As a child, growing up in the 1950’s and 1960’s, I well remember the SEE ROCK CITY barns. My father was an estate attorney with his own practice. My mother was a typical housewife like June Cleaver. Every othersummer, my dad would close up his business and our entire family would take off on a six week adventure. We lived in Clearwater, Florida, about halfway down the Gulf Coast, and we would drive to such exotic far-away places as Yosemite National Park, Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert, the cities of Washington, DC, San Francisco, St. Louis and New York City. One year weeven went to Disneyland! Try to picture the Griswolds in “Vacation” on their way to Wally World. Actually, we were much more like the Andersons on Father Knows Best.
My grandmother, who had lived with us since before I was born, was always “dropped off” in Kentucky to stay with her relatives while the rest of us went travelling. My grandmother, God rest her soul, was the widow of a Southern Methodist “hellfire & brimstone” preacher. She ruled our house with a very strident set of rules. Needless to say, every other summer, for six whole weeks, we enjoyed our freedom!
Half the fun was planning the trips. I still remember Momma and Daddy with the Atlas and brochures spread out on the dining room table, mapping our route. Kentucky wasn’t exactly on the way to
California or New York, but it was a stop we gladly made. My earliest recollections are of a big black 4-door sedan with running boards. To a young child it seemed monstrous. My father did all the driving while my mother served as his trusty navigator. There were no Interstates back then, just two lane country roads. I loved driving past endless farms with row upon row of corn, cotton,
tobacco and the various other crops of the south, along with pastures full of cows and horses. As we’d head north, itwas common to spot the brightly painted barns with the black roofs that beckoned us to SEE ROCK CITY. We’d make a game of counting the many barns we’d pass and my Mom would read out each new slogan. My sister and I would always beg my parents to stop at Rock City, but we were usually in a hurry to get to where we were headed or anxious to return home. Finally, one year we stopped.
I must have been about 6 or 7 at the time. I remember driving up Lookout Mountain, the Fairyland Caverns, and most particularly, the view from Lover’s Leap. It was spectacular—even to a kid. We bought some souvenirs, including a Rock City birdhouse that hung in our Jacaranda tree for many years.
If you have kids, or grandkids, I’m sure they would enjoy a trip to Lookout Mountain’s Rock City too. You’ll appreciate the nostalgic wholesome family atmosphere. The kids will love all the new attractions and events that have been added over the years– and it is a whole lot easier getting there these days. Before you die, you really should SEE ROCK CITY. Put it on your Bucket List.
