with a second chance by building a new city above the old one. Ten percent taxes on prostitution actually funded this. Our guide cracked the joke, “the city was rebuilt by an industry who was flat on their backs.”

“Hahaha,” I felt uncomfortable standing next to my teachers and looking all the wide-mouthed children holding daddy’s hand.

At dinner with the group I found it intriguing to have gone on such a different tour. How many tours have I been on recently telling history minus incriminating facts: Clinton, Elvis, and the Alamo. All of the other sites had left out information about our history, American history, in order to make it better? Our group felt refreshed by the honesty and lack of glitz and glam in the exhibit and presentation. I cannot help but wonder if the average tourist would concur, or did little Tommy and daddy want to see some movie, reenactment, or false presentation of all the honorable aspects of Seattle or America in order to feel a sense of pride for it.

At the top of the Space Needle that night, I rubbed the back of my heel and gazed in disbelief at the view. Wind blowing a chill against my puckered face, I wondered how much better Americans, or people might be if we address our problems and history in order to move on. My heel hurt so I leaned against the railing as to prevent further pressure and rubbing only to realize I was a hypocrite. Here I am letting my shoe fill with blood and keeping it a secret so I would not look bad. Hmmm…

So this is me saying my shoes still look cool, but they kill my feet at least when walking in Seattle. Now no one will ask me to wear them long term again because they know the truth. My heels are still raw from Seattle.

Keep Portland Weird

It must be said that I love Anthony Bourdain, so when I thought of Portland it made me happy because I had recently seen his episode there. Low and behold we ventured to a doughnut place where he had been, Voodoo. All I have to say is there were many suggestive doughnut names that I cannot repeat or retype, but mine was called the voodoo doll which was in the shape of a ginger-bread man, chocolate covered, and filled with raspberry (blood) filling. While the creations were very unique like a peanut butter glazed doughnut with bacon, I do wish the doughnuts were warmer. Many comparisons were made to Pancake Pantry as far as the line wrapping outside the tiny shop.

Please click the doughnuts
After this, we went around their Saturday open market where I bought some gifts (I will not share what just in case the receivers of said gifts are reading) and most importantly, a back rub. Astonishingly, I have lower back pains- not unthinkable since I am on the bottom tiered bunk, crawl to the back of twelve passenger vans, and grab clothing from my suitcase beneath our tour bus.

We spent two hours at the International Rose Gardens with thousands of rose types. At the gardens there were weddings about to begin and a group of us discussed marriage and religion. A general consensus taken from the group relayed that most of us wanted weddings outdoors and our beliefs are supposed to and have been challenged while in college.

The rest of our day was spent walking around Portland. I chose to go to Powell books and café to relax. Dr. Spring also found a pair of women’s Campers usually in the hundreds of dollars but for thirty-two. In the line I spoke of having bad luck and each shoe was probably thirty-two dollars. The girl checking me out gave me a five-dollar discount and said it was for me to have better luck. With that, I must admit that I love Portland.

It seems perfect for a college student like myself. One girl with dreads, unimaginable color combinations, and a bike breezed past us. Someone mentioned she looked funny or out-there. I think sometimes even those people who take daring wardrobe chances that would be crucified on What Not to Wear might be really sure of who they are but in actuality maybe they are hiding in a costume with no clue of who they are. Like college students, this girl is just trying to find herself and her image. Portland seems an accepting place to discover who you are. Its progressive nature breeds or pollinates an atmosphere of community development and self-acceptance. As for my dread head friend, I hope she has found herself to love her bike-riding and bright colors, and if not, Portland will accept her whatever she chooses to wear or be.

Our day ended with diner at Salvador Molly’s where I ate Kying Kying Chicken and Casa salad along with bits of volcano cake, pina colada flan, and bread pudding that I scavenged from others. After getting home on the bus we settled down to write blogs and watch Twilight while blogging. Portland’s been good to my stomach, back, and entertainment needs. As a college student I give it a thumbs up, but for family fun there may not be too much to do as far as Disneyland, Graceland, or Dollywood entertainment go. More like a cool place to escape to and read. Thank you Portland and see you again! Hopefully soon!

What’s Up with California Part 2: San Francisco and Crescent City

I don't like tapioca tea. This is my reaction.


After a late start due to some bus malfunctions, we arrived in San Francisco for our first encounter with public trans. Hills and hills of closely confined homes, apartments, and townhomes passed me by as I huffed and puffed on our walk uphill towards the Castro district. Moving from the Mission area part of town into the wealthier area to the gay pride area, I found myself growing comfortable in each place.

