Hikers Invade the Holler


It's official folks, spring has come to the holler. Forget the calendar, the weather or the forecasters. I know it's spring because the meandering trickle of trail weary hikers is slowly growing to a steady flow, coming down off the mountain and slowly trekking by the kitchen window.

Hikers are stinky individuals ya'll.

Those hiking long distances have supplies mailed to the Frog Pond Holler post office, where they tend to congregate as they crack open their goody boxes full of like.. bark, twigs and crap.

And one can only hope... deodorant.

Naw..for serious.. there's running water in streams up in those mountains. One could slap a little fresh water and maybe a dab o' Dial up in those pits on occasion. Ain't no sense in smellin' like Sasquatch after an aerobics class. Sometimes, on those particularly warm late July afternoons, you can open the door to the post office and the pit stench will knock you clear across the road.

Hiker season has it's advantages too. Our trailer sits at the foot of a hill, where the hikers get their first hint that they're entering civilization. It's fun to see their eyes widen as they ask if there's an actual town here, with a store and maybe something to eat. It's so funny.. they can follow a map through the woods, over trails in areas frequented by bear, mountain lions and snakes, but once they spot the double yellow line of the highway, they get completely disoriented. We're constantly redirecting lost souls heading in the opposite direction that they need to be.

You'd think the large, metal trail markers embedded in the sidewalk in front of our house would be a clue.

I won't name the trail that runs through my front yard, but I will tell you it runs from Maine all the way south to Georgia and it's named for the mountain range I call home.

Google it amongst yourselves.

Time to tackle the day. Ya'll have an awesome one!

Later Taters