by Lin Stepp
She studied a sweep of purple flowers lining the side of the road. The air smelled sweet and clean, and Jenna could hear the sounds of the mountain stream tumbling by the side of the road.
“I guess a lot of people hike here,” she said.
“You would think so.” He shook his head. “But, amazingly, most people just drive through the Smokies and hardly ever get out of their cars. The park service did some kind of study once, and they found that eighty percent of people do nothing but drive around when they come to the mountains. They stop at a pullover to look at a view or a stream, but that’s about it. If they get curious about a hiking trail, they might walk up it about a half mile or so, but then they’ll turn around and go back. You wait. You’ll see it’s true, even on a gorgeous day like this with the wildflowers out. You’ll see people on the first part of the trail, but by the time we’ve walked two miles, we’ll have the mountains pretty much to ourselves. I’ve hiked beautiful trails where I never saw a single soul the whole day.”
Jenna smoothed her windblown hair back. “Do you hike by yourself most of the time?”
“Yes, but that’s mainly because I can’t usually find anyone to go with me.” Boyce slowed the jeep to cross a wooden bridge. “It’s better and safer to hike in twos, in case something should happen.”
“You mean like bears or snakes or something?” Jenna bit her lip nervously.
Boyce laughed and grinned at her. “Now don’t start getting worried about that. You’re more likely to see a bear in a campground, or along the road where tourists stop to eat a picnic lunch, than up a trail. And snakes, in general, try to stay away from people about as much as people try to stay away from them. Which means they avoid well-used pathways as much as possible. It’s rare to see a bear or a snake if you stay on the main trails. That’s what you should always do when hiking in the mountains – stay on the park-maintained trails.”
Jenna knew he was teasing her but she still felt annoyed. “Well, you’re the one who said you should hike in twos in case something should happen.”
“I did. And hiking with a partner means if the unexpected should happen, like tripping and breaking an ankle - or getting injured in some other way - you’d have that partner to bring back help for you.”
“Can’t you take a cell phone?” This seemed sensible to Jenna.
He grinned at her. “You could, I guess. But it’s hard to pick up signals on the trails. The mountains block out usage of cell phones for the most part.”
The paved surface of the road ended and they bumped along a more rustic, unpaved roadbed now. The forest shaded the roadway, and the smells of evergreens, earth, and trees filled the air. Rills and little streams bubbled along the roadside and clumps of colorful wildflowers decorated the open spaces.
Jenna pointed toward another sweep of purple flowers along the side of the road. “What are those flowers, Boyce? Do you know?”
Boyce glanced away from the road. “Wild purple phlox,” he told her. “And those yellow flowers growing beside them are mountain trillium. I’ll show you more trillium varieties up close when we get to our trail. The Smokies are known for trillium this time of year.”
They came to the end of the dirt road, and Boyce found a pull-over parking spot for the jeep. He helped Jenna get her pack on, and then put on his own backpack, draping his camera around his shoulder. Then they were off.
They found many people hiking and walking on the earlier part of the trail. Because Boyce verbally shared knowledge with Jenna about the flowers along the trailside, he picked up an entourage. Two older ladies and a young couple soon trooped along with them, asking Boyce a constant stream of questions. He entertained them with stories about the settlers and the region, and he stopped often to acquaint them with aspects of interest on the trail.
Jenna learned to recognize three varieties of trillium, wild geranium, white petaled bloodroot, and ferny wood betony. White and yellow violets danced along the trailside and masses of pale spring beauty spread like a snowy carpet in many places on the forest floor.
“Look,” Boyce said, stopping to squat down on the ground beside the trailside. “These plants are called little brown jugs. They have small heart or arrowhead shaped green leaves, and here at the base of the plant are the brown jugs.”
The older ladies, like Jenna, leaned over and looked closely. Hard, brown growths shaped like small jugs were clustered at the base of each green plant.
