He Planned a Christmas Morning Proposal. Then Gatlinburg Got Buried in Snow.
Picture it: Gatlinburg, 2020.
Why do I suddenly hear Sophia Petrillo from The Golden Girls?
It was a couple of days before Christmas when my phone rang. A young man was flying up from Florida with his girlfriend, and he had plans.
Big plans.
He wanted to propose to her in the Smoky Mountains.
On Christmas morning.
He had already called another local photographer, who had quoted him a price that made his eyes water. I happened to know that photographer, and I also knew he had two young children at home.
Christmas morning? Yeah. I understood the pricing.
My kids, on the other hand, were grown. Everybody in my house sleeps in except me.
So I said yes.
There was, however, one small complication.
Had he looked at the weather forecast?
Heavy snow was predicted for Christmas Eve.
And when I say heavy snow, I don't mean the usual Smoky Mountain version where three flakes fall in Gatlinburg and everybody runs to Kroger for milk and bread. This looked like we might actually get snow.
I asked where they were staying.
A cabin up in the mountains.
Of course they were.
“Have you ever driven in snow?”
Nope.
Florida.
Well then.
I suggested a proposal location I knew along the Little Pigeon River. It was beautiful, easy to reach from the main road and, most importantly, did not require climbing some steep mountain road to get there.
Then I made him promise me something:
If he woke up Christmas morning and the snow was up to the bottom of his hubcaps, he was not to attempt to drive down a mountain just because he had a photographer waiting for him.
Romance is lovely.
Sliding sideways down a mountain in a rental car is less so.
Christmas Morning Arrives
I called him Christmas morning to see what we were dealing with.
As it turned out, they had never even made it to the cabin.
The snowstorm had hit hard. Much of Gatlinburg was without power, and somehow they had managed to find a hotel room near the Spur, the road connecting Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg.
And that was actually very good news.
They were close to U.S. 441, one of the main roads through the area. I figured that if anything was going to be plowed that morning, it would be that one and U.S. 321 heading towards Cosby.
I gave him directions to our spot along the river and headed toward Gatlinburg myself.
Sure enough, the plows were working.
And working.
And working.
Snow was still falling while they cleared the roads.
It was cold. It was white. It was quiet.
And somehow, despite everything that had gone wrong with the original plan, everything that mattered had gone exactly right.
And the Proposal?
Oh, the proposal.
Fresh snow covered the ground. Snowflakes were still coming down around them. The Little Pigeon River rushed past behind us while the mountains disappeared into that soft winter haze.
He brought her down beside the river.
He got on one knee.
And for a few minutes, Gatlinburg looked less like Gatlinburg and more like somebody had handed the Smokies over to the Hallmark Channel.
Sometimes proposal planning means chasing the perfect sunset.
Sometimes it means finding exactly the right mountain overlook.
And sometimes it means throwing the original plan out the window, staying off icy mountain roads, trusting the snowplows—and realizing that what Mother Nature handed you was better than anything you could have planned.
Here. I'll let the pictures do the talking.
And that Christmas morning beside the river wasn’t the end of their story for me. I later traveled to Florida to photograph their wedding, and somewhere along the way, clients became friends. We’ve stayed in touch ever since. He went on to become an officer in the U.S. Navy, and today they’re stationed in Guam—now with a baby boy of their own.
Not bad for a story that began with a Florida guy, a Christmas snowstorm, and a proposal plan that very nearly went sideways down a mountain.