The most fun for me: taking Mom on “Ripley’s Glass Bottom Boat Adventure” in Ripley’s Aquarium of the Smokies.
Last year on a trip across Kentucky we stopped at Colonel Sanders’ wife’s restaurant — and were delighted (especially to discover tomato “pudding” on the menu).
Roanoke’s location 140 miles north of the Tennessee/Virginia line at Bristol makes “The Star City” an easy day trip or weekend getaway, and it has lots of attractions to make the trip worthwhile.
If you’re among the thousands of Pal’s Big Tea drinkers across our region you owe a debt of gratitude to Sharon Barger, who died last week at 72.
When Sheriff Wayne Anderson asked me if I’d ever thought of playing Santa, it brought a flood of memories.
Destinnation: Kingsport. Diversion(s): aplenty. But including joy, sorrow, wishes and dreams (some of which come true).
Since the mid-1800s, the annual meeting of the Eastern District Association of Primitive Baptists has brought together attendees of member churches from throughout Northeast Tennessee, Southwest Virginia and Ohio.
Mom did become a fan of one pop singer. John Denver. Especially his songs "Take Me Home, Country Roads" and "Grandma's Feather Bed." Even as a child I understood the nostalgic appeal these songs had for her. I appreciate it even more now.
Pilot Mountain State Park is about 160 miles from Kingsport. Miss Angels Heavenly Pies is a wee bit closer. Both are worth the trip.
For those behind the scenes, on the stages, and — perhaps, most of all — in the “Taste” tents, I wish you peace, quiet, rest and relaxation. You deserve it.
Independence Day has always been a red-white-and-blue-letter day for my family.
My great-niece, Olivia Carr, gave her “Gigi” (her great-grandmother, AKA my mother) the best Mother’s Day ever two weeks ago. That’s the day Olivia, 10, was baptized after accepting Christ into her heart at the First Baptist Church of Hendersonville.
Personally, I would describe Parton’s new “Smoky Mountain Adventures” as three-parts musical and one part “Cirque du Smoké.” And, oh, don’t forget the peach pie.
My “Popie” died on Easter Sunday 1981. This Easter he was joined in heaven by the first of the 24 grandchildren who survived him 36 years ago.
A couple of years ago my mother spent a week at my brother Keith's home in Raleigh, N.C., at the request of his daughters — Kendra, Deidre and Anne Catherine — who wanted “Grammy” to teach them to make her pickles. Otherwise, Mom hadn't made a run of pickles in a few years. And I had been jonesing for some.