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The cart plunged at a ninety-five-degree drop. Beyond vertical, straight down into darkness. My stomach stayed somewhere at the top.

A barrel roll, a dive loop, and then suddenly we were outside again, blinking in the sunlight.

"That was AWESOME!" Connor yelled as we pulled back into the station.

My legs wobbled getting out. Mike and his boys headed toward the rider switch to trade places with Sarah.

For the next hour, I just let myself be. I rode Thunderhead, the massive wooden coaster that rumbled through the trees at fifty-five miles per hour, the structure shaking and creaking with each pass. The first drop was a hundred feet of pure terror and joy mixed together.

I watched a glass-blowing demonstration in Craftsman's Valley, mesmerized by the way the artist shaped molten glass into delicate birds and ornaments.

I ate a funnel cake that had enough powdered sugar to coat my entire shirt.

Near the Valley Theater, a bluegrass band was setting up. I found a bench and sat down to listen. The fiddle player was incredible, making his instrument sing and wail and dance. The banjo player's fingers moved so fast they blurred.

They played traditional mountain music, the kind that had been passed down through generations in these hills. For forty-five minutes, I sat there and just listened. Nobody bothered me. Nobody asked for selfies. I was just another person in the crowd, enjoying the music.

When was the last time I'd felt this anonymous? This free?

My toe tapped to the rhythm. The fiddle sang. For a few precious minutes, I was just Kathy on a bench, listening to mountain music in the fading afternoon light.

When the show ended, I stayed on the bench a moment longer, watching families drift toward the exits. Just enjoying my anonymity.

The sun started its descent. The park was going to close soon. I made my way back toward the exit, weaving through families heading for their cars.

A little girl stood by a minivan, crying. She couldn't have been more than five, wearing a Dolly Parton t-shirt and holding a half-melted ice cream cone.

I stopped and squatted down so we were at eye-level. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I can't find my mommy." Her voice hitched between sobs.

"When did you last see her?"

"At the butterfly place. But then I saw the ice cream and she said wait but I didn't wait and now I can't find her."

"Okay. What's your mommy's name?"

"Mommy."

Of course it was.

"What's your name?"

"Emma."

"Hi, Emma. I'm Kathy. Let's find your mommy, okay?" I held out my hand. "Is this your van?"

She shook her head.

"Then we need to find someone who works here to help us." I scanned the parking lot. A security guard walked between rows of cars about fifty yards away. "See that man in the uniform? He can help us find your mommy. Want to come with me to talk to him?"

Emma took my hand. Her palm was sticky from the ice cream.

The security guard saw us approaching and assessed the situation in seconds.

"Lost parents?"

"This is Emma. She got separated from her mom at the butterfly exhibit."