Black Bears, Dead Industries, and Pancake Houses (HOL 88)

House of Laughter 88

I’ve had my fill of Christmas for the year already. Last weekend we went to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee (Motto: Myrtle Beach with Ski Lifts and no beach.), to cash in the free tickets to Dollywood I won earlier this fall. Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg, and Dollywood were already completely decked out for Christmas in direct violation of Baumann’s law, (No Christmas music shall be played nor decoration put on display prior to the day after Thanksgiving.)

We arrived Friday evening and decided to ride the Christmas trolley to view the light displays around town. The only trolley ride available was 9:00 p.m., so we had plenty of time for a leisurely dinner and wandering through souvenir stores selling hundreds of “Hillbilly” and “Black Bear” shaped bric-a-brac.

We dined at a restaurant which was evidently very popular with the octogenarian and hyper obesity tour groups. Isaac is a connoisseur of Grilled Cheese sammichs, and gave the restaurant high marks for it’s playful blending of American Cheese and White Bread.

We also shared an appetizer of fried chicken strips, fried dill pickles, fried green tomatoes, and a surprisingly not fried orange.

Isaac was starting to get tired and cranky, but the promise of riding a trolley and the box of Christmas Peeps we picked up at the candy store kept him in a presentable state. The trolley turned out to be a tour bus, and most of the Christmas lights were in the median strip of the six lane highway that runs through town. It was hard to tell where the blinking lights from the Arby’s sign ended and the giant eight maids a milking began because the bus’s windows kept fogging up. The tour guide also kept us entertained with fascinating facts about Pigeon Forge like (I’m not making this up.)” There are four Cracker Barrel restaurants within a 15 mile radius, and they are almost always busy”.

Isaac fell asleep about 20 minutes into the bus ride leaving Nancy and I to exchange sarcastic remarks and count pancake houses for the remaining forty minutes of our dark foggy bus ride in heavy traffic.

We arrived at Dollywood the next morning bundled up in thermal underwear, pajamas, jeans, jackets, hats and mittens. We went and made reservations for the shows we wanted to see (Part of the package I won was a free rental of a Q-bot….sort of like an electronic beeper/ fast pass gizmo.) Our first scheduled show was called “Christmas in the Smokies.” (actually most of the shows were variations on the theme of Christmas/ Holiday/ Hanukkah in the Smokies/ Mountains/ Appalachians.)

The show was about 45 minutes, and it had all the subtlety of a lampshade in a Chinese whorehouse. They had a mountain cabin that unfolded like a greeting card, two guys in a horse costume, smoke machines, Frosty the Snowman, Mary, Joseph, an Angel, a church choir, and at one point, it snowed in the theater. It was so over the top, that after fifteen minutes, I just shut down the cynical side of my brain and enjoyed both the “Hey Gang Let’s Put on a Show” aesthetic, and Isaac’s complete and total captivation with the whole spectacle.

After the show, we rode the Carousel, the Train (featuring plastic penguins scattered around broken down moonshine stills), and Isaac’s favorite, the “Race Cars”. My little beeper buzzed to let us know it was time for the second show, “Babes in Toyland”.

“Babes” features all of the left over Christmas show ideas that were deemed to weird or over the top for the “Smokey Mountain Christmas”. It featured bears, pirates, Chinese Acrobats, a zepplin that flew over the audience raining confetti, and a giant mechanical spider. Isaac really liked the giant spider.

We were hungry after the show and had a late lunch at “Aunt Granny’s” (Don’t think about the restaurant’s name to much, or you will go down a rabbit hole of stereotypes about mountain inbreeding.) We ate in “Dolly’s room”, a small room off the main dining room plastered with some of Parton’s lesser known accolades like the key to the city of Burbank, California and a certificate thanking her for her participation in the 1973 Cooterscratch, Arkansas Apple Festival. One corner of the room featured a stuffed leather chair surrounded by toys. This is where Santa greeted the children earlier in the day.

Some children sitting at an adjacent table became bored and started playing with the Mr. Potato Head by the chair until an older waitress came in and snapped at the children and their parents (How could the children possibly have gotten the idea that it was okay to play with toys that Santa had left behind earlier that morning?) The family sheepishly finished their meal when a second waitress came to them and apologized in hushed tones. I realized that with the outbursts, awkward moments, and sullen dessert course, Dollywood truly captured the essence of a holiday meal with the extended family.

After stuffing ourselves with turkey, mashed potatoes, pot roast, catfish, green beans, cranberry sauce, sweet potato pie, and (for some reason) churros, Nancy, Isaac, and I headed toward the big roller coasters in the back of the park.

The big coasters were themed to the big industries in the area, logging and mining. Unfortunately, the newest coaster wasn’t open due to the fact that the hydraulic fluid in the brakes doesn’t work properly unless it is over forty degrees outside. (It never got over forty degrees). We finished our day with a visit to Santa, and a trip to the gift shop where after over three years of holding steady, Nancy finally relented and let Isaac buy a toy gun.

Isaac fell asleep on the way back to the hotel with the navy blue gun, clutched in his hands, on the lookout for bears.

Sunday morning we got up early and went to a scary interactive attraction themed to a zombie invasion, called Tanger Outlet Mall. Nancy was brave, but I was terrified and had to leave after 20 minutes. On the ride home we decided to take the scenic route through the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. As we drove up the mountain, the 50 degree sunny day made me scoff at the “Watch for Ice” warning signs. Twenty minutes and 15 degrees later, I realized those signs weren’t just for show. It was an incredible drive home through snow and frozen waterfalls.

On the far side of the mountain, we drove through the Cherokee reservation. Poverty surrounded the enormous Harrah’s casino in the middle of town. Billboards showed a Cherokee family with the ominous slogan “Domestic Violence is not part of our Heritage”. Our family has problems too, but thankfully they aren’t on billboards for every visitor to town to see.

We arrived home exhausted Sunday night, grateful that we have a short week ahead, and are now sufficiently armed in case of bear a attack at our house.

Strength and Honor

Big Matt