Discombobulated!

 

Yep, it’s a word.  Looked it up in the Merriam-Webster.  Had an old friend that used it quite often, but he was known to create many words unknown to the English language.  It means the same as addle, baffle, bamboozle, beat, befog, befuddle, confound, flummox, fuddle, muddle; and many more.

Pretty much sums up my state of mind the past month, or so.  I’ve never gone near this long without posting a blog of some sort, or another.  It might not have been much, but always enjoyed putting something out there into cyberspace. Just haven’t had the desire since arriving back home.

We’ve done a few things around the house.  I built a deck off our bedroom which Wanda has wanted since we moved here, nine years ago.  Washed and waxed the Casita. Cleaned and painted some lawn furniture.  Raked leaves and pine straw, and farm sat for a short period of time.  Many phone calls dealing with medical insurance issues for 2015.    Lots of “stuff”, but nothing worthy of blogging about, in my state of mind.

The weather has turned cold, and daylight savings time has ended.  It seems darkness arrives way too early, and stays much too long.  The old hibernation instinct begins to take control, removing the desire to get out and do much of anything. 

We did take the Casita down to Fontainebleau state park near Mandeville, LA this past week.  Some Casita friends from Georgia, Alabama, and Missouri were gathering there for a few days, and invited us to join them.  Really enjoyed a short, two day, visit with all of them.  Came back home Saturday in time to beat the rain.  Sorry, no pictures.

As for future plans, we have a number of them.  Reservations are made, and routes are being worked on. Whether they come to fruition is yet to be seen.  Some are within a few hours drive away, and some are days.  All are subject to the condition of Wanda’s mom.  We’ll take what we can get when the time comes.

Till then, It’s sitting home, looking at pictures, remembering WHEN.

jc……

One of those Weeks!

 

A few miles on the Blue Ridge Parkway took us from Maggie Valley to Cherokee.  Every day the colors looked more vibrant.  We took our time on the short journey and enjoyed the views from every pullout.

By noon on Sunday we had checked in and paid for our week in Cherokee.  We had been looking forward to this gathering since leaving home the end of August.  Only one other egg there when we arrived. A lady from the Outer Banks with a 13’ Scamp.

Monday was cloudy so we made a Walmart run, then a drive down the Nantahala Gorge and over the Cherohola Skyway.  Rain and fog made up the majority of the day.  Tuesday morning we awoke to more rain.  We had a leisurely breakfast, then decided to make a drive over the mountains to Townsend, Tennessee. Wanda wanted to visit a dulcimer shop there, and it seemed the best thing to do when the forecast was 100% rain and thunderstorms.  The ride over was really pretty in a way.  Rain and clouds, with waterfalls everywhere.

As we arrived in Townsend, Wanda’s phone rang.  Her mom had been in the hospital for a few days due to dehydration.  Wanda’s brother was visiting her each day and keeping us updated on her condition.  She was scheduled to be discharged that morning.  Sometime Monday night she had managed to get out of bed, and had fallen.  Broken cheekbone and ribs.  Wanda said she felt the need to get home, so off we went.  Back over the mountain, stopping by the campground office to inform them of the situation, and that we were leaving.  Sorry, no refunds. 

Hooked up and out of the campground by 4 PM.  Arrived home eleven hours later.  Wanda was up and on her way to Jackson by 8 AM.  She spent Wednesday, and most of Thursday there, getting her mom settled back at her nursing facility on Thursday afternoon.

The third weekend of October is the time of the Great Mississippi River Balloon Races.  We had made no plans to attend, but decided to drive over on Saturday morning.  We could visit with family, as well as some old friends.  Arrived just in time to see a number of balloons hanging around the target.

Watched our guys as they passed over.

We followed along with the crew, and helped them pack up.  From there, we spent the remainder of the day hanging out with family and friends.  Enjoyed a beautiful day outside, overlooking the mighty Mississippi River.  As we were leaving Natchez, we received another phone call.  Mom back in hospital.

Wanda’s back in Jackson for an undetermined period of time…..

Little Cataloochee

 

We made our way off the Blue Ridge to Waynesville, and Maggie Valley, North Carolina.  One of our favorite places in the Great Smoky Mountains.  Maggie Valley is everything Gatlinburg, Tennessee isn’t.  Sure, there are shops selling lots of stuff you don’t really need, but on a much smaller scale.  Maggie still has small, locally owned, tourist courts with rockers on the front porch.  Local restaurants and café’s.  We’ve been coming here since the mid 80’s.

A place that has been close to our hearts for nearly thirty years is the Little Cataloochee Valley.  A remote corner of Smoky Mountain National Park.  Similar to Cades Cove, but like Maggie Valley, on a much smaller scale.  A valley that once sustained quite a community with two church’s,

numerous homes,

and a school.

The only access is by a five mile, narrow, dirt road. For years we would be the only folks in the valley for hours. We would walk the road, visit the church’s and graveyards, and imagine the life of the folks that once lived there until the Government forced them out.

On one visit back in the early 90’s, we met a very old man carrying milk jugs over this foot bridge.

He was driving an old Ford Pinto station wagon, and the rear was full of more jugs.  We got to talking with him, and found out that his family was the last one removed from the valley.  They resettled in the small town of Clyde, where he had worked for the paper mill until retirement.  When I asked about the jugs, he informed us that he had attended the school which was just across the road.  He had drank water from this spring,

his entire life.  He had been coming over the mountain every few weeks since being forced to move out.  Filling his jugs and carrying them back home to Clyde.  Even today, the spring hole was full of clear, cold, water.  The only difference being a sign the NPS put up questioning the purity, and recommending boiling before drinking. I don’t think the old gentleman would have paid much attention to it.

Around 15 years ago, the NPS decided they would reintroduce elk to the park.  The Little Cataloochee was selected as the site for reintroduction.  As the elk population grew, so did the tourist visits.  What was once a quiet, peaceful, piece of history is now much like Cades Cove.  People arrive by the carloads, hoping to see the elk.  Volunteer elk wranglers monitor the action, and answer questions.

.

Though it was nice to see a couple of large bulls, and even hear one bugle, something has been stolen from Cataloochee.  The quiet reverence one felt standing in one of the church’s, or the old school, is gone. The respect for the people that built the road, carved out the pastures, and created the community is missing.

You hardly saw anyone visiting, and listening, to the history that was there.  Most had come for the zoo…..jc