When I was a child, my family and I often went to visit my grandparents in Knoxville. Since it wasn’t very far from the Smokies, and since my grandfather loved to hike, we spent many summer days on a trail or picnicking in the park with the family. I and my brother and sister or cousins would usually stop every few feet on the trails to investigate whatever had caught our attention; a flower, a rock, a reptile, a mud puddle that needed disturbing. We often frustrated the adults that were trying to get to the feature at the end of the trail. Pictures were taken of the group with a waterfall or a scenic overlook as the background. Very rare are the pictures of the small things the children thought just as fascinating. For most of those small things, all I have are memories. The photographs of the feature at the end of the trail serve to remind me of those times that meant something very different to me then than it does now.