See, Rock City

For as long as I can remember, trips anywhere included passing by at least one barn with the command that I needed to “See Rock City”. If I went to Rock City, I could See 7 States. Barn after barn along I-40 and I-81 in Tennessee and Virginia were littered with these painted roof advertisements.

Actually, my earliest memory is of just that, when we went and saw Rock City. My family claims that there is no way I remember the trip, I couldn’t have been 3 years old yet. But I remember. Well, I really only remember one part, but it was a doozy. I remember going into a cave. It was dark, but along the way were rooms we could look into. In these rooms were the most wonderful, scary, awesome sights. Elves, fairies, little mills, all illuminated by an unnatural glow. Then we came across the room where all my Mother Goose tales lived. They did exist! Well, sort of. They weren’t moving, but they looked real to me. And more than a little scary, if I must admit. I can just see myself, eyes as big as saucers, clinging to Dad’s hand with all my might, as we wandered through this strange drug trip turned family attraction. Needless to say, these eerie glowing images were forever seared into my brain. They are probably responsible for my fear of the dark, come to think of it.

I read on Roadside America that the founder of Rock City also invented miniature golf. That’s quite an impressive resume. I do have to wonder, however, what exactly that man put in his pipe. Special home blend, if you get my drift. A man with a very vivid imagination and apparent fascination with mythical figurines.

There aren’t many barns left on the interstates. Most of the ones that do exist are so dilapidated that a strong wind would knock them over. But every now and again, if you look hard enough, you can catch a glimpse of the familiar black roof with the giant white lettering beckoning you to See Rock City, the World’s 8th Wonder!