Dr. Spring briefed us on the beatnik history and its role in San Francisco as well as modern literature. My experience with the beatniks was slimmer than I would like especially after visiting City Lights Bookstore, Ve Suvio, and the Beat Museum later on in the day. The biggest lesson of this visit occurred to me over my cup of San Fran coffee; words and actions, even from me, can start a movement. I do have a voice. Feeling a little Dead Poets’ Society after this visit I must remember, “I sound my barbaric Yawp over the rooftops of the world” writes Walt Whitman. With that, what has my voice already said and done?

Further exploration brought us to Fisherman’s Wharf near the marina and in view of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge. Much emphasis on arriving to the bus on time by Dr. Spring, led my clustered group into confusion and desperation with the transportation system. Which bus leads to what train? We were like Where’s Waldos that were not hidden but in fact, obnoxiously loud and holding up everyone else on the bus. Running to the train station across a street we might have forgotten (meaning we completely forgot) to look both ways like our mothers told us to do when we were five years old. Fortunately we made it across. A little boy near us began following us, but his parents held him back from crossing the street because they knew better. During my mad dash across (after realizing there were, in fact, several cars heading toward me with little space between u) I dropped my phone in the road. After a death scream, I realized it was in the bicycle lane and Cory picked it up for me.
When we awoke in California the next day in Crescent City near the Redwoods, I felt like we were very far from the jungles of the city. The entire clan seemed ready to get away and into the zen of nature. This was a time to be in the wilderness underneath trees that you could live amongst or at least, want to save from destruction like fairies in Fern Gully. Driving up to the trails I thought this is it. We are finally away. I can run and hide from the group and society a little.

Walking into the forest, headphones in tact, I have to admit that I was still unable to run away from society fully. Yes, I began to think of….this is hard to admit because I fully realize I am not a pre-teen and have taken college writing courses….I thought of Twilight. Twilight, I know the book/movie that has swept the nation. Yes, the movie which probably gives young girls wrong impressions of love and the opposite sex. Twilight. Even though my sanity told me to think of how lucky I am and everything else besides this, I thought of how much Crescent City looked like the town of Forks; it is green and beautifully eerie. A far cry from L.A. and San Francisco, I thought.

In coming back to my question “What’s up with California?”, its size and length divides it into vastly different sections kind of like America itself. What connects it is this. The people who travel from one end to the other are still influenced by media and movies, but need an ounce of escape from that world as well. This balance of crazy and exciting along with calm peaceful wilderness that stays your heart and mind with silence is a necessity for everyone.

No matter how far in the wilderness I go it is never far away from society.

Whats Up with California?: L.A. Part 1

It has been 4 days in California and I just wonder “Whats up with California?” When did it become so popular to travel to? Why did the moviemakers and dreamers of dreams stop here? And when is it going to fall into the Pacific?

I have always looked at tabloids , seen movies, or secretly (by that I mean not-so-secretly) watched The Hills on MTV. Their depictions of California made it seem so luxuriously unattainable for us po’ southerners at the other end of the country. As our pack entered Malibu then Sacramento and into CBS for a tour, my inner star-searcher or teenie bopper grew a bit excited. Mary Hart, an Entertainment Tonight host, greeted us as we walked around the stage of Entertainment Tonight and the Insider. After a photo-op we moseyed with our guide, Canon one of the shows producers, to meet the director in the control room. My excitement hit the ceiling to see them taping the show and putting into practice skills -which I have studied in several classes at Belmont- with such control and authority. Leaving the set and passing Seinfeld’s old set I wondered to myself, “What’s up with California?”. What is it that can turn me from a levelheaded twenty-two year old into a starry eyed girl wanting to be in or make movies?

Later on in our travels Cory and I walked towards Venice Beach with a friend of his and former Belmonter, Mia. She is determined to make it in L.A. singing and performing. Coincidentally, I had met her my freshmen year during our dance performance (Mia had been a Senior at Belmont). As a senior now, it comforted me to know someone else who followed their dreams. Talking to her about L.A. and why she loved it so much regardless of the crime, crazies, and fakeness, gave me a chance to discern what I think of L.A. separate from the movies, Lauren Conrad esq., or Disneyland idea I had of it. (Speaking of Disneyland, we went it was ok but Disney World in Florida is one hundred times better.)

