Population Density
Most people who visit the park don’t get out of their cars but those who do go to Laurel Falls.
It’s a hilly, 2-mile, out and back hike to a pretty, little waterfall but it’s paved so you’re more likely to sustain an injury from having your toes run over by a stroller or getting your finger caught in a rogue fanny pack zipper than you are to be injured by the land. I scouted out a couple of potential performance locations, ran into a few of the families I’d Exquisite Corpsed with last night, including my favorite brood of little women, and enjoyed the outdoor clickbait:
When I got back to HQ Sheridan showed me the library in the visitor’s center. Two interns sat at a table in a room the size of my kitchen here in the park looking out over two rows of VSH tapes, land use books from the 70s, and the dewy decimal system:
On our way there we passed the Wildlife Management Office:
And this room here:
“Dan used to work here.” Sheridan said in hushed tones. “Then one day he just up and left.”
Did all the fresh air addle his brain? Was he secretly in love with Keith but couldn’t get up the nerve to tell him? Did Joan push him over the edge with her haughty back talk? And did he take his desk with him? I mean, why is the phone on the floor? There’s clearly more to this story than Sheridan is letting on.
Speaking of Joan, when I went upstairs to inquire about the best place to leave the Exquisite Corpse story for public consumption she invited me into her office to wait while Stephanie, who is apparently in charge of the display of ensemble, devised stories in the park, finished up a phone call. Joan gave no indication whatsoever that she held me in low esteem. Instead, she told me about her cat (Ollie) who is very spoiled, the park ranger doll on her desk, and the work she and Lisa were doing to try to sort out the check-in list from Saturday, which had gotten so wet that no one could tell who’s name had been highlighted and who’s was just blue because of ink bleed. This was their third day trying to figure it out. I didn’t ask why.
I did ask where I should go to see the Fireflies tonight. Joan said I should try a particular entrance to the park that’s only used by the locals and drive up to one of the trails heads up there. “That’s where I go,” she added. Perhaps we’ll be best friends after all!
I also made friends with a soft spoken woman who I had never met but looked like she could tell me where I could drop a letter off to be mailed. She could, indeed, and good thing I asked because the usual mailbox is currently overrun by ants.
“I’m on my way to drop this starter off with Dave.” She said.
“Starter?”
“Sour dough starter. I’d be happy to make you some if you’d like. Just swing on my by my office with a jar. It takes about three days but I’d be happy to do it.”
“Thanks! I’m Jessica, by the way.”
“Susan.”
“Nice to meet you Susan!”
Feeling good about my ability to make friends, I headed into Gatlinburg to run a few errands. Gatlinburg, the “Gateway to the Smokies,” is thoroughly smushed up against the main entrance to the park. Any closer and it would be the Gat Smoklin Mountburgs.
Gatlinburg is as tourist trapy a town as they come. There are about 13 Road House style eateries, an aquarium, a chair lift, and two dozen specialty popcorn shops, all of them with signs that belong in a traveling circus circa 1890. So when I had an hour to kill between my theatrical supply stop at the Dollar General and the arts lecture at Arrowmont (more on this later) I walked up and down the strip, taking in the eye sores. But I’m not, like, inhuman, so I went into the moonshine store for their free tasting. Apparently the store is connected to a very popular show called Moonshiners and whatever we were sampling was a big deal on the show. The bartender, a guy named Cole who was no doubt hired because of his beard, doled out nine differed moonshines samples. Nine of them.
After dinner at Ben & Jerry’s (obviously) I headed over to Arrowmont. Arrowmont is an arts school that focuses on handcrafted wood, glass, textile, stone, and paper products.
This world renown craft school is tucked away behind the go-kart rental place named Cooters but the campus is remarkably secluded and garden-esque. Sheridan took me here a few days ago to meet the man who runs the school, Bill May, who’s one of the jurors who sat on the panel that decided to bring me down here. We’re working on setting up a time that I can come give a lecture later this month so I thought I’d check out tonight’s talks and see what’s up. I also have access to their library all month, which is a slight variation on the NPS library in that it has natural light, couches, computers, a fire place, wall art, and a giant, hand crafted, wooden coffee table:
Tonight’s lecture was interesting if for no other reason than during the glass and copper glaze demonstration I suddenly thought, “Whoa, I’m about to fall asleep, like, right this second. That moonshine must have a delayed- Nope, I’m going to throw up, where’s the nearest- Wrong again, I’m definitely going to pass out.” As the world grew black around the edges I made my way through the kilns and rows of colored, chemical powders to reach the lobby where I found a bench and put my head between my knees. A woman named Molly asked if I was “in distress” and very kindly went to get me a coke and a cup of water, both of which helped immensely.
Back on my feet, I headed out to the lesser known entrance to the park that Joan had suggested to see if I could get a solo show from the fireflies. Annnnnd got lost. But, I mean, four days of heavy driving and this was the first time I got lost? This is big. High fives to myself! From myself. I’m the only one around right now… I finally made it to my destination but the fireflies were not firing. Now, there are two possible explanations: 1) It’s a bit chilly tonight and fireflies only get frisky above a certain temperature. 2) Joan led me astray on purpose because she hates me for not doing check-in last night and she’s bitter that I was off writing stories with strangers rather than highlighting said stranger’s names on a list that would cause her days of future grief.
Even though they were not as numerous, the fireflies were still pretty inspiring tonight. I made up a few more songs as I watched them and after the throngs of people I passed on the trail and in town today it was nice to be alone in the woods once again. Here is a song that I made up about a big furry insect that kept flying at my face:
“There is a moth, mmhmm mmhmm, mmhmm mmhmm
It’s coming troth, mmhmm mmhmm, mmhmm mmhmm
I whip my hair, mmhmm mmhmm, mmhmm mmhmm
It goes nowhere, mmhmm mmhmm, mmhmm mmhmm.”
