The Hickory Switch Lesson
A childhood memory from the Smoky Mountains about getting sent to pick a switch from the woods — and learning there was no easy way out. A funny yet honest look at mountain discipline and mamaw wisdom.
Gatlinburg Roots
3/30/20262 min read
Gatlinburg Roots: The Hickory Switch Lesson
If you grew up in these mountains, you already know what a switch meant—and what it meant when somebody told you to go get one.
Around here, it wasn’t always hickory. Most times, it was whatever grew close—“often a good green switch off whatever tree or bush was close” The lesson didn’t depend on the wood.
When I was a kid, if I got a little too ornery, my mamaw didn’t raise her voice much. She’d just look at me and say, “Go get me a switch.” That was all it took.
One time, I thought I was being clever. I went outside and picked out the thinnest one I could find, figuring it wouldn’t hurt near as bad.
Lord, that was a mistake.
That little switch cracked like a whip and stung like a bee.
Next time I got myself in trouble, I figured I’d learned something. When she told me again to go get one, I thought I’d outsmart the whole situation. If thin hurt like that, I’d bring back a thick one.
Lord, that wasn’t any better.
That thicker switch landed heavy—more like getting hit with a small board than a sting. Different kind of hurt, but just as memorable.
That was the way of it back then. You learned quick there wasn’t really a “better” choice—just different lessons depending on what you brought back.
My daughter nearly falls out of her chair laughing when I tell that story now, but folks who grew up around here don’t laugh because it’s funny—they laugh because they remember.
Did your mamaw ever send you out to get a switch when you were little?
P.S.
Truth be told, I might’ve leaned into the “dilemma” a little more every time my daughter laughed — the harder she laughed, the taller the tale got. In reality, that whole switch thing only happened a couple of times. I’d go out and get it, hand it over, and by then I was already terrified. She’d start swinging it around, I’d take off running circles around the living room, and she never actually hit me with it. The punishment was mostly in the panic of having to pick it out and the chase that followed — that part stuck with me.