L.A. to me is everything we think it is. All of the good and bad ideas mixed into some kind of ying yang or black and white symbol. From plastic surgery and cut throat business to beaches and hotties, L.A. embodies some of my very least favorables as well as inner fantasies. Just like any place we have gone it produces a dual image of tourism as well as has its own identity separate from that. The hard part of L.A., in living there, is the amount of money to own a house and the cost of living in general. Also, it would be a challenge to always be bathing suit ready, at least in Tennessee we can gain a few holiday pounds and have time to pick up a diet or ab intensive work-out before summer. With that, an importance of looks hovers over movie stars, wannabies, workers, or just the whole society from teens up to the middle-agers. L.A. continues this idea of perfection and beauty within its landscape, architecture, and dream-filled aura. It is this connected ying or area of beauty and pristine coupled with the yang of all it takes to achieve this.

“What’s up with L.A./ California?” I can only say it meets and exceeds my expectations of the best and worst society has to offer for me. Spilling out into the community or reality from the constructed sets and stages, misconceptions intertwine into the culture to develop an idea that does not really exist in most American towns. Baudrillard, a sociologist, tells us that all our lenses or views of the world are tainted by our past and who we instinctively are. For instance, I may see the color blue, but Heather may see a blue-violet while Cory thinks a color to be royal blue. Who can tell us the exact color because we are all looking out of our own eyes or lenses? Thus, reality in other terms or senses cannot be determined because people are always interpreting from their “lens” or outlook on life. I see L.A. through a lens of mystique and wonder as well as mistrust, but others may love it or completely hate it. All I can say is what’s up is a struggle for reality away from dreams of fame or rush for gold.

I will leave you with this until more about “What is up with California?”:

Come 'n listen to my story 'bout a man named Jed
A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed
And then one day, he was shootin' at some food
And up through the ground come a bubblin' crude
Oil, that is, black gold, Texas tea

Well, the first thing you know, old Jed's a millionaire
Kin folk said, Jed, move away from there
Said, Californy is the place you oughta be
So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly
Hills, that is, swimmin' pools, movie stars

Well, now it's time to say goodbye to Jed and all his kin
They would like to thank you folks for kindly droppin' in
You're all invited back again to this locality
To have a heapin' helpin' of their hospitality
Hillbilly, that is, set a spell, take your shoes off

Y'all come back now, hear?

Paved Paradise and Put Up a New Paradise?...Vegas

Don't let this pic fool you of where I am. 40 states in 40 days, people. I am in the one and only Las Vegas. I must say many cities have surprised me, but this one was exactly what I pictured it to be. A place on sin and seduction as represented by the Treasure Island show. "The last seaman that came into my cove called me sin," exclaimed a female pirate in heals, latex, and fishnets after slapping her rump. So maybe if I was coming to Las Vegas to have fun in the night life it would be the place to be along with the 50.6% of other 21 and under who make-up their tourism department.
"Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot" runs through my mind as I write down facts that the Convention Center representative gave me.

1. Convention Center runs on 12% room tax which they receive 33%.
2. 232 million spent on marketing.
3. Room rates, food and beverage, and then gaming are the revenue source (in that order).
4. Las Vegas is number 2 in brand recognition.
5. 230 flights in and out a day from Southwestern.

It is increasingly interesting that this area has been completely commodified into this amusement park from France to New York, a playground for adults. "Why go anywhere else?" screams Las Vegas. We have made everything you need here. As much as I love the idea of international influence in my life, it is no where near the same as going to France or Italy.
A part of this trip is asking why do so many people backpack through Europe and not America. I beleive Vegas told me why. Europe has this history that we cannot produce as well as an antique quality that comes with time not money. A concept marketers or consumerism doesn't understand.
On the flip side so many Europeans and people around the world want to come to America. I see this as the idea that America and Americans try to portray. The thought that we have everything, are the best, and provide milk with a bit of honey. In a sense, we are this unattainable for Europeans and people around the country. We all like what it seems like we cannot have, so we put this commodity on a pedestal of perfection. It seems like many foreigners do the same as well as Americans. Yet, we still want to run off to Europe to backpack and see Italy, Greece, or France.

Wrapping up, I enjoyed Vegas and am glad to have visited. I also got married....wait....prop 8...never mind. Sorry, Jenni.

Catch ya later....

It's Hard to Play I SPY through the Tears...Salt Lake City

Salt Lake City didn't mean much to me as I stood in line to have my brand new MacBook fixed after it died. "Just leave me here," I remember thinking as I cried behind a sign at the Mac store while hiding from my group. Yes, I may be a child, but I worked hard all year to by a computer to use on the trip. Not before or after but during the 40 States trip. Pierce stayed behind attempting to cheer me up, but I must say singing "Big Girls Don't Cry" never helps to stop tears neither does hugs. Luckily, Mac gave me a new computer along with an upgrade to MacBook Pro. I am liking Salt Lake....

