The 1973 Chevrolet Impala station wagon’s passenger door closed with a loud thunk. A little girl in pigtails ran around the front of the car and hugged her father. They were going on a hike. A father/daughter hike. All the way to Abrams Falls.
Abrams Falls Trail is one of the most scenic and popular trails in the Great Smoky National Park. Tucked toward the back of Cades Cove, it ‘s a moderately easy five-mile roundtrip hike with a grand payoff: The spectacular site of rushing Abrams Creek pouring over a rock ledge.
They had already had a big day together — just them. They had been to Gatlinburg earlier in the morning and seen taffy being made. They had skipped rocks together on Little River at the Forks. Her dad told her stories of how he used to ride horses up in the mountains when he was a little boy. The tourists from Ohio loved seeing him with his overalls on! They drove past the grand summer cabins in Elkmont. “No dear, we’ll never be able to own one of those.” But she didn’t care. The Smokies was just theirs today and no one else’s.
Cades Cove used to be a rural farming community tucked in between the mountains of the Smokies. In the old days, you had to drive an old dirt road over a mountain to get there. But thanks to the National Park Service and the CCC, you could drive right into the Cove and take a beautiful 13-mile loop around it.
Nose prints smudged her dad’s passenger window as she looked for deer. They had seen a mama bear earlier with a cub. (Her dad had told her it would be prudent not to stop and pet it). She loved it when the car forwarded the small streams that crossed the road. She and her dad enjoyed a picnic out in a field past the Primitive Baptist Church. Cows looked at them suspiciously as they ate their roast beef sandwiches.
But this was the big event. The hike. The moment she had been waiting for. She looked over at Elijah Oliver’s cabin. Elijah was John Oliver’s son and his primitive cabin had been constructed in 1866. “Were you a little boy then, dad?” Her dad laughed as they walked toward the trail head.
Her little lungs burned as they went up and down the hills. “Tired, pumpkin?” Her dad sweetly asked. They found a rock and sat down. The light, diffused by the leaves of the oaks and maples, caused spots of gold on them as they drank their cold water. Her dad looked almost angelic to her. “You ready?” he said softly. They continued on their journey.
The last hill before the falls was too much for her little legs. She was tired and the look on her face betrayed her exhaustion. “Oh, OK,” her dad feigned in protest. He picked up his daughter and carried her the rest of the way to the end.
They sat there, watching the majesty of the falls, and just made memories as the water spilled over the rocks.
Thirty five years later, the cows were gone but Cades Cove was still there. A van door slammed shut and a middle-aged woman ran around the front. She hugged her son. “You excited?!” she said.
“Yes ma’am!”
They had already had a big day together — just them. They had been to Gatlinburg earlier in the day and seen taffy being made. They had skipped rocks together on Little River at the Forks. She told her son about her dad and how he used to ride horses up in the mountains when he was a little boy.
Her dad. He was gone now, but his spirit still remained — in her heart and at Abrams Falls. “A lot of water had spilled over the falls since my first hike,” she said to herself.
She grabbed her backpack and her son’s hand. They looked over at The Elijah Oliver Place and headed to the trail head.
They had memories to make.