One of the ladies said with amazement, “Well I’d never have seen this unusual plant if you hadn’t pointed it out.”
“Little brown jugs are hard to find because so many other low plants have leaves that look almost exactly the same,” he answered. “Like this one here nearby.” He pointed to another group of heart-shaped leaves rising out of the grass below a tree.
“These are wild ginger. And they have a wonderful smell.” He picked one and rubbed it between his fingers before handing it around for everyone to sniff. “We’re really not supposed to pick anything here in the Smokies, according to park regulations, but I thought we’d make an exception of this one leaf to enjoy a remembrance of the smell of wild ginger.”
The rich, sweet aroma delighted Jenna, and she tucked the leaf into her pocket to carry along with her.
Because Porter’s Creek Trail was an old mountain roadbed trail, they could walk up its pathway in a group, rather than in single file as on a more narrow trail. The trail offered only a gradual ascent and curled alongside the merry cascades of Porter’s Creek.
Boyce pointed out remnants of the old settlements along the way – rock walls, homestead clearings, and steps that led to an old cemetery. The older ladies turned back after a half mile, but the young couple from Indiana continued walking with them. When the trail forked and Boyce wanted to go over to see the old Messer farm buildings, they tagged along. Together, the four explored the old barn, the springhouse, and the rustic, log cabin where the family had once lived. Then they all sat on the cabin porch to rest and have a snack.
Leaning back on an old bench, Boyce looked around the farm site with contentment. “I like to sit here sometimes and imagine what it must have been like to have been a settlement farmer up here.”
“It would have been a hard life,” the boy said. “And isolated.”
“Yes.” Boyce agreed. “But peaceful in a way. It’s people that bring the most pain and stress into a life. Not nature, even though it can be harsh.”
Jenna couldn’t help but silently agree with that.
The young couple decided to hike back to their car after their rest. Jenna walked a short way with them. When she returned, Boyce sat with his sketchbook on his lap, making rapid drawings. Along the way up the old settlers’ road, Boyce had taken many photographs, but this was the first time he had gotten out his sketchbook. Jenna watched him briefly, and then began to explore around the homestead on her own. She took some pictures herself and collected some ideas for her own designs.
“Uh, Boyce,” Jenna said, coming back up to the house. “Where is there a bathroom along this trail?”
“There isn’t, Jenna, except the great outdoors.” He grinned at her shocked expression. “What did you expect - public restrooms along the trailside?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.” She considered her growing discomfort. “But where can you go? There are people around here, you know. It’s not as easy for women as men. All you have to do is turn your back; I have to drop my pants!”
“There’s no one here but us right now and no one coming,” he answered, his attention transferred back to his drawing. “Go behind the cabin where you’re out of view and find a quiet spot. I’ll keep a watch for you and holler if I see anyone coming.”
Jenna started around the house, since there was obviously no other choice in the matter. “Terrific,” she muttered.
“Remember to take some tissue.” Boyce called after her. “And then bury it under leaves afterwards so it won’t litter the area.”
&nbs
p; Jenna rolled her eyes but followed his instructions.
When Boyce finished his sketches, they continued their hike up Porter’s Creek Trail, following alongside the stream and through the woods. The path narrowed as they walked on, and - just as Boyce predicted - they saw fewer and fewer people on the trail as they walked deeper into the woods. Soon it was just the two of them and the quiet and beauty of the mountains.
Boyce reached back to hold Jenna’s hand as she followed him over a narrow log bridge over the creek. Then he turned to help her down the bridge steps at the end.
He smiled happily as he looked up at her, but then Jenna saw an angry look cross his face. He turned away and began to stride up the trail away from her.
“What’s wrong?” Jenna walked quickly trying to keep up with him.
He glanced back at her with a frown. “I don’t like that look you gave me. It makes me feel like dirt. It’s the same one you sent me this morning when I came to pick you up. Skittish, anxious, fearful, like I might be some kind of mountain cougar set on doing you harm or having you for dinner.”
