Dear Gatlinburg,
Its been real. Ima be honest, I did not expect much from a mountain town with a pancake house on every corner, and you humbled me. Birthday celebration complete. I am headed back home to my kids and I am taking a jar with me.
Ole Smoky, this part is for you. Yall let me sample every flavor at the counter like I was a judge on a show. I stood there in the orange romper with a fan on a lanyard round my neck cause it was ninety degrees in that barn, tasting moonshine out of lil cups, nodding like I knew what I was nodding at. I did not. By the fourth one I was just saying mmm. Anyway I bought two. The one that taste like a pie and the one that taste like a mistake. The mistake one is for Jimmy.
Look at this picture. That is a woman who has been on vacation exactly long enough. Curls holding up, smile on, fan in hand, feet in slides that been walked in for three days straight. Somebody’s uncle in the back pretending he not looking. He was looking. He can look.
Here go what I am bringing home. A jar of moonshine, a jar of the other moonshine, a bag of taffy I will not share, and a body that need its own bed. Here go what I am leaving. My voice, my money, and whatever that was I sang at the karaoke place on night two.
Kids, mama coming. Clean up before I get there.
Gatlinburg, I will be back. Not soon. But back.
Love, The lady in the orange
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