There were billboards, of course, but my favorites were the barns—the words painted right across their roofs and sides. I once made an art piece spoofing them, imagining that if a cow stood still long enough, someone might paint SEE ROCK CITY across her side.

But we never stopped.

We were on a visit-family mission, and Rock City remained one of those places endlessly advertised and endlessly passed by.

Years later, some friends and I finally made the trip.

I wasn’t expecting much. After all, how great could a place be when its advertising campaign depended so heavily on barns?

The answer was pretty great.

It was beautiful up on the mountain—rock formations, waterfalls, paths winding through unexpected places. At one overlook, the enormous landscape spread out before us, with a drawing identifying where each of the seven states supposedly visible from there could be found.

All those years, those barns had actually been pointing toward something worth seeing.

That trip taught me something else, too. I vowed never to volunteer as tour coordinator again.

Apparently, I am much better at finding hidden gems when I simply stumble over them.