“I’m sorry.” Jenna felt an embarrassed flush steal up her face. “It’s just that after last night ….”
“Don’t even finish that thought,” Boyce said, interrupting her. “I don’t know what changed your thinking from last night until this morning about something sweet and good, but my guess is it was getting your thoughts on Elliott Howell.” He scowled at her before walking on. “I’m not Elliott Howell, Jenna. You can’t equate me with him in any aspect or in any way. Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean I’m like him.”
Jenna didn’t know what to say. How did Boyce always seem to figure out what she was thinking? It was uncanny. Elliott had seemed oblivious to anything she was ever thinking about.
“Look around you here.” He gestured broadly with his arm as they walked on. “Everywhere in the forest you see can trees. Right?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer. “But none of the trees are the same. There’s that tall poplar, reaching high up toward the sky.” He pointed in another direction. “And there’s a little redbud, short with blossoms all along its branches. Up ahead there is a stand of evergreen trees, mostly white pines, but not a one of those trees is exactly alike. You don’t just decide trees are all the same because you’ve seen one tree, Jenna. They’re all different even though they are of the same species. People are like that, too. They’re each unique. You can’t decide you know about people just because of what you know about one person, and you can’t decide you know about all men because of what you’ve known of one.”
He fell into silence then as they walked on. Jenna looked up into the trees and thought about what he’d said.
She was getting ready to apologize again for misjudging him when Boyce slowed his pace and put out a hand to halt her.
“Stop here. Let’s go down this side trail,” he said, pointing to a narrow path through the grass. “If we’re lucky, we’ll see a real treat.”
Jenna followed him down a short side path, winding away from the main trail and around a cluster of boulders.
“There!” He pointed to some small clumps of flowers by an old tree stump. “Walk carefully. These are fragile and rare. They’re called lady’s slippers.”
He squatted down to show Jenna the wildflowers. “These are pink lady’s slippers, but they come in yellow, too. They’re in the orchid family.”
The stems looked like tulip leaves, but the blossoms looked like dainty little shoes dangling off the ends of the stems.
He smiled up at Jenna, obviously forgetting his earlier annoyance. “These are worth spending a little time drawing and photographing. They’re hard to find in the mountains.”
“How did you know where to look?” She gazed around. “They were way over here behind the rocks.”
“I remembered the place from another time. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come here today. I thought I might do a painting of these.” He took his camera out of his backpack and started taking photos from different angles, while Jenna wandered around in the clearings under the nearby trees.
“Here, Boyce,” she called. “I’ve found some more, and some other kind of odd flower, too.”
He walked over to join her. “Well done, Jenna. These are in the same wild orchid family as the lady’s slippers. They’re called showy orchis; they’re rare, too. Both plants like these rich, moist woods around Porter’s Creek. We’ll get some photos and sketches of both.”
The whole day was like that for Jenna - full of one discovery and delight after another. It was wonderful to be outdoors and hiking up such a beautiful trail in the mountains. They shared their picnic lunch sitting on a high log bridge over the cascades of the creek. Jenna loved the sound of the rushing water and the feel of cool air; it was so relaxing and their conversation at lunch proved happy and pleasant.
In total, they hiked over six miles on their round-trip walk. Boyce turned them back before they started up the last steep mile of the trail. It was enough of a first hike for Jenna. She pulled off her boots to rub her feet when she got back to the jeep.
Boyce drove them over a different route on their way home, through Pigeon Forge and over Wear’s Valley Road back into Townsend. “I thought you’d like to see more of the area,” he explained.
Pigeon Forge, a tourist town, was stuffed full of motels, restaurants, attractions, and shops. But it was not as quaint and attractive as Gatlinburg. It looked newer and gaudy, but it had its own fascinations. After the quiet of the mountains, it surprised Jenna to see all the people here - bumper to bumper in their cars, walking up and down the streets in throngs, or enjoying the shopping malls, stores, and amusements.
