Highlands History

Sparkling Diamond Jubilee

The arrival of cold weather on the Highlands-Cashiers Plateau brought its own suite of joyful sensations.

Cold weather is coming. Residents are winterizing their homes. Ice skaters are sharpening and polishing their skates. Trees are shaking off the last of their reluctant leaves. Forests are turning a monochromatic sepia, the color of sleep. Winter’s icicles jut out from rock faces like popsicle whiskers. Jack Frost is on call, ready to coat trees and rooftops with white crystals, frost, and snow. When the sun hits just right, this wonderland will sparkle like a diamond jubilee. In days gone by area lakes (Sequoyah, Harris, and the Hall House Lake) often froze deep enough to provide thick ice that was sawed into blocks and delivered to area ice houses. There they were covered in sawdust to preserve them into the summer months.

Before electric freezers, most folks used an ice box to keep perishables cold. If you’ve never seen one, imagine a wooden cabinet/chest with a door. The top shelf held an ice block. Underneath it, perishables were kept cold. The melting ice drained into a pipe leading to a tray under the ice box. And, yes, kitchen puddles were abundant. Remember those popsicle whiskers? Isabel Chambers describes her dad’s ingenious ice cream bash in the dead of winter. Many folks made snow cream (milk, sugar, vanilla, salt, and snow). It was quick and fun. But Isabel’s dad upped the ante when he grabbed an ice axe, a gunny sack (burlap bag), and a bunch of helpers (kids). Off they went on an icicle hunt. When their sack filled, they raced home, dragged out the ice cream churn, and prepared the cream. “The cream came from our cow,” says Isabel. “My grandmother scraped it off the top of each day’s milking until we had enough to make ice cream. We added flavorings, filled the canister with the creamy concoction, placed it in a wooden tub, and latched the crank mechanism on top. Then we filled the tub surrounding the canister with icicles and salted it. The kids took their turns cranking the handle which turned the paddles. You had to sit atop the churn to keep it stable, and that froze your bum as well as the cream. As the cream froze (an hour or two), the cranking got harder and harder until finally, Dad took his turn to finish it off.”

There was a race to call dibs on licking the dasher. Isabel’s brother always called it – the one who did little work, but claimed the prize. Ice cream sundaes were a Sunday event. In fact, when very young, Isabel thought Sundays were named after sundaes. Consider making your own Sundae diamond jubilee memory this winter. But guard it closely, friends, because, in the spirit of Isabel’s brother, I’m calling the dasher.

by Donna Rhodes photo courtesy of Highlands Historical Society

Get to Know High Glen

Tony Chambers’ pair of novels set on the outskirts of “High Glen” recall a gentle time on the Plateau.

Winter is coming—why not spend it in the cozy confines of Maxwell Hall, a few miles outside of High Glen, North Carolina? To get there, you’ll drive through a pair of old stone gateposts and down a long tree-shaded drive. The car fords a shallow stream, the forest gives way to rolling fields, and a large, shingle-sided house with slate roof appears; great views of the mountains beyond. Inside: “Look at this fireplace…hand-cut granite blocks done on site! The paneling is clear chestnut. Cut before the blight. The house is even framed in chestnut. Look at the tall paneled ceilings…the rooms are good size.” This is the setting of two novels by Overton Chambers, The Inheritance (2005) and its sequel, Lost and Found (2015). I would describe these charming books as cozy mysteries/ romances/real-estate intrigues, with lots of travel to Scotland and small-town southern Appalachia, from the newspaper to the library and church. “High Glen” will probably be very familiar to you, except that every single inhabitant appears to be a communicant of the Episcopal Church and a member of the Rotary Club. The plot has New York editor and recent widow Cynthia McKenna inheriting the dilapidated family estate created by her great grandfather, Lord Jeremy Maxwell, who immigrated – complete with gamekeeper – from Scotland in the early 20th century. The Maxwell family tree has many branches, and some hang over the neighbors’ fence. Complications ensue! Cynthia decides to visit the place (she’s never been there) before selling it. Reader, she decides to keep Maxwell Hall—and the local real-estate agent, John McCloud, too. I treasure my inscribed copy of The Inheritance from his signing at Cyrano’s Bookshop; Mr. Chambers was a true gentleman, in the best sense of that word.

