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January 5, 2020
As a child, nearly every Easter, I went with my father’s parents to Gatlinburg, Tennessee for spring vacation – at that time, typically a full week. Grandpa had a silver Airstream trailer, and we stayed in a campground well east of town. Every year, there would be at least one trip into the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. In need of a topic I can riff on for a week of starts, this does seem to be the perfect solution. And one filled with absolutely gorgeous pictures. I may have to restrain myself to keep from writing a novel each day.