@charlesdclimer on Tumblr

charlesdclimer

Reblogged

ludmilachaibemachado

Bob Dylan and Suze Rotolo photographed by Don Hunstein in New York City (February 1963)🍁🍂🍁

Via @_classicrockforlife_ on Instagram🍂

charlesdclimer

Reblogged

myimaginaryradio

Anticipation - Carly Simon

charlesdclimer

Reblogged

myimaginaryradio

Bring Me To Life - Evanescence

charlesdclimer

Reblogged

myimaginaryradio

I Can't Dance - Genesis

charlesdclimer

Reblogged og-tomlin-design

jackrussell1907

They called her Aunt Sophie Campbell, but she belonged to the mountain. Born in 1855 as Sophie Ogle in the hidden valley of White Oak Flats—now known as Gatlinburg—she grew up wild, barefoot, and free. She fished the streams with her hands, tracked game through the forest, and could outshoot any man in town. When she met Tom Campbell, a man as untamed as she was, they climbed high above the valley and carved out a life with their bare hands on Harrison Mountain.

For forty years, they lived in self-made peace. They farmed the slopes, raised their children by firelight, and built everything they owned—by heart and by hand. But the world below was changing. By the 1920s, Gatlinburg was no longer a sleepy settlement. Roads came. Tourists followed. And eventually, the government arrived, laying plans for what would become the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. One by one, mountain families were forced off their land. But not Sophie and Tom. They stayed.

As tourists climbed the trails, they found more than a view—they found living history. People hiked up just to catch a glimpse of the last of the old ways. National Geographic came, too. When they asked Aunt Sophie if she had any wish, she smiled and said, “I'd like to see the ocean.” But the mountain never let her go.

She passed in 1936, in the log cabin Tom built for her. The men of Gatlinburg carried her down by torchlight. Two years later, Tom was found sitting by his hearth, waiting to join her. Their cabin? Bulldozed for a ski resort. Their valley? Covered in neon signs and gift shops. But their spirits still linger. Step just a few feet off the busy street—and listen. You might still hear Aunt Sophie in the wind, whispering from the trees she once called home.