Take cousins who have never met. One set lives in a mostly city-urban part of the country. The others are modest hill country folks. Add up the cultural and long-developed family oddities that make each of them unique yet alike. What do you suppose might be result of their imminent encounter?

Misunderstandings? Surely! Attempts to try to get along and learn about each other? We hope so!

We also hope you enjoy these selected excerpts from this story. Although we feel it is better suited to older, more mature readers, it is intended for the reading and listening pleasure of young and old alike. Recommended for all ages and for sharing!

Traffic along the road that led to the new Interstate highway interchange was heavy. The big tractor trailer rigs rocked the car as they blew past, hurrying to their destinations. A few times, Ricky wondered if his Dad might lose control of the wheel. But Dad was a good driver, and he and Mom talked cheerfully about this visit that had been planned for months.

The family was going to visit relatives in east Tennessee. Ricky and his sister, Sue, had never met their hill country cousins but had heard numerous stories about them and the place where they lived. Wondering what things they might do and see there, they traveled quickly into the new morning and had to squint their eyes against the bright sunrise.

“Bob’s about your age, Ricky,” Mom reminded her son as he looked far up the road toward the distant mountains. Their rolling lines appeared somewhat flattened, but their broad spread across the horizon would grew steadily higher with each passing mile.

“And his three sisters are younger than you or Sue. Aunt Gladys and Uncle Gray didn’t want to have any more kids while they were studying at college, so your cousin Bob was kind of like an only child for several years.” Mom didn't usually talk about those early days.

Sue, who was just weeks away from her eleventh birthday, wondered what it was like to have sisters. Although she had a brother, Ricky wasn’t exactly the special playmate she wanted. After all, girls have secrets to share and her brother was two years older and more interested in playing ball and fishing than telling secrets.

He often made fun of her red hair and teased her in other ways, too, but Dad kept him in line most of the time. For his part, Ricky quietly envied Bob, thinking his cousin was a lucky guy whose sisters must be too young to bother him.

“Mom, can one of the girls come back home with us and stay for a while after Christmas?” Sue asked. Mom knew her daughter had always wanted a sister, but after Sue’s difficult birth it worked out that the family couldn’t have any more children. Mom and Dad did talk occasionally about adopting a daughter, but so far that was almost all they had done. Although Dad made a good income and the family was comfortable, they thought of the expense of another child as well.

“We’ll talk to Aunt Gladys and see if maybe one of them can come spend part of next summer with us, after school is out,” said Mom brightly. Brother started to tell his jokes about his female cousins and their names, but Dad stopped him short. Ricky sullenly picked up his music player and unwound the earphones.

“It just sounds dumb,” he said half out loud and still grinning after a few minutes of silence in the car. “April, May and June – they sound like a calendar,” and unable to control himself very well, broke into a laugh as he hit the 'play' button. Drum sounds crashed loudly in his ears, and he turned down the volume quickly.

“It just happened that they were born in those months,” Mom explained again as if for the first time, “and Aunt Gladys had already named April after her best friend. When April was about a year old, May was born the next month. And when May was just a year old….”

Ricky had turned down the volume a little more to hear what was being said. He loudly interrupted Mom and continued for her, “...little June was born – in June! But they still sound like a calendar.”

Sue gave him a punch in the ribs but he hardly flinched. “You hit like a girl,” he said in a mocking tone. He was about to offer a sample of a real rib punch, but as Mom quickly leaned into the back seat he settled down and moved farther away from his sister. Turning up the music again, he went back to watching the passing scenery.

Dad chuckled to himself. 'What a crew,' he thought, 'and they’re all mine.' He felt proud to think he had fathered a normal and healthy family. Mom seemed to read his thoughts and said it was nice to have a girly girl and a bully boy.

“What’s so nice about a bully?” Sue cried out in dismay and unbelief, not understanding her mother's meaning. Oh, if only she had a girlfriend or someone close so they could figure these things out together.

“I just mean you’re normal children,” said Mom. “You’re a real girl and Ricky’s a real boy, and you both act like it. One day, when both of you have grown older and learned a few things about life and what makes people behave like they do, then you’ll understand better.”

While Ricky watched the way the mountains were slowly rising out of the distant countryside, Sue was wishing again for a sister. Or a girlfriend. Anything but her brother. “You’re a bully!” she whispered harshly across the seat to the back of his head. Her parents ignored the comment.

