Glacken

        I have come to the conclusion that mountain air should be classified as a controlled substance.

        This revelation hit me as I sat on the front porch of a rented cabin in the Smoky Mountains at 7 on a Monday morning, camera in hand, waiting for a bear.

        Mind you, I am not the adventurous type. I'm a child of the suburbs. Yet there I sat, drowsy and cold, hoping for one last glimpse of a large, wild animal.

        I would have settled for any bear, but i was hoping to get a picture of the one my family and I found waiting for us upon arrival. Now, I had fully expected to see bears on our trip to Gatlinburg, Tenn. I had not, however, expected to pull up to our rental cabin to find one rooting through the garbage cans like an overgrown dog. I was taken aback but not for long.

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        Our unexpected guest immediately left us to our unpacking, proving either his exceptionally good manners or his anti-social tendencies. I think it must have been the latter since that was the last we saw of him in the fur. We found a few extra tooth marks on the garbage cans on occasion, but he remained out of sight.

        Instead, we were treated to the spectacle of one incredibly large mama bear playing midnight tag with her three cubs. This rare treat would have been better appreciated had I been a few steps closer to the cabin door and if I hadn't remembered countless nature documentaries extolling the viciousness of a mother bear protecting her young.

        Still it was magic. Wild Kingdom on a 30-inch TV screen is fascinating. Wild Kingdom 30 feet away through a porch screen is magic.

        It is alien and wondrous for one born and bred in a world of leash laws and fenced-in backyards to see a lethal animal roaming a stone's throw away. Not that I had any intention of throwing stones; this was a big bear. That kind of size, power and presence commands respect from those of us not capable of decapitating a man with one angry swipe of a paw. I have come to realize that is Gatlinburg's saving grace.

        I can forgive the town its outrageous traffic. I can forgive its exorbitantly priced attractions. I can forgive its bold “body-snatchers” who pluck unsuspecting tourists off the main drag and force them to attend time-share demonstrations. I can forgive it the layers of skin I left on the Alpine Slide at Ober Gatlinburg. I can even forgive it the milk in orange jugs.

        Just one moment of magic can compensate for a multitude of sins.

        Lisa Glacken, 33, lives in Harrison with her husband, Todd, and their three children, Amanda, Nick, Zack. She enjoys reading and writing.
       

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