Growing up, Overton “Tony” Chambers II (1931-2013) spent his summers in Highlands after his father, a Chicago lumber broker, bought 350 acres between Buck Creek and Flat Mountain Roads in 1936. I recently spoke with Tony’s widow, Isabel Hall Chambers (together, they co-authored that wonderful history, Remembering Highlands). Mrs. Chambers told me that her husband always wanted to be a writer, and to live in Highlands year-round. After graduating from Dartmouth College and working for Life of Georgia in Atlanta, they moved here full time with their three sons in the ‘70s, starting The Chambers Agency Realty and Insurance Company.

by Stuart Ferguson, Local Historian, Co-Owner Shakespeare & Company

LIFESTYLES & WELLNESS

Pages 138-157

photo by Charles Johnson

How We Met Hiram & Mathew

Mathew Gillen and Hiram Wilkinson

The love at the heart of Hiram Wilkinson and Mathew Gillen’s relationship has taken them to the top of the mountain – Fire Mountain.

Hidden in the woods, on a slope in the middle of the Nantahala Forest, just south of Highlands, is a secluded mountaintop boutique resort. Were it not for the chimneys that rise above the rooflines, the cluster of wood framed buildings would seem a living part of the forest. Visitors to the area know it as the Fire Mountain Inn.

It’s the place where co-owners and life partners Hiram Wilkinson and Mathew Gillen have for 27 years welcomed vacationers seeking refuge and relaxation. But I’m getting ahead of the story. To understand Fire Mountain, we must go back to the beginning – to Atlanta in the fall of 1993, when the pair first met. Mathew was working at Restaurant Chow, and Hiram, a well-known real estate developer and investor, managing a large portfolio of investments. Mathew recalls the evening in the restaurant’s downtown location that he was asked to serve a group that had previously requested him. “Hiram was the last person to walk in, and when I looked at him something clicked. I thought to myself he is attractive, but I shrugged it off thinking I would never see him again.” Hiram distinctly remembers Mathew. “What had happened was that my partner of many years, a prominent surgeon, had unexpectedly died. I was in a state of no feeling, overwhelmed by the circumstances, and some friends were taking me to dinner.” Two weeks later Mathew was working at the restaurant’s second location when Hiram was once again seated in his section. Mathew thought, “Maybe this does mean something. I decided to throw caution to the wind and do something I had never done before – I left my phone number on the check.” The next day Hiram left town on a planned road trip with his two King Charles spaniels – visiting friends up and down the Eastern seaboard, hoping to find some resolution after the loss of his partner. Mathew, who described his status as “carefree and living the dream,” had never been in a relationship. “But I had an intuition that I needed to pursue getting to know Hiram better. I realized he was going through a tough time, and I felt like he needed somebody.” Still, he was concerned that Hiram, “might have too much

Hiram and Mathew, 1994

on his plate to start a new relationship so soon after the last one ended.”

The day after Hiram’s return, they had their first phone conversation, openly discussing mutual concerns. At their first date at a neighborhood restaurant, the chemistry was instant. They spent the next weekend at Hiram’s house on Mirror Lake in Highlands. Mathew, who had never been to Highlands, swooned over the property and the area. “I recognized right away that he’s loving, he’s kind, very caring and with a smile that could knock you over,” Hiram said. “I could not think of one fault at all – there was instant chemistry between us. How you fall in love just happens.” He has a strength and confidence, and energy about him that I had not encountered in anyone else,” Mathew said, “And I loved that he’s very handsome and has great calf muscles.” The relationship progressed rapidly. On a weekend day in December, returning from Mirror Lake, Hiram asked Mathew if he might “want to do something together.” Hiram had had enough of the real estate business in Atlanta. Several years earlier, he had vowed to liquidate his assets before he turned 50 and move to Highlands. They decided to see if there would be an inn that they could buy and run together – a place where they could combine their skills in hospitality and business. They agreed that it was important to find a place near town but up on the Plateau, a spot that was secluded and where life could be centered on the outside. When they visited the Oak View Inn on Highway 106 and saw the inn with its long-range views on top of the mountain, they knew it was what they wanted. When the owners explained the business was not for sale, they left their cards. A year later, in 1996, two days before Hiram’s 50th birthday they finalized the purchase. They have been elevating and refining the property ever since – adding a spa, a destination-worthy restaurant, and rooms, cabins, and treehouses to luxuriate in and swoon over. The couple’s ability to bond over the day-to-day business of running Fire Mountain Inn while still having so much fun together is their superpower. They agree that doing so has been their greatest achievement; finding joy in the magical and transformative times they make possible for their guests. “We love what we have done here,” says Mathew. “Every day we look forward to finding the next trail, one more waterfall, or experience that we can share. Following our passion is what we are about.”

by Marlene Osteen

Ouch! Cold or Hot

Managing pain requires a subtle blending of Fire and Ice.

