hearts a-bustin

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The common name of this shrub refers to the plant's seed pods which are now ripe and a-bustin'. Once the seeds have matured, the red capsules burst, scattering the orange seeds up to 15 feet. Bam!

Known in the Smoky Mountains by the folk name hearts a-bustin', Euonymus americanus is now doing just that: bustin'. A quick shower this week only added to the plant's apparent pathos.

If you know anything about the lives of the mountaineers who lived in the hollows of the Great Smokies before the coming of the national park, you know their hearts were often broken, mostly by the early deaths of loved ones. Their lives were hard, insular; their cemeteries are filled with tombstones of people who died much too young. Mourning was a routine facet of their lives. They wore black. They grieved. They buried their dead. Finding a photograph of one of them smiling is impossible. 

But who hasn't felt such heartbreak? Such a-bustin'?

I know of their hardships. The cemeteries at the foot of Mt. LeConte are filled with my ancestors. One, near the Rolling Fork Motor Nature Trail, is actually named the Bales Cemetery. I had an uncle named Maferd I never met who is buried there. He died the same day he was born: November 22, 1923. 

Short life, but at least his hardship was brief. Broke his parents hearts. Homer and Pearl. Their first child.  But they were not alone.

You can bet that any child who died in September, their graves would have been decorated with bouquets of heart a-bustin'.

Yes, hearts a-bustin'.

- photo taken about twelve feet from my front porch.

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mountain blood

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If you are familiar with the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, you might recognize this cabin south of Gatlinburg in the foothills of Mt. LeConte. It's located on the Motor Nature Trail, a one-way road that winds through the mountains between Cherokee Orchard and Roaring Fork. The sign in front records it as the Jim Bales or James Bales home site. If you note the similarity between our last names you might think there was a connection.

Indeed, you would be right.

Jim Bales was my great grandfather. My grandfather Homer Daniel—born January 5, 1899—grew up at this site along the creek. He eventually married my grandmother Pearl and moved over the ridge to the Baskins Creek watershed. There they had four children, the last of which was my father Russell.

In 1929, the Bales family sold their 200 acres for $2,000 and the parcel became part of the new national park. Two thousand dollars was a lot of money for poor folks.

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purple fringed

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To the orchid chasers: I found another summer orchid to add to our growing list.

The lesser purple fringed orchid was growing in a colony of ferns along the side the newly resurfaced Clingman's Dome Road in the national park.

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