Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how history will someday record that drive-thru restaurants led to the downfall of life as we used to know it. There was once a time when you could not purchase a four piece chicken dinner with cole slaw and baked beans and eat it while driving 70 m.p.h. in the passing lane on I-75. In the prehistoric age before hamburger drive-thru’s if you screamed a food order into a metal box folks would just refer to you as “different.” I humbly ask; which is more dangerous; using a cell phone and applying make-up or driving with a bowl of hot won-ton soup balanced between your legs? Our forefathers were fantastic visionaries, but they had a serious lapse of judgment when they didn’t include a constitutional... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how much we have in common with the monarch butterfly. Other than the fact that butterflies can flap their tiny arms much faster than you or me (some flap up to 70 times per second) and they only live for a few weeks or a few months…we share a very similar life cycle. Our common story all begins when tiny little eggs get attached to the surface in a womb or a milkweed leaf and grow to become a little baby or a caterpillar. Both of them start out crawling and a baby or a caterpillar can sometimes appear quite frightening. If babies grew a couple of tentacles and were found crawling on a trail it would be hard to tell the difference except for the number of legs. Caterpillars always have eight... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how this month marks the wonderful 12th year anniversary since my very last yard sale. That last sale actually started out as a “garage” sale, but since considerable amounts of assorted junk overflowed into my yard it was officially promoted to “yard sale.” Every piece of merchandise was appraised and assigned a “sale” price. I don’t know what it says about our pricing or the quality of our items, but a ten dollar bill tendered at our cashbox could purchase enough stuff to fill the bed of a pick-up truck. I always dreaded that moment in the Spring when my wife would announce that we were having our annual sale. It set in motion a terrible chain of events that can best be described as... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about the only two personal treasures I chose to save when our mountain caught on fire a few days ago. It was a large fire that totally destroyed two cabins and made both TV and newspaper news. Our roller coaster ride of emotion began as my wife and I were returning home from a birthday celebration with our hiking friends. As we approached Webb Mountain Kat pointed out a bit of smoke curling into the blue sky. I know that many of our local county residents enjoy gathering and raking up stuff and burning large piles of it so I wasn’t alarmed. I was mostly excited about the excellent leftover pineapple birthday cake that was waiting on the backseat floor… and my new pocketknife. I assured... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how Gatlinburg sells more plastic bear ponchos than any other place on planet earth and is #2 in marrying people only behind those fake Elvis dudes in Las Vegas. The truly amazing thing, though, is that the plastic poncho sales and the record number of honeymooners are both direct results of our annual rainfall. In the higher elevations of the Smokies we get about seven feet of liquid sunshine every year! Seattle is famous for their rain, but they get less than half of ours (a woosy 35 inches) and it usually arrives in little baby drizzles weeks at a time! Our storm clouds in Tennessee never even heard of the word “drizzle” and “drenched to... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how life can be measured by the four stages of lawn care. Friends who aren’t familiar with my distant past might sorely question my expertise on this topic. After all, it is true that in the last 8 years I have spent no more than a total of three hours working in my “yard.” I once planted two wild onion plants called “ramps” that were given to me by a local mountain man and I also chopped down one tree….that’s pretty much it for the eight years. To be honest I’m not even exactly sure where my “yard” ends and the forest begins and I have never even stepped foot on most it. I do have wild grass, blackberries, raspberries and brambles and they seem perfectly content... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how a job candidate should always show up in the right city when interviewing for a job. Before my long overdue promotion to “VP Hiking”, I once had a day job as an HR (human resources) guy with a giant conglomerate (not AIG). I wore dressy clothes, socks and highly polished shoes and interviewed thousands of job candidates. I once asked a candidate to fly in for an interview and he landed in the wrong place hundreds of miles off course. He called me to apologize and said he had always “assumed” our headquarters was in Pittsburgh. Needless to say he didn’t get hired because he violated my first job search rule; always write down the city and state. With the unemployment rate on the rise... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about a chance meeting I had with a man carrying a couple of over-sized metal briefcases. I was only with him for about an hour and can’t even remember his name, but I have placed him at the near top of my list of all-time American heroes. I should clarify that he wasn’t a seven-foot guy who could jam a bouncing rubber ball through a metal hoop or a brawny tobacco chewing slugger. He wasn’t a movie star who puts on make-up and pretends to be someone else or even an American idolized singer. No. I’m talking about a real American hero and role model who should be admired, imitated, recognized, praised and put on a pedestal. I’m talking about the Director of the Tone Chimers at Asbury Assisted... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how thankful we should be that we don’t live in Massachusetts. Massachusetts always seem to be in a hurry and most of them honk their horns more times in one day than I have in my entire lifetime. They also talk funny and don’t know how to make sweet tea, but my conclusion is based on something even darker and more foreboding; their state legislature. If Paul Revere was alive today he’d have to take a midnight ride to a neighboring state and smuggle cherry bombs, “screaming meamies” and firecrackers back in his saddlebags. In an area where shots of freedom were once heard ‘round the world it is now illegal to wave even a tiny little sparkler or a colorful Roman Candle.... (more...)

Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how food tastes so much better when it is peeled or cut by an old well-seasoned pocket knife. Pocket knives undergo the same ancient aging process as Chinese woks or cast iron skillets. It is common knowledge that a wok pot or an old iron skillet improves flavor as the burnt lard and fried concoctions meld with the cooking pans over time. The next time you eat at a Chinese restaurant ask if you might take a peek at the chef’s wok. You will be amazed. The nastier that wok pot looks the better General Tsau’s chicken tastes. Iron skillets cook so much better when coated with years of “this and that.” Pocket knives undergo a similar process as they are used to cut rubber hoses, apples, twine,... (more...)