Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Heading to the Holler

There’s an exact point on my drive back to Coker Creek from Atlanta where I begin to feel like I’m almost home. About ten miles before Coker Creek, the highway winds its way into a world of endless greens and dappled sunlight. There are no man-made buildings in sight – around every smooth turn in the road is another soothing scene of forest and stream. My van is my dance partner in my slow motion homecoming dream sequence.

It never ceases to amaze me that in less than two hours, I can drive between two completely opposite worlds. There are many areas of the interstate through Atlanta where you have to know several miles in advance where and in what direction you’re exiting because you have to make sure you’re in the correct lane of the six choices. And traffic is usually so fast that it’s breaking the sound barrier.

Tennessee Highway 68 going north from Georgia is mostly two lanes. The long series of nearly ninety-degree turns keeps speeds at an average of about forty miles per hour. This is a good speed for gawking, but only if you’re a passenger.Every trip is different on the drive through the Cherokee National Forest. Some trips are pale spring green; some are decorated with mountain laurel blooms; on some, the streams are very visible because there are few leaves on the trees. On this trip, the thistles were in bloom.

Atlanta is the epitome of progress. I think the whole Greater Atlanta area is a Wi-Fi hotspot; whereas, we don’t even have mobile phone service in Coker Creek. This is probably a good thing, given the nature of driving in the mountains. We barely have land line phone service. Talking on the phone to someone in Coker Creek is like talking in a sawmill. The phone service provider calls it “the Coker Creek buzz”.

Buzzing is a common sound in the holler. In addition to the buzz in the phone lines, there’s the buzzing of honey bees and the buzzing of far-off motorcycle engines as they negotiate the ever-popular Highway 68 curves. We notice these things because mostly the sounds are of leaves rustling the in the trees, horses whinnying in their pastures, birdsong, and dogs barking in the distance.

When I arrived at home, it was obvious that our house had also been abuzz -- with Richard getting prepared for my arrival. The bed was made; the bathrooms and the kitchen were clean; and the laundry was folded. Richard had made salads, and there was a pot of his paprika chicken in the refrigerator waiting to become our supper. He had also been to Mamie’s. Easily ten pounds of okra and an equal amount of tomatoes beckoned from the kitchen table.

It’s quite a comfort coming home to a tidy house, a clean kitchen, a familiar task -- and a man so happy to be allowed to stay home that he’s prepared for me a homecoming fit for a visiting dignitary. I don’t know if my absence makes his heart grow fonder, but I am planning to be away again in two weeks.