I would like to go back to my childhood home,
In the Smoky Mountains where we did roam.
We lived on the banks of Hazel Creek,
Where the ripple of the water would lull me to
sleep.
We would go swimming in the Baptizing Hole,
Where Hazel Creek and Bone Valley meet. The water
sure is cold.
Then we would go fishing up Roaring Fork,
And we all went to school on Sugar Fork.
When summer was past and our chores all done,
We would then plan a trip for the old and young.
Uncle Wess would walk with us to Silar's Bald,
To pick up chestnuts in the Fall.
On Christ mas morning, along about ten,
We children would stand by the railroad track.
The train would come puffing around the bend,
With our Christmas goodies in a little orange sack.
The train men freely gave their time for a while,
And they always greeted us with a smile.
Surely God gave them a blessing from Heaven,
As they made that run fourteen miles from Proctor to
Camp Seven.
Now, the little white Church up on the Hill,
The place where it stood is so lonely and still.
On Sunday morning we could hear the bell ring,
How I loved to go and hear them sing.
We would have a revival in the Fall each year,
People would come from far and near.
And each night at seven and eleven next day,
We would all join together to sing and pray.
We did not have pomp or style,
We went to meeting to worship God for awhile.
Our friends and loved ones we would greet,
And we took the Preacher home with us to eat.
We left our loved ones up on the hill,
In my memory I now see them still.
But Jesus will come His Children to take,
And they won't have to cross the Fontana Lake.
By Myrtle L. Laney - Written in 1983
