My daughters and I always seem to find ourselves caught in a thunderstorm every time we hike the great Smoky Mountains. It's frustrating because we check the weather report prior to our hike, and we still end up wishing we had packed our rain ponchos, even though we were told it would be sunny with a high of 85 degrees. Well, I wish I had brought the 'practical' rain ponchos, there's no fashion to them, my daughters remind me, even the ponchos at Disney are pretty plain, and then the rabbit trail starts.

You see, if we would have gone to Disney the torrential downpour we were in would be replaced with fun and magic and amazement; sometimes a mom just can't win.

While trying to outrun a downpour we ran into some senior hikers who had all the latest gear: fluorescent rain ponchos, walking sticks, radar compasses. They were retired high school science teachers, married 33 years, and they dreamed of this time alone on the Appalachian Trail, far away from standardized testing and lab reports. They calmly plodded through the mud with the biggest smiles on their faces. By this time we were soaked, hearing their story took some valuable time away from us running down the mountain to our dry car, the car where our rain ponchos sat laughing at us.

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