Dolly Would
A few weeks ago, on some sort of adolescent and questionably-responsible whim, Ben and I purchased season tickets to Dollywood.
It was almost 8pm when we pulled into the parking lot. I was wearing jeans and a blouse in 90 degree weather - my church outfit - and yet we still decided to go on park until they closed. Ben managed to ride a few roller coasters while I ducked into every air-conditioned shop that was still open. We vowed to come back as often as possible.
Some of you may remember that Mom, Sissy, and I worked at Dollywood for several summers. I was in Jukebox Junction, the '50s nostalgia section, working every concession stand they had. (If you want, I'll sing the Brylcreem jingle for you.)
Sissy worked on Showstreet and dreaded her assignment. Because of her unusual teenage competence, she was given the Sausage Works stand to run. Nearly every day for 3 summers, she stood over a skillet the size of a dinner table, grilling sausage and peppers for overfed tourists as sweat stood on her face and heat wilted her auburn curls.
Mom worked at Aunt Granny's, Dollywood's "country" buffet. She was a lunchlady during the school year and a lunchlady during the summer. It was a seamless transition, the only difference being that Aunt Granny's referred to their side dishes as "fixins" instead of "industrial food vats" like at the high school. Mom got the job because she managed to call them "fixins" with a straight face, much to the delight of enchanted Northern visitors.
Everyone who knows we worked at Dollywood asks if we ever spotted Dolly while we were there. I once saw her perfectly styled head through a dark tinted van window. I was taking my money to the cash office at the end of my shift. "How do you know it was Dolly if the windows were tinted?" you might ask. Well, it was either her or a mannequin head with just her wig on it. I'm not sure that they would feel the need to ride her wig around in such a secure and secretive manner, so I'm guessing it was actually her.
Dolly pointed at Mom one day in 1998. She was being driven around her park on a golf cart and waving at everyone as she putted past. When she drove past Aunt Granny's, Mom hollered, "Hey Dolly! What's for supper?" and Dolly pointed at her and grinned.
We just love her. So of course, my whole family is best friends with Dolly Parton because one time 20 years ago, Dolly pointed at my mama with affection.
Working there was the best summer job I ever had. When I worked the pretzel stand, the only open-air, air-conditioned concession in that corner of the park, I made lists of things I needed for my dorm room and sometimes read a paperback just out of sight. Although the AC did little to diminish the sun of an East Tennessee summer, I lazily daydreamed about my future husband and what my life would be like after college.
It is a joy to bring Ben to the site of my heat-induced day fevers all these years later. On our first few visits, we held hands throughout the park and happily endured the other's choices. After a while, however, we decided to split up and enjoy things on our own. For instance, Ben is a roller-coaster fanatic, and I am not. I prefer to shop and immerse myself in the detail of the different themed areas of Dollywood, like the old-timey Village or the Southern Gospel Hall of Fame.
Ben, for reasons surpassing understanding, is the kind of person who prefers to be suspended upside down in a harness and twirly-whirled in circles for 5 minutes instead of simply touring a museum to see Vestal Goodman's handkerchief in all its lacy glory.
It's a wonder we married at all.
With Ben happily ensconced in the line for the Lightning Rod, I walk alone through Craftsman's Valley and wind my way around to the newest section of the park, Wildwood Grove. A precious kid, born into an increasingly virtual world, points at the beautifully lighted tree while his mama happily holds him. Nothing can slow the march of time. My thoughts turn bittersweet.
I remember 3 women, a strong mama and 2 strong daughters from long ago. Just clocking in at summer jobs, to be sure, but leaving seeds of themselves - hardworking, brave, hopeful - behind. I wander through the garden of my mind and think of Dolly's lyrics.
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive. Wildflowers don't care where they grow.
God scattered a handful of us in a silly, wonderful amusement park dedicated to another strong Tennessee woman. Surrounded by the majesty of our shared Smoky Mountains, I sit on a bench and pull out my compact. I wipe the tears and sweat from underneath my eyes and powder my nose. Saying a quick prayer of gratitude, I decide to enjoy every second of the rest of my day. And I decide to put on more lip gloss.
Dolly would, too.
September 12, 2019