The four-ten shotgun blast echoed briefly through the steep, dark enclosing hillsides, absorbed by thick stands of evergreens. As it quickly faded away, the noisy stream splashing through its rocky bed could be heard plainly again. The bare limbs of a few now-leafless hardwood trees surrounded by dense stands of red cedar, eastern hemlocks and a few scattered pines with storm-broken tops pointed haphazardly in the early winter air.

“That was a nice shot, buddy. Sure caught me off guard, jumpin’ up like he did.”

“Couldn’t miss,” boasted Bob in a feigned air of superiority. “I knew I had ‘im.”

His friend, Bill, mocking the swaggering tone, immediately responded. “Naw, man! That poor ol’ blind Ringneck just jumped right up inta yore sight pattern.” They laughed at what was honestly a purely lucky shot, especially since it was a clean one. “But I betcha he never felt a thing!”

The two boys quickly moved along the stream to the place where the colorful bird had fallen. “Mom’s gonna like this one; he’s real fat. Now they’s gon’ be enough birds to have a real feast!” Bob said with true satisfaction at his marksmanship.

Bill thought the low brush lining the clear moving water might be hiding a few more, and said so. Raising his single shot sixteen gauge to point along the opposite bank, they stepped into the water together and set themselves for quick action.

“Pa mos’ time says Ringers runs close to th’ ground and kin hide under yore boot heels so good y’unes cain’t see ‘em,” he intoned out of the wisdom gained in his sixteen years. Glancing at the ground as they came out of the water, he added, “’Til he gets good and ready to move. Ain’t no dumb Ringers. They mos'ly sit tight ‘til they figger hit’s safe to move.”

“Well, I reckon hit’s a fact,” said Bob. “But a load of shot still moves quicker!” and the two laughed again, their sound echoing with the shallow, cold creek.

Bob paused to look up at the sky. “Looks like hit’s gon’ get dark quicker tonight,” he said, words stretching out in the thick country drawl common to the region. “Clouds is a-getting’ thicker, too. Let’s save some shots fer nex’ time. What time can y’unes git here after chores?” he asked, thinking of the next day and hoping they could be out before it got too late.

“I dunno,” said his tall, gangley friend. “I s’pose hit depends how long hit takes cleanin' up and muckin' out the stalls. But prolly purdy quick, if’n hit ain’t too bad and th’ horses is been out mos' o’ th’ day. Purdy much a'fore dark anyways, I reckon.”

They turned and recrossed the stream, heading off toward their homes. “I’ll be a-waitin’ about here then,” said Bob.

Confidently striding over the uneven terrain leading home, Bob thought of all the things he wanted to show his city-born cousin. 'Betcha he ain’t as good’s a shot as I am,' thought the broad shouldered lad to himself. He wondered if Ricky was bringing his gun. “Wonder if’n he’s even got a gun,” he caught himself saying out loud. He hoped his cousin wasn’t all stuck up and stupid cool like he heard some city boys were. The distance between himself and home closed quickly.

His mother had just finished putting the last batch of brand-new pint jars filled with thick apple jelly into the water-bath canner. He climbed the back steps and opened the porch door. The warm, delicious odor of apples tinged with cinnamon and mint had perfumed the evening air outside, and the aroma was even better in the house. The girls had already put labels on dozens of jars that had mostly cooled. They were now efficiently cleaning up the cook pots, canning utensils and table. More boxes of new jars and lids were neatly stacked by the cupboard and the big kitchen sink awaiting the next canning session.

His mom and sisters were talking excitedly about the visitors who were coming. Their Uncle Jack, Auntie Ellen and their cousins were supposed to arrive at the house early that evening. For days now the womenfolk in Bob’s house had been tirelessly working, making sure everything would be ready when they got there.

“Momma,” April said, watching her little sister June wash the ladles and spoons while she carefully put the knives in a drawer. Then starting to clear away the big pots, she asked, “Can us girls have a little picnic with Sue tomorrow?” Hopeful of her mother's response, her head tilted to one side as she spoke.

"I s'pose that'd be alright if'n th' weather holds," her mother assured her. “O’ course, y’unes is gonna let us bigger girls join in the fun too?” she sparkled back at her eldest daughter.

