Smoky Mountain Living, December 2015

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING

HISTORIC POSTCARDS | HOLIDAY CAKES | WINTER WILDLIFE | NEW INNS DECEMBER/JANUARY 2015/2016

Celebrating Southern Appalachians THE

FINDING HEARTH & HOME | OLD SMOKIES POSTCARDS | NEW PLACES TO STAY | TINY HOUSE TREND

DECEMBER/JANUARY 2015/2016 • VOL. 15 • NO. 6

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Seasonal Traditions & Family Stories Christmas Tree Farms & Recipes for a Crowd

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Contents

FEATU RE STO RIES

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS This time of year, folks come together anywhere there’s a hearth to gather around, whether tiny houses on wheels or historic mansions flickering with candlelight. Plus: Four writers muse on the season as they reflect on family memories.

PAGE

42

THE NEW INN CROWD Check in at four of the region’s newest homes away from home, from rugged retreats in the woods to Dolly Parton’s first resort and the latest hotel to open at Biltmore Estate. On the flip side, a few of our favorite historic inns embody what it means to have staying power.

PAGE

60

DISPATCHES FROM THE SMOKIES The forgotten postcards of photographer Louis E. Jones offer a glimpse into 1920s life in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and its pristine environs.

BY JO HARRIS

PAGE

66

Contents SWEET APPALACHIA

DEPA RTME N TS

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

17

Comforts for the mountain soul—from a steaming pot of wassail to the regional books topping our holiday wish lists, local musical acts that keep it all in the family, and the folklore behind New Year’s traditions. Plus: You know guests are coming, so why don’t you bake a cake?

MOUNTAIN EXPLORER

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

29

When the temperatures dip, all sorts of characters emerge in these mountains.

Great horned owls and sandhill cranes show their faces (and wings). Santa rappels up Chimney Rock. Pigs fly in Kingsport, Tennessee, thanks to a new carousel built by the community. And families from all over flock to the region’s Fraser fir farms in pursuit of the perfect Christmas tree.

ON THE COVER A holiday wreath dresses up the Emerts Cove Covered Bridge, which spans the Middle Prong of the Little Pigeon River in Tennessee.

PHOTO BY WILLIAM BRITTEN

FROM THE MANAGING EDITOR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 CROSSWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

AT THE PARK. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 MEET OUR CONTRIBUTORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

PHOTO ESSAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 STORIES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72

Good Living 4

Southern Appalachian Mountains Gallery Guide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Visit Eastern Tennessee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Select Lodging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

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FROM THE MANAGING EDITOR Community

My parents live in the same blue house in Iowa that they brought me home to VOL. 15 • NUMBER 6 Publisher/Editor . . . . . . . . . . . Scott McLeod scott@smliv.com General Manager . . . . . . . . . Greg Boothroyd ads@smliv.com Sales Manager . . . . . . . . . . . Hylah Birenbaum hylah@smliv.com Managing Editor . . . . . . . . . Katie Knorovsky editor@smliv.com Editor-at-Large . . . . . . . . Sarah E. Kucharski sarah@smliv.com Art Director . . . . . . . . . . . Travis Bumgardner travis@smliv.com Graphics . . . . . . . Micah McClure, Emily Moss Finance & Admin. . . . . . . Amanda Singletary Sales . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Greg Boothroyd, Whitney Burton, Amanda Bradley Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Scott Collier Contributing Writers . . . . . . . . . Jim Casada, Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle, Ashley English, Mark Lynn Ferguson, Dawn Gilchrist, Linda Goodman, Jo Harris, Don Hendershot, C. Robert Jones, Holly Kays, Charli Kerns, Sarah E. Kucharski, Jeff Minick, Tim Osment, Waylon Wood, Garret K. Woodward Contributing Photographers . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ronnie Lee Bailey, Warren Beilenberg, Tammy Bradley, William Britten, Aaron Dahlstrom, Tamara Gavin, Sean Hyde, Mary Meiners, Beth Minton, Gary Pinholster, Vesna Plakanis, Misty Ramsey, Meg Reilley, Karl Rohr, Jill Schwarzkopf, Mary Smalling, Bonnie Waigand Contributing Illustrators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mandy Newham-Cobb Smoky Mountain Living has made every effort to insure listings and information are accurate and assumes no liability for errors or omissions.

