Tennessee Childhood

I grew up in the foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains. Running barefoot through lush green grass in summer and catching fireflies in the dusky evenings of the East Tennessee hill country was as close as a child could get to heaven on earth.

I would wake up early on those cool, moist, summer mornings and with breathless wonder, peek out my bedroom window to seize that first glimpse of the sun and a landscape covered in the dew of a misty dawn. Through the open window, I could smell the fresh earth and the honeysuckles lining the fence around our house. The familiar aroma of freshly ground, brewed coffee merging with the salty fragrance of country fried ham, homemade biscuits and red-eye gravy flowed ever so gently throughout our modest home.

This morning, as I hear the voices of children playing in my Idaho neighborhood, I am reminded of my own wonderful childhood in that Tennessee mountain home.
Copyright 2008 By-Barbara J. Kirby Davis