My parents began taking me to the Smokies when I was about 3 or 4 years old, so my earliest memories are tucked way back in the dusty archives of my mind. Though I do not recall my exact age at the time, one of these remains vividly clear. It occurred at the Oconaluftee Visitor Center located on the North Carolina side of the park just north of Cherokee on Highway 441.
Within the visitor center can be found displays on mountain living as well as a gift shop. Outside, short walking trails lead to restored buildings depicting a farm settlement common to the area. This story unfolds here.
As is common with young children, my sister and I quickly became bored with all the books, maps, and other interesting things adults find intriguing. I believe my own parents found the need to escort us outside long before they were ready. Bounding down the walk, our ears heard the common call for us to wait up.
The farm buildings ahead beckoned to us as a playground might at home. It was new, captivating and I for one could not wait to climb on that wagon down by the barn. Of course, it was not to be as soon as my little heart wanted. The open windows and doors of the farmhouse proved to be too much to resist. Stopping to look in each and every one, I was chagrined to find them all roped off preventing access and the very thing I wanted to do. This, of course, was to touch all the neat things inside. Instead, I was relegated to exploring it all visually which was as it should be.
Beyond the house was a corncrib and smokehouse. My parents tried explaining their actual use but we looked upon them as playhouses much grander than the backyard at home. We had a particular affinity with opening and shutting the doors. Finally coaxed against our will to continue, we meandered down toward the barn. Oh yeah, there was that wagon I wanted to climb on so badly but had forgotten about until now.
It was near the barn where I had my first memorable experience with wildlife. Ok, it was not really wildlife as the term implies, but it was an animal nonetheless. As I approached the wagon with wide-eyed anticipation, my attention was drawn to a ruckus nearby. Squawking among themselves were several geese of varying ages and sizes. Being the inquisitive little boy, I quickly changed directions and approached them. In response, a large one waddled toward me watching every move intently.
For some reason, it was at this moment I decided to try and emulate my favorite Disney character. I put my hands on my hips, leaned forward, and croaked out my best Donald Duck imitation. It was decent for a boy my age but it has not improved one iota over the years. I am still not sure what was said to that goose, but he liked it not one little bit.
To my heart-stopping surprise, he lowered his head, raised his wings, started squawking and charged me. In utter shock, I just stood there as he ran up to me and started pecking at my shoes as hard as he could. His wings flapped the whole time and his feet moved around like he was dancing.
Now try to picture this. Here stood a little boy not much taller than the goose itself. This feather ball was either insane or I had really said something to tick him off. After what seemed like an eternity, my parents came to the rescue. Their laughter was disconcerting as they tried to sound stern enough to chase the goose away. I am not sure if his “attack” upset me more or the fact my parents were laughing about the whole thing. This was a very traumatic episode and here they were finding exceeding humor in it.
Many years have passed since then and now find this experience humorous myself. I have often wondered what I actually said to set the goose off, but it must remain as one of life’s trivial unknown mysteries. However, it did teach me one thing. Real geese do not like Donald Duck at all !
Excerpt from Under the Smoke
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