“O’ course y’all can!” the young girl beamed back, not nearly so much like daughter-to-mother but more like one woman to another. When talk turned to the best place to have their ‘girls only’ party, May laughed and said the little pond on the creek was her favorite place. It was where her father had taught them all to back-float with only their faces above water. It was not too shallow except in dry summers, but it was always safe as a wading pool.

June had just finished drying the last funnel and helped May gather up the wet towels, aprons and dishcloths. They carried them to the back porch where the washing machine stood like a sentry by the screened door. The girls loaded the old, long overworked appliance and started the wash cycle. Water slowly but steadily flowed into the machine, cold, clear and clean though the gravity-fed line from the well spring about a hundred yards up the slope behind the house.

Having put his break-action combo gun in its usual place on top of a storage cabinet, Bob took off his wet boots and set them in the corner. Stepping aside so his mother’s little helpers could pull a few dry towels down from the porch clothesline, he playfully tousled May’s soft shoulder length curls. She laughed at the touch and tried to grab his fingers, with the result that her auburn hair became even more disheveled. June reached up to tickle his armpits as water giggled into the old washer.

Appearing several years older but just thirteen, Bob was already the very image of his father. Growing tall, broad shouldered and tough as a young oak, his facial hair had even begun to show a bit of darkening where he would soon have sideburns and chin stubble.

The strong brow and square jawline that recalled his dad’s chiseled features could just as well have been copied from Clark Gable’s famous profile. There was also no doubt whether the boy had inherited his father’s steady composure and even-tempered disposition. Never quick to make blind assumptions or rash judgements, his decisions usually reflected an uncommonly thoughtful, mature aspect that belied his age. And once set, his mind seldom changed.

As if it were only fair that his mother should have a replica of her own, May was her diminutive double. Her middle girl child was very near to being an exact copy in appearance. She was as sweet as a gentle spring day, and forever good-natured. Nothing ever seemed to disturb her, but it wasn’t just her personality that gave her such sweetness. She had been very sick shortly after she was born, with a high fever that had almost ended her life.

The doctors thought she might be just a bit slow in mind as she grew, but eventually the fever’s resulting complications turned out to be much worse. May would remain a sweet, simple child who might always need someone looking after her.

Although the youngest of the three girls, her sister June appeared to have set herself as primary guardian and caregiver shortly after her own fourth birthday as if preordained to the role.

Even though May's early years were fairly normal, her overall coordination and dexterity slowly ceased developing in subtle ways. So far, no one except Mother had seemed to notice. Even so, little June was unconsciously adjusting and becoming even gentler in her attentions.

With secret and special pain of heart, Gladys was beginning to accept that she and April would always take second place in the special relationship of the two youngest girls. Her unspoken attitude seemed to have the effect of reinforcing young June’s growing care and protectiveness, and more and more often she paused to count the blessings of having such wonderful daughters.

Bob's casual voice called her out of her reflections. “Got ‘nother Ringneck today. A big ‘un. Me an’ Bill went down to th’ cedar fields by th’ stream,” he called out. “They’s prolly more there so we’s gon’ go agin tomorrow. You wanna send some back with Uncle Jack and Aunt Ellen when they go home?” He waited a moment for a reply, but she just nodded in consideration.

Then she and April went to the back bedroom to put fresh linens on the beds. They had set up a couple of cots in the spacious attic for the boys earlier that day. The small, hand-built log cabin had a good, steep roof yet the attic never seemed to be too cold. Bob and his cousin would sleep up there while the girls planned more parties in their room. Uncle Jack and Auntie would sleep in his bedroom. As was her regular habit, his mother would sleep on the oversized sofa by the wood stove in the front room. She and Auntie would be talking late into the night.

Ricky thought it was a lame hill country joke: “Mountain City? That last sign said we’re headed toward ‘Mountain City.’ How dumb. Is that the best name they could come up with?” he said to no one in particular. Some of the names of places they had been reading just seemed increasingly too silly to him, like Sugar Creek, Blowing Rock and Seven Devils in North Carolina. Tennessee had places with names like Mountain City, Spruce Pine and Unicoi. And then there was Trade, the real-life old historic meeting place made famous by Daniel Boone and other early pioneers. Trade was just barely over the state line from the Tar Heel community of Zionville.

