We stayed for a week with my parents, who, contrary to first appearances, were once worldly professionals, climbing their respective corporate ladders. Now, they're goat farmers. Tennessee was almost as hot as Egypt, and a hell of a lot more humid, but we had a great time running from the air-conditioned car, to the air-conditioned Country Music Hall of Fame (just to see the Bluegrass exhibit, of course!), to the air-conditioned retirement home where my grandmother - the Critter's namesake - lives. And I managed to eat nearly my weight in biscuits and gravy at the Cracker Barrel, even if it did take me a couple of trips.
On a side note, out of all the places I've visited, I've never had problems with connectivity for my Blackberry. Hell, I think I had three bars of reception in King Tut's tomb. But in the hills of Tennessee? Nada. I had to drive 45 minutes to the Interstate if I wanted any reception. To be honest, though, it was more a relief than a problem to be that cut off. (But I'll never admit that to my Bride).
Tennessee really is a beautiful part of the world. It's visits like these that remind me that I don't want to live abroad forever. A little while longer, maybe, but I definitely know where my roots are. And I'm not sure how much longer I can really live in a place that I don't have free access to boiled peanuts.
Geek. Amateur homesteader. Enthusiastic cook. Occasional doodler. Avid eater of food, Father. Bad banjo player. .
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