Leavin’ My Tennessee

“Come with us,” my friend requested. “We have a group heading for the ocean.
The beaches will boast warm sand, the waves will be gently breaking,
the sun will shine for miles, the spirit will be reborn!”

“Sounds wonderful,” I agreed, as I rose to pack.
But wait. Leave my Tennessee in the spring?
The hardwood trees will be sprouting new leaves, their colors as vibrant as autumn.
The bluebirds will come back to their boxed home on my arbor.
The crabapple tree outside my kitchen window will blush a shy pink.
Mountain laurel and rhododendron will bloom in the Smokies.
Andrew’s Bald will glow with the brilliance of orange-flamed azaleas.
Wildflowers will abound on quiet walkways.
The wood thrush will warble.
Dulcimers will ring.
“Leave my Tennessee? In spring? Please ask another time.”

“Come with me,” my friend implored. “I’m going to spend two weeks in Paris!
Artisans will sell their creations on the street. The temperature will be perfect.
Sidewalk cafes will transport you to times long past.
The Eiffel Tower will glow.
Love will bloom!”

“Sounds heavenly,” I sighed, heading to retrieve my suitcase.
But wait. Leave my Tennessee in summer?
The hummingbirds have returned to the feeders, their ruby throats sparkling in the sun.
I have nursed my fruit trees through a beautiful late April snow, and apples are setting on.
I’ve groomed and coaxed the early rosebuds into opening.
Who will enjoy the first ripe lemon boy tomato from my garden?
Who will bite into the first luscious pear?
Who will bake fresh cherry cobbler for my elder neighbors and listen to their stories of ancient pioneers?
Who will enjoy the dance of thousands of fireflies as they rise each evening from the field beside my house?
Who will hike the trails by the shimmering Tennessee rivers that wind dreamily through the hills?
Who will laugh at the June bugs as they dip and dive around my deck?
“Leave my Tennessee? In summer? Please ask another time.”

“Come with me,” my friend pleaded yet again. “I’m taking a cruise on the wild blue ocean.”
Did I detect a wearisome note in her voice?
“There will be more food on the ship than a person can possibly eat.
All the people are tan and beautiful. The sun never falters.
The Bahamas are a million shades of teal.
Stewards will cater to us.
Boredom has no place.
Excitement reigns!”

“Sounds marvelous!” I actually considered packing.
But wait. Leave my Tennessee in autumn?
The hardwoods turn shades of orange, red and gold only God could create; their colors rival an artist’s palette.
Wintergreen dons its red berries. They peek shyly from under the cover of an early snow along a mountain trail.
The heart-warming sounds of old-timers strumming their banjos echoes across the valleys.
Local artisans display their craft during festivals in charming, picturesque towns.
The summer rush has ended and lakes offer a quiet haven.
The smell of homemade molasses permeates the air.
Marshmallows roast over campfires of hickory wood.
Neyland Stadium is ablaze with lights.
Volunteer football is in the air.
Apple cider flows freely.
Tailgating has begun!
“Leave my Tennessee in autumn? Dare I request that you ask another time?”

“Come with us!” My friend demanded. “You must experience skiing in the Rockies.
Slope after slope of endless fluffy powder. Beautiful evergreens to soothe the soul.
Elegant stone lodges on mountainsides of white. Shopping in quaint villages.
We’ll sip hot chocolate topped with whipped cream by a blazing fire that crackles in a giant pit.
Ski instructors to die for!”

“That sounds … unnecessary,” I dared respond.
“Why would I leave my Tennessee in winter?
I am surrounded by majestic mountains. Their snow-covered peaks can be viewed from my home.
On a cold, clear morning, I can see Mount LeConte topped with an early hoarfrost.
I have friends and family here and we will build on memories of Christmases past.
Someone I love will snuggle with me under my grandmother’s hand-stitched quilt on frosty evenings.
There is a hush in the air on long, snowy, winter nights like nowhere else in the world.
There will be sledding on the gentle slopes of a neighbor’s tobacco farm.
Snowmen will be waiting to be birthed by grandchildren I adore.
New stars will come into view when the air is crisp.
There is reading to catch up on.
Fireplaces to be lit.
Quilts to piece.

“Leave my Tennessee in winter? Not in this lifetime. Please ask … someone else.”