A Trip Of A Lifetime

My mom has decided that she likes to travel. I can’t blame her, she worked her whole life, mainly for one company, and was laid off at age 58 ½. (It figures) Well, guess what? She wasn’t ready to retire and went to another company and worked for another 10 years. She joined the local travel club down at the bank and last year went to Australia, New Zealand and Fiji. It was a seventeen day adventure filled with plane rides, wacky roommates, sheep farms and aborigines—it was the trip of a lifetime. Or so we thought! Late last year, the travel club got the itinerary for 2008. Mom spent several weeks mulling over the different trips and decided she wanted to go on a cruise and see the Baltic capitals. It was the trip of a lifetime she said and I’m going. And guess what? She left a few days ago. But, here’s the thing—she didn’t go by herself. She had so much fun the first time around that on this trip she took her sister, her brother and sister-in-law and two folks that she graduated with way back in 1956. Watch out Europe, here comes Blue Creek. Blue Creek is where this fine group of Americans hails from originally, or thereabouts. It’s a small town, population 50, maybe? It depends on who shows up for church every third Sunday. I do know that every Memorial Day weekend they gather for the yearly alumni function. It’s a festive affair where the conversation tends to lean toward who’s got what and if anybody died the past year. (Forgive me for that one) They also have a slideshow of somebody’s vacation from the last year that puts everyone to sleep. I watched them all get on the bus to take them to the airport and I noticed that they were going over their camera gear. I heard Mom say to be sure and get good pictures so we can turn them into slides to show at the alumni dinner. I’m tired of being bored for two hours. This is the trip of a lifetime and I want everyone to know it. And there you have it; my mom is off on the trip of a lifetime—for the second time.

Amish Cheese

I was excited about taking my niece back to Ohio. She had spent almost six weeks visiting with her Grandma this summer and had spent several afternoons with me at the old fishing hole. We were going to take the long way home and spend a few days in the county that I was born and raised. It's a nice area filled with farms, farms and more farms. It has several small towns, a Walmart, and several local tastee freezes known locally for their pizza burgers. (Yummy) It is also known for its large and thriving Amish community that owns and operates several small family markets. The markets carry everything from furniture, freshly baked goods, homemade cakes and pies to a wide assortment of meats and cheeses. My favorite is the Colby cheese. I don't know where they get the recipe but it is simply delicious. I usually get about a one pound chunk that is cut directly from a huge block with a big wooden handled knife. The young girl will weigh it (its almost exactly a pound every time) and wrap it up in the plain white paper like they used to have in the old days and seal it with a piece of tape. I barely make it out to the car before I have ripped it open and torn myself off a big chunk. There is a responsibility to other family members when you make the trip back home. As I sat in the car sending text messages to my mom, brother and sister asking what they wanted me to bring them, my niece is silently watching me while nibbling on a piece of cheese. My phone beeped three times signaling me to view the responses. "That's good cheese," my niece said. "What do they want you to get them?" I showed her the phone and all three messages said the exact same thing: Cheese. "Well, good minds think alike," she said. My point exactly!

Rest Area...Closed

There aren't too many ways to get from north Georgia to the rolling hills of southern Ohio. In fact, as many other transplants can attest to, the only way to get anywhere quickly is on Interstate 75. In my twenty plus years of being a defector from the north I have driven this route many times. It is exactly 424 miles from the farm that I was raised on to the house that my parents moved to in 1985. The first time I made the trip was during spring break 1986. My sister and several of our friends made the trip with us. The only memories I have of that trip are the stops at the roadside rest areas. We made the trek in a pickup truck and I was the lucky one who got to ride in the back of the truck, at night, in mid March. At the rest areas, I got to get out and stretch my legs, and this happened at least four times. On my recent trip, it was only twice. I don't know a whole lot about state budgets and who decides when it is time to close a rest area, but, I think I speak for many when I say please stop. The state of Tennessee has closed at least two rest areas on Interstate 75. The first to close was approximately 50 miles south of Knoxville over three years ago. I could handle this closure. I usually had just gotten started on my trip and didn't want to take the time to stop, or if I was coming south, I would need to get gas and would have to go to a service station. The second location that has closed, much to my dismay, is the rest area welcoming you to the state of Tennessee coming south on 75 from Kentucky. Why did they do this? This was the rest area that everyone stopped at. It was always packed. The car usually had three quarters of a tank of gas, so, you didn't need to stop for gas yet. Lots of times, we would have picnics on the tailgate or on one of the picnic tables. Or, you would just have to use the facilities. Rest Area...Closed. That's what the sign said. (Uh Oh) As many travelers will tell you, there aren't many places to stop north of Knoxville. It's just hills and slow moving trucks. I have always wanted to stop at exit 144, which is Stinking Creek Road. (Interesting name) Until now, I haven't had the time or opportunity.