hdmunn: Page 34 Writing

Well, I've finally decided to do it - post my writings here to this blog. Who knows - maybe somewhere along the way, one of them will hit the lottery and I'll become filthy rich off of something that I've written?

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The Pancil

One time, years ago, when my own children were just little girls, we were traveling through the mountains of Eastern Tennessee returning home from a business trip in Kingsport, TN. After having seen several billboards advertising majestic caverns and caves, we decided to detour a little bit and stop in and visit one of the … Continue reading

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The Pancil

- See more at: http://www.theeclecticblog.net/?s=pencil#sthash.6sM49mVb.dpuf

The Pancil

One time, years ago, when my own children were just little girls, we were traveling through the mountains of Eastern Tennessee returning home from a business trip in Kingsport, TN. After having seen several billboards advertising majestic caverns and caves, we decided to detour a little bit and stop in and visit one of the caverns. I honestly don't remember the name of the particular cavern anymore - it could actually have been "Majestic Caverns" - but it was a family owned business and had been so for many years. And I'll never forget the stop.

Our tour guide down into the dark cave that day was a young man, probably 16 years old. He was the youngest son of the family. It was his job to guide the little tour group down into the deep underground, which had only recently been lighted by new low-wattage lights which dimly lit the way. The young man carried a flashlight as well, as did each of us in the group. He was very knowledgeable about caves and friendly and outgoing.

As we went further and further into the mountain and down, the air began to get cold and damp. But it was fun. The group was quiet and obediently stayed on the walkway. As we walked, staying close together and tight against the roped walk-way, my wife had the hand of one of our girls and I had the other.

As said, our guide was a boy, a teenager, who spoke with a, how shall I say, a "pronounced" Tennessee mountain accent. If anything, the young man had what we'd call a "hillbilly" twang. And that's not trying to be cruel in saying so. It's simply the truth. He simply talked in a very strong, pronounced mountain-speak kind of way. It was somewhat fun listening to him as he pointed out the different rock formations as we walked along. He was very knowledgeable about caves and such. He'd shine his light over in the direction of a particular stalactite or stalagmite and explain that over the "yers," they had given some of the more unique shapes a "cave nam," as he referred to them.

For instance, there was one particular rock that I remember which roughly, crudely did resemble the contour of a bust of George Washington. The teenager accurately noted the rock as being the "First President of the United States" as he shown his light on the stone.

Again and again, the young man picked out various odd formations and explained the name associated with it. I rather enjoyed hearing the boy as I did learning the names of the different rocks.

Toward the end of the tour, we came to a particular angular, upright formation that stood on an actual point - which our guide said "is our cave pancil." (No, you read the word correctly. He was very distinct when he said it and strongly pronounced the word "PANcil," if that's a word.)

At that point my wife looked at me and I knew what was coming next. She absolutely could not contain herself and asked the question. "What's a pancil," she asked? Just at that same instant in time, I saw it - the outline of a number "2" which someone had etched near the top of the formation, between two lines, one above and the other below the "2." Instantly I saw it and tried to stop my wife from asking the question but she was having none of that. She wanted to know what a "pancil" was. "No, honey," I whispered.

The young man looked and my wife -- we were in the very front of the group standing with our two small children. He looked us over slowly. Finally in his deep Tennessee drawl, he asked my wife, "Mame, where' y'all from," he wanted to know? She proudly said "South Carolina." And then he smiled exposing one missing tooth in the front. "And whut do y'all wrat width in South Carolina," he wanted to know?

It was at the moment that my wife saw the number. It was the Number 2 that someone had carved or etched into the upper portion of the formation -- near what looked like a rounded eraser on the end of the rock. It Was A #2 PENCIL!

My wife screamed. She let go of my youngest daughter's hand. She dropped to her knees and covered her face with her hands in shame of not recognizing something as simple as a pencil. Along with the young boy, the entire crowd just laughed hysterically! She was completely embarrassed by it all. I wanted to help her but there was nothing that I could do.

The tour guide looked at me and wanted to know, are you from South Carolina too, suh," he asked. "Oh, no. Heavens no. I'm from North Carolina," I told him. Again everyone burst into laughter.
It was a great stop along the way.

(That was a long time ago. I have since bought property in NC so that I never had to claim a single statehood status again. ;-)