For advertising information, contact Hylah Birenbaum at 866.452.2251 or hylah@smliv.com.

For editorial inquiries, contact Katie Knorovsky at katie@smliv.com.

Smoky Mountain Living assumes no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or photographs. Queries should be sent to Katie Knorovsky at katie@smliv.com.

as a baby, the same blue house where they’ve lived nearly all of their 43 years of marriage.

Though more than a decade has passed since I moved out, I know that house like the back of my hand—which steps creak, where to warm up my toes with a blast of heat, how to negotiate the idiosyncrasies of the old claw-foot tub turned shower.

My dad would gladly give up the bone-chilling Midwestern winters. But for my mom, that house is home. A few years ago, they added a master bedroom suite to the first floor, in part to safeguard against a future when stairs may not be a possibility. Her attachment to place comes as no surprise: My grandfather was born in the farmhouse where she grew up and where we grandkids eventually played hideand-seek and Chinese checkers. Two decades later, Mom can’t shake the sting of watching her own mother be dragged away when Grandma’s diminished health required roundthe-clock nursing care.

My husband and I, on the other hand, have lived six places in the eight-and-a-half years we’ve been married. Picking our next home has been a largely practical pursuit, based on what we needed in that moment: commute times, square footage, storage space. When we bought our house in West Asheville, it was the first time we’ve really talked about a place in terms of how it could evolve along with our lives over the years. We hope the house will serve us for many years to come, but we still tend to resist attaching permanence to place.

That’s not to say I don’t nest and hunker down for the holidays with the best of them. Wherever I find myself on Christmas morning, certain traditions trump geography. Likewise, this issue celebrates the many incarnations that “home for the holidays” can take on here in the mountains—whether crowding together with loved ones in a sprawling family farmstead or cozying up in a tiny, custom-built, portable house.

Indeed, this time of year we flock to hearths both familiar and novel, craving a sense of warmth and comfort. We gather with friends and family to toast the season with wassail and fruitcake. We explore historic landmarks by candlelight, retracing the footsteps of those who came before. We retreat to historic inns and new resorts for a break from routine and a dose of family bonding.

Sometimes those gatherings can be anything but a Norman Rockwell painting, as the storytellers and writers who share their personal tales in these pages can attest. Because whether the holidays bring pain or joy, there’s nothing quite like family dynamics to rouse strong emotions.

I’m lucky: I’ve never lacked for a home in which to celebrate the holidays. Better yet, I’ve found a partner who feels like home, ensuring my joy never gets tied up in a physical location. So no matter where this season takes you, here’s hoping you find that same lightness of heart.

— Katie Knorovsky, managing editor

Whether the

holidays bring pain or joy, there’s nothing quite like family dynamics to rouse strong emotions.

©2015/2016. All rights reserved. No portion of this magazine may be reprinted without the express, written consent of the publisher.

Crossword answers

Smoky Mountain Living is published bimonthly (Dec/Jan, Feb/Mar, Apr/May, Jun/Jul, Aug/Sep, Oct/Nov) by SM Living, LLC, 144 Montgomery Street, Waynesville, NC 28786. Periodical Postage paid at Waynesville, N.C., and additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER: please send address changes to Smoky Mountain Living, PO Box 629, Waynesville, NC 28786.

Puzzle is on page 9.

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7

CONNECT WITH US

Photo Finish

PHOTO BY RONNIE LEE BAILEY

O

TALKING THE WALK: Reader Laura Parrott Ivey wrote in to thank us for publishing an excerpt of Grandma Gatewood’s Walk: The Inspiring Story of the Woman Who Saved the Appalachian Trail in the August/September 2015 issue. “I’m not big into hiking so I might not have searched it out,” she wrote. “I ordered it on Amazon after reading the excerpt—it’s a great read.”

Even More

Need a Smoky Mountain Living fix between issues? Sign up for our free monthly e-newsletter at smliv.com. Get daily updates and connect with our community at facebook.com/smliv, twitter.com/smokymtnliving, and instagram/smokymtnliving.