On a serious note, I had just had the best chocolate in the world for 2009 at Tony Camputo's. Unfortunately, I missed parts of the Mormon visit. I heard about some Jesus statue speaking to the group and I must say it creeped me out. When Pierce and I got there following our detour to the apple store, the only parts I really caught was a few Mormon facts and viewing the tabernacle. As I passed by the Disney esq. miniature homes with Mormon promotional videos I became a bit uncomfortable. It seemed like they were trying to trap me into this world where I would have a perfect home and life....?

On a completely opposite note the Tower Theater was showing a documentary called Outrage. It exposed several Republican politicians as being homosexual and their voting records being completely unsupportive of gay rights and issues such as: same sex marriage, Aids support, and hate crime prevention. The documentary gave verifiable evidence that such politicians were, in fact, gay or bisexual. Charlie Crist, Jim McCrery, Larry Craig, and more as well as documenting James McGreevey's statement "I am a gay American." After the film Kirby Dick, the director, did a question and answer period.



During the talk back some concerns were raised about outing these politicians. Even though coming out is a sensitive subject the director as well as most interviewed in the documentary feel that it is justified outing these individuals because they are hurting there own kind while lying about who they are. Its hard for me to get past the underlying fact that if they are gay they would not be in the position of power they are in. As if in some way it is an accepted prejudice to not support or acknowledge openly homosexual individuals in the political world (or other occupational fields). In fact, many people on the capitol hill are gay but not out, the movie states. The idea that these men and women must shun who they are and love in order to have power and pursue their dreams like other Americans is ridiculous. This also makes take part in activities such as prostitution in order to hide. Another side to this sad tale is the wives they marry in order to cover up their secret to the media.
In the end I wish people could just come out and be honest without this preconceived notion they are detestable for being Gay. This is a part of who they are and as James McGreevey says in the movie, "God loves who he is." Thank God for the bold.

Our group ended at Chanon Thai restaurant after a recommendation from a local (I didn't catch his name). All in all I decided it was a great day in Salt Lake City, UT. It seemed a combination of this growing socially aware younger generation that reminded me of my Nashville home as well as a taste of the mountains and East Tennessee. I could definitely see myself there someday.

I Can See Far and I Can't See Sheep...Navajo Reservation

Reflecting on the day at the Navajo Reservation with Leland Silversmith and his family the one aspect I cannot forget is the meal.
Not ever being this far west, my head will not stop looking up, and even on the drive in the van, when everyone was dead tired, it took me a second longer to actually doze-off because I could not stop peering out the window at the mountainous desert. Leland told us that New Mexico and Arizona is divided by the color of the mountains; New Mexico mountain rock is white and Arizona is red (different types of rock). We approached his house to meet his parents. After an introduction to his father we entered their family Hogan where they held church for other Church of God followers on the reservation.
The discussion led to them sharing tons of information about their lives which and into their kitchen. Leland’s mom, daughter and granddaughter. Navajo tacos made with home grown pinto beans, lettuce, and onions. Before we dove into our meal, grandpa or George Silversmith prayed in Dine, the Navajo language. As we ate grandma, Fannie Silversmith, showed us how she patted and formed the fried bread. “My wife is so smart. Navajo women are so smart. When we were replanted they learned to use new salts and ingredients,” George Silversmith declared while eating the fried bread with huckleberry jam made from huckleberries grandma had picked.
As I sat there and listened to them talk of how they prepared the food, I found myself thinking of how lucky I am. How lucky am I to speak to and receive cooking tips from a Navajo couple and family. Envying their peaceful atmosphere, authentic food, and connection to the earth and each other, I looked down at my half eaten taco.
I began to think of my own roots and family. How my grandma always discusses how she prepared our meal. How I had taken that information for granted. How I wanted to go back home to my own grandma’s house and listen more closely this time. How I too had a place where the earth meant as much to my family and me as the Silversmith’s did to them.
So as much fun as I am having and so privileged to have, I miss my family a little. Maybe it takes going away and seeing everyone else’s lives to realize the one that fits you best was always right around the corner. Thank you family and friends for giving me a home to remember and look forward to returning to!


What. What. East Tennessee!!!!!!

P.S. "We tried to sheep herd and are either really successful or moderately awful," says Ken Spring because they were already back at the house and didn't need us to herd them.