Father's Day

On Father's Day, the tradition in our family is that Dad can do anything he wants, which puts a bit of pressure on Dad.  But this year the day unfolded as perfectly as possible under the circumstances (sans daughter, who was elsewhere) when I decided to take a ramble in the Mini to Looking Glass Falls, the Cradle of Forestry, and Mount Pisgah.  Or wherever whim and road might take us.

Ramble:   

1.  to wander around in a leisurely, aimless manner:

2.  to take a course with many turns or windings, as a stream or path. 

Martha passed 30 or 40 cars parked along the road at Looking Glass Falls, and then slipped effortlessly into this space right by the falls itself, as if it had been reserved for us. 

Thunderclouds kept building into tall dark towers all around us, and looming over the Parkway in front of us, persuading us to stop to put the top up, but rain never materialized until the end of the day.  There are some beautiful trails to hike in the Cradle of Forestry, and we both realized that our hiking boots are as comfortable as any we have worn.  We are ready for LeConte.

This 1914 Climax locomotive, which was used for logging in this area, is a photographer's dream - suddenly stumbled-upon in the middle of the forest on a short stretch of track that goes nowhere.

We had packed a picnic lunch and, unable to find a table at the nearby Pink Beds Picnic Area, we drove up to the Parkway and discovered (or re-discovered) the Mount Pisgah Picnic Area, which I thought I had remembered from some distant al fresco occasion in a previous life, but found to be completely unfamiliar; a steep path climbed through the woods and suddenly opened into a breeze-swept field of grass where Dads had gathered to play games with their children.  A few sprinkles of rain dotted the tablecloth, and we packed up quickly.  But it never did rain very much at all, though we stopped to put the top up and let it down again a half-dozen times.

We found ourselves at Sapphire Mountain Brewing Company around dinnertime and were nearly alone on the outside deck which overlooks the greens and fairways of the golf course below us.  This was the place where, eight years ago, Martha organized a surprise 60th birthday party for me - a memorable celebration of a new decade which is now nearly complete.

And then suddenly the rain, which had obligingly held off all day, let loose in a downpour.  Is there anything more enjoyable than watching a heavy rain from a dry, secure shelter?  While eating pizza?

Or going on a ramble with no clear destination in mind with a companion as priceless as Martha and a convertible as enjoyable to drive as our little Mini?