The Light of a Clear Blue Morning

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One year ago today, November 28, 2016, one of my favorite vacation getaway locations changed forever. A small wildfire burning near Chimney Tops in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park suddenly got a helping hand from hurricane-force winds that whipped up on that Monday afternoon. In less than two hours it went from a minor wildfire to an out-of-control inferno, caring not for who or what was in its path. When the smoke literally cleared the next day, fourteen people were dead, unable to escape the sudden onslaught of the wildfire. Over one billion dollars in property damage had been reported (but the Knoxville news outlets are quick to point out they aren't finished with that assessment yet). A town, its residents, and the tourists who flock there year after year (such as myself) were devastated. Since that horrific event I've been to Gatlinburg twice: in April and in October. On both occasions I'd been to Knoxville (which is about 25 miles away) for concerts and made a detour on the way home. In April, the pain was etched in black everywhere: trees that had one side of their trunks burned while the other side showed the original color, the lush green mountains with gaping, charred holes in the greenery, and "closed" signs on trails and roads. Six months later, the town was still packed (the most important thing in a tourist town -- tourists -- hadn't been scared away), and the beauty of fall was evident in a way that was almost miraculous. Those burned trees still sported their yellows, reds, browns, oranges, and other variations as if nothing had happened. Only a glance across a two-lane road, where some trees were burned beyond repair and lay where they had fallen, showed that there had been a catastrophe. Amid all of that sadness there was a light. That light's name was Dolly Rebecca Parton. A native of the nearby town of Sevierville (where a statue of her sits on the courthouse lawn), Parton has never forgotten where she came from. You can hear it in the simplicity of the bluegrass in "My Blue Tears" and in the lyrics of childhood heartbreak in "Coat of Many Colors." Parton stepped up almost immediately. She opened her heart and her wallet, giving back to the people who've given to her (the entertainment venues that bear her name, such as Dollywood, Splash Country, and Dixie Stampede, are the biggest employers in the county). She gave her own money to start the "My People" fund, with the express purpose of giving $1,000 a month to each resident displaced by the wildfire. If you've ever dealt with insurance, you know how painfully slow they can be. You also know they can look high, low, and in between to try to find some excuse for not paying an insurance claim. Dolly knew that, too, and gave the money to about 850 families while they contemplated their next move (to rebuild or go elsewhere). The sixth and final month of the project saw the check jump to $5,000. All told, Parton gave over six million dollars to her neighbors. The "My People" fund raised three million more than that, so instead of keeping it she turned it over to other local charities helping the town get back on its feet. One year later, many residents have rebuilt and are moving forward with life. Others are still waiting for the wheels to turn so they can get back to normalcy. But Gatlinburg is alive and well. And, like one of Dolly's songs said, they see the light of a clear blue morning....thanks in no small part to the lady herself. God bless Dolly Parton, and God bless Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Here's Dolly's song "Light of a Clear Blue Morning":