His sister just figetted a bit and let out a quiet sigh. “The kids are just getting restless,” Mother said as she tried stretching her legs and thought about how long they had been sitting. After a moment, Dad spoke with less conviction than he realized. “Well, another ten minutes or so and we’re done. Wrong turns coming across the Smokies were a mistake but we’re almost there now. I really hope your dear sister hasn’t gone to too much trouble to put us up.” Dad was also tiring of the drive but held back from further venting about the mistaken turns that took them many hours out of their way. His road-weary back was beginning to beg for relief.

They thought it might be just the fact they had driven so long, or that their eyes were playing tricks with the countryside. But the land really did change dramatically near the state line as they crossed the smooth top of the hill at the foot of Rich Mountain.

It had been a four-laned, fairly straight and mostly flat-appearing road that steadily ran up from Vilas to the Carolina side of the state line. But a few miles after crossing into Tennessee, it quickly charged headlong down into steep valleys with everything from short twists to switchbacks. Plus, the road now frequently alternated between two and four lanes that swung quickly left or right. Even in the darkness anyone could tell they were mostly headed downhill, and fast.

“This might be the last hill. Watch your speed, honey,” Mom gently cautioned as Dad, weary and agitated, began grumbling to himself about the trip. “We could have stayed in a motel,” he offered meekly after a moment. Her quick, low-voiced response left no room for doubt of her feelings.

“What, and have the kids miss spending time with each other? Besides, it’s almost Christmas and families should be together. You know since Graeme died that Gladys has worked hard, raising the kids by herself. She’s really looking forward to seeing us and has been planning on this. It was just further than we thought. It's okay. It will all be alright tomorrow.”

Although growing irritable herself, she avoided commenting on the lost time and missed turns, and mentally recounted favorite blessings instead. Calming herself, she repeated Gladys’ instructions for crossing the state line back into Tennessee:

“Look for the Antioch Church sign and turn right when we see the third named gravel road.” Before too long, the smallish church sign reflected their lights and then was quickly swallowed again by the steep darkness.

“That was it!” Sue exclaimed. “That was the church sign! ‘Antioch,’ just like Aunt Gladys said!”

Together, they all strained to catch glimpses of roads running back into the huge darkness of slopes lining the highway. Dad slowed down to what felt like a crawl. There was no other traffic though and that was good, because the side roads and most driveways looked alike.

When they found the road they were looking for, it was only as wide as some of the private drives they had just passed. “Or as narrow,” Ricky sarcastically pointed out. “Dumb,” he mumbled and snorted quietly, “They really make roads out of gravel here?”

The car skidded easily in the loose stones as Dad made the last right turn. “Must have been going faster than I thought,” he said in honest surprise and wondered how long it took to stop when it was snowing. His wandering thoughts were cut short when, without warning, the roadside suddenly dropped off on the left after just a hundred feet or so. They were surprised to be looking at the lights and rooftop of a house almost directly below. On the right side of the car and barely out of arm’s reach, the ground was nearly vertical. “Wow,” whispered Ricky, amazed at the sight. “Man, what a place to put a house!”

Then their path widened again just as quickly, continuing to follow the curved slopes of hillsides. Several dozen more houses and private drives were staggered along, above and below the narrow, rutted and nearly worn out roadway that seemed unwilling to end. “Gladys said that’s where they live, though,” said Mom, “at the end of the road. At least we can’t miss it now.”

But after fifteen more minutes of slowly crawling along the intimidatingly dark road with its unpredictable characteristics, it still went on. Then they started climbing again, but much more gently this time. Nearing another flattened top there was little more than sparse brush growing on the barren, wind swept broad crest of the ridge. Equally sparse trees framed imposing, uniformly monochromed waves of ridges and peaks fading into the now soft, pale darkness.

Weak lights twinkled in meek scattered clusters around hollows and hillsides as well as on a few hilltops in the crisp December air. Far off, a few flashing red beacons faintly mocked the mostly clear night sky and showed where television and radio towers stood on three of the taller peaks.

After ten more minutes of winding along the side of another slope, they were surprised to see a newly-made cardboard sign in the middle of the road. It was taped to a stick and propped up with a pile of rocks. Hand-painted in bright red block letters, it cheerfully announced: