My brother and I packed up our bags, headed to the airport, and jumped on a redeye flight to Asheville, North Carolina. We endured crying babies, a middle of the night layover in DC (the coldest airport of all time), more crying babies, and a one hour drive before finally reaching the house of our grandparents. We almost fell asleep in the lunch that was promptly put before us. Watching us fight to keep our eyes open led our grandmother to show us down to our rooms. I didn’t even get under the covers before my eyes closed and what would turn into a five hour nap began. My brother Brooks and I woke up as new people, and our vacation was finally able to begin.
We drove out to Jonesborough, Tennessee for the 43rd annual storytelling festival. Professional storytellers gather from all over the world to tell tales – some true, some made up; some serious, some funny. To be honest, most of the “jokes” didn’t transcend generations. My brother and I spent much of the weekend looking around at the crowd of senior citizens chuckling and wondering what we missed. However, there was one storyteller, Bil Lepp, whose made up tales left the entire crowd with sore cheeks from laughing. We ended up following him around from tent to tent.
We had a great time though. The highlight of the trip: the family time.
