Atop the Unaka Mountain overlooking the many ridges and valleys, looking out across the vast expanse from east to west, I became aware of distant mountains that my father could name without a moment’s hesitation and point out the lay of the “old trace of the old Wagon Road.”
Years upon years ago, many events occurred, and some of them were formed into stories that were told to children around the campfire when they camped along the “old trails.”
As time changed the children into old men, a few stories were told over and over until they became woven into the fabric of folklore.
Now I cannot name but a few of the mountains, and my father is gone . . . No doubt most of the Indian tales are gone too, lost in the pages of time. Aided with folklore and imagination, maybe we can unweave one or two stories that otherwise might have been lost.
When I was but a lad, many were the “old stories” I heard. One of those was most fascinating, the story of a lost mine, “Lost Treasure of Long Ago,” and another was one called “Bear Wallow,” a little flat at the head of a long valley where bears were seen that were eerie looking because of the yellow mudholes that they wallowed in.
Perhaps the story of Yellow Bear and his horse that wore silver shoes is one of those tales that has been uncovered from the lost pages of time.