“Is it always like this?” Jenna gazed out both sides of the jeep window in amazement at all the people thronging the area.
“No, some of the time it’s worse.” Boyce grinned at her. “When I was a kid there wasn’t even a town here, just a scattering of outlying restaurants, shops, and small motels on the route into Gatlinburg. But it sure has changed.”
They swung left at a stoplight in Pigeon Forge to start across Wear’s Valley Road toward Townsend. Soon they were twining through the foothills of the Smokies and away from the crowds of the town.
“I grew up in this valley.” Boyce looked around with obvious pride.
“I remember you telling me that,” said Jenna. “Will we pass your brother’s shop where you used to work?”
“Sure, after a while.” He looked over at her. “You wanna stop and see it?”
She nodded. “If it’s okay.”
“Will do.” He grinned. “Wear’s Valley is a special place – secluded but convenient to the attractions of Pigeon Forge as well as the tubing, festivals, and historic sites in and near Townsend. That’s why so many people are beginning to discover it.”
He pointed to a large log building on the hill to their left. “That’s Moonshine Ridge country store – a nice place to explore if you come back one day. And further down in the middle of the valley you’d like the Smoky Mountain Park Store and the Antique and Craft Gallery, filled with consignment booths.”
Seeing her glance toward the mountains on either side of the valley, he added, “Cove Mountain and Roundtop Mountain are there on our left and the Chilhowee Mountains are to the right. The Wear’s Valley highway weaves right down between them. This was all rich farmland once, and there are still farms here in the valley today.”
Jenna looked out the window with pleasure. “I can see what made people want to settle here. It’s so peaceful and beautiful.”
“My roots are here. It’s a comforting feeling to know where your people come from.” He glanced over at her. “Do you know where your family came from?”
“The Martins came from the Boston area originally and my Alvarez grandmother from Spain, but my mother’s people came from the South, near Staunton, Virginia. That’s one reason my Aunt Lydia moved back there when she had her problems.”
&
nbsp; “What happened with Aunt Lydia?”
Jenna told him and described her visit there on the way to Tennessee. She shared with Boyce about her own upbringing then - how she grew up, where she went to school. She told him how she first got connected with Park Press through her high school designs.
He listened with interest. “Your artistic gift showed up early, too,” he commented. “And from what you said, you were drawing even as a girl.”
“I suppose. I always loved to draw and to write. When I was little and alone so much, I entertained myself by reading, drawing, and writing.”
“While I was busy exploring the outdoors.” Boyce laughed and gave her one of those charming grins of his. “I spent very little time indoors as a child.”
She smiled at him. “I totally believe that after seeing how comfortable you were in the outdoors today.”
“You didn’t do so bad yourself for a city girl,” he said, kidding her. “The only time you complained was when you had to go to the bathroom outside.”
“And I got used to that after a few times.” She tossed her head saucily.
Boyce turned his blue eyes to hers thoughtfully. “In case I forget to tell you later, I had a good time with you today, Jenna. I don’t say that easily about people I spend my time in the mountains with. I hope you’ll go again with me sometime.”
Happiness welled up in Jenna’s heart. “I would love to,” she said. “I want to see a lot of the mountains before I have to go back to New York.”
A thought came to her. “By the way, Boyce, do you know where the Smokies trail is that walks behind a waterfall? A couple in the shop talked about it yesterday.”
“That’s Grotto Falls behind Gatlinburg,” Boyce said. “The trail to it is called Trillium Gap and it’s a great hike.” He told her all about that trail then, and several others, as they drove the rest of the way through the valley to his brother’s store.
Chapter 10
Boyce always experienced a feeling of going back in time whenever he pulled up at the print and sign shop Charles converted from an old family barn. Over time, as Charles’ shop grew more successful, he probably could have torn down the old barn and built a newer, more modern store. But it just wouldn’t have been the same. Besides, the rustic character of the old barn always attracted passing tourists.