Dr. Sue Aery

When something hurts, what should we apply? Cold or Hot? There are many different theories, but here are my thoughts based on research and experience as an athlete and doctor.

First, is the injury acute or chronic, meaning did it just happen or is the pain persistent? If this is a new injury, then I recommend icing for at least a period of 12 hours, right after it has happened. Icing helps to reduce the pain by constricting the blood vessels and, thereby the inflammation. Now, some may say that those inflammatory cells are good and needed, and I don’t disagree. But, when an injury is very painful and begins to swell, icing will abate the pain and make the next day or so more manageable. Ice for intervals of 15 minutes only, then take it off and cycle again in about 90 minutes, usually enough time for an ice pack to freeze again. The off cycle of 90 minutes also allows the body to recycle the blood cells, getting rid of the damaged ones and replenishing the good and healthy ones for healing. Those first 12 hours are critical for feeling better over the next few weeks, so remember this: RICE equals Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. Now, heat can be used once the initial acute stage has passed, about 12-24 hours after an injury. Heat is also good to use for chronic pain. Heat helps to open or dilate blood vessels, bringing more good blood to the area in need. It also helps with ailments like muscle strains and arthritic joints. Think of new blood as a lubricant for old and creaky joints, helping to remove the toxins that cause more pain, opening the conduits that transport oxygen and nutrients to the tissues. The old blood can also be circulated and replaced by new and helpful blood and cells. When using heat remember to not leave it on past 15-20 minutes, otherwise it can cause more pain and unwanted inflammation, as the blood begins to pool. One more recommendation, consider the in-between phase of healing, after the acute stage and before the chronic stage or when the body is healing. Contrast therapy is a combination of heat and ice, heat first to open the channels of new blood and what it brings and then icing to constrict and remove the unwanted cells to make room for a round of new ones. Do this for a few cycles every two hours or so and see how much better and faster you heal. If you take the time to help your body do what it does naturally, you might be pleasantly surprised at your healing!

by Dr. Sue Aery, Aery Chiropractic & Acupuncture

When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of Family, Food, and Gratitude – not necessarily in that order. Family. Refer to #4 below. Food, sayeth this foodie, is 10,000 calories about to park in the rear, if you catch my drift. I can’t help it though. Platters filled with overwhelming deliciousness are worth every dress size gained – until that payment comes due.

As for Gratitude. I thank God for all His marvelous inventions. They are what we talk about when we say, “That’s why God invented (fill in the blank). Here are some of His finest:

1. TV dinners, which have sustained me ever since my mother’s first nervous breakdown.

2. Carry-out. Or even better – delivery. 3. Italian and French chefs who’ve mastered a marvelous mélange – notably, pumpkin spice latte tiramisu and glorious gobs of ganache. 4. Couches and 85-inch TVs, so I can sit and watch It’s a Wonderful Life or Grinch depending upon who’s coming to dinner -- Wonderful Life, if the pleasant people come; Grinch, if Uncle Stud (for real) and Aunt Bessie crashland on the doorstep. But they probably won’t. They’re still recovering from their moonshine incident, God bless their pointy little heads. (Note: in the South, whenever you say something shadowy about somebody else, it’s usually followed by a phrase beginning with the word, Bless.) P.S. I lied about the 85-inch TV. I was hoping to give you screen envy. My entire living room isn’t even 85 inches wide. But after Thanksgiving, my hips will be. 5. Big ol’ turkeys with breasts approaching K-cups. We know all about DDDD brassiere cups. But did you know cups go all the way up to letter K? The mind wobbles -- and so do the boobies. Pass me some wobbler-gobbler. That’s all I’ve got to toss into the Thank-God-forinventions-jar right now. But, if I might have a brief word with the Almighty: “God, I’d like to close with a Thanksgiving supplication (or supper-cation). If a few plant species need to be sacrificed due to global warming, please consider the following: Brussel sprouts, creamed onions, rutabagas, Jell-o/marshmallow salads, squashes, and giblets.” Bottom line: More ganache. Less squash.

by Donna Rhodes illustration by Norma Jean Zahner