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ne of our favorite blogs about mountain culture, The Revivalist, celebrated its fifth anniversary in 2015. To mark the milestone, founder Mark Lynn Ferguson ran a food photo contest called Appalachian Appetite, which Smoky Mountain Living was proud to help sponsor.

Readers submitted more than 100 photos of everything from skillet corn bread to kale salad—a visual feast representing the diversity of regional eating habits. “Appalachian food is simply the food we’re eating,” says Ferguson. “From venison stew to pork tacos, whatever we cook in Appalachia defines or redefines our food traditions, and it always has.”

The photos with the most “likes” won the contest, with the top prize going to Ronnie Lee Bailey of Vinton, Virginia, for the Fourth of July shot of funnel cake above. “The moment happened organically— nobody was posed—but it carried a lot of symbolic weight all the same,” says Bailey.

The first runner-up captured another summertime tradition, canning. The photo comes from Beth Minton in North Wilkesboro, North Carolina, and shows dill pickles and bread and butter squash, enough to last into winter.

Finally, Sean Hyde of Charleston, West Virginia, earned second runner-up for his mouth-watering image of a prime rib at Paterno’s restaurant.

Bailey won a trip to North Carolina’s Mast Farm Inn, and Minton and Hyde received subscriptions to Smoky Mountain Living. Watch for future promotions and contests on our Facebook page (facebook.com/smliv), and check out The Revivalist blog at therevivalist.info.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

PHOTO BY SEAN HYDE

PHOTO BY BETH MINTON

Community

Across

Crossword

TAMARA GAVIN PHOTO

1 Symbol for a home, fireplace opening 4 Clean type of energy 7 Horse fodder 9 Halloween cry 11 Doc for the doggy 12 Things to draw on for survival 14 Yo-Yo, cellist 15 Addition to a letter 16 Frostiness 18 Knoxville’s first stone house, the ____ House 20 “Let it __”: Beatles advice 21 German article 22 Domed portable tent 24 Found a place for a tiny house 26 Smoky Mountains tree 29 It can brighten up the walls in any house 31 Freedom to “move about the country” 35 “Tiny house” aka 38 Nutritional standard, for short 40 Request 41 Clairvoyant 42 Plan for a house 43 ____Box, the first company in North Carolina to utilize shipping containers to construct homes

ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN

Down 1 2 3 4 5 6 8 10 12 13 17 19 20 21 22 23 25 27 28 30 32 33 34 36 37 39 41

Retreat Suitable Turn over the ground Quits Fundamentals Fish eggs, collectively High exam scores Willow tree Hard to come by “Reduce, Re___, Reside” m.p.g. part It shows where everything is King, queen, or twin Having no mortgage; one of the tiny house benefits, two words Hankered for Route direction word “Love Story” star, first name: ___ MacGraw Electric power measurements Boxing blow Color wheel display Honey makers Environmentally friendly lighting, abbr. ____ Sandburg Home, a National Historic Site Light brown State in the Northwest, for short Pa. neighbor Compass point

Answers can be found on page 7. BY MYLES MELLOR • ILOVECROSSWORDS.COM

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AT THE PARK Community

Down for the Count B Y H O L LY K AY S

F

or birders of all stripes, the Christmas Bird Count is as much a part of the holiday season as unwrapping presents on December 25. The diverse landscapes of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park make the holiday season even more special for birders, yielding a dazzling array of species on the yearly outing.

“We have birds that nest in the higher elevations of the park that you would have to go up to Canada or the Great Lakes states to find nesting,” says Warren Bielenberg, who is in his fourth year coordinating one of the park’s two counts.

Down in the lower elevations of the park, which hover around 800 feet, birders scare up avians typical of the South—the downy woodpecker, white-breasted nuthatch, Carolina chickadee. Up high, where mountain summits can top 6,000 feet, it’s possible to spot birds like purple finch, red crossbill, or even, very rarely, sawwhet owl.

The first year he did the count, Bielenberg recalls spotting a loon flying over the housing area in Sugarlands Visitor Center.

Loons are cold-weather birds, typically seen only in the far north.

It was a special moment.

But it’s not the only remarkable find Bielenberg or the bird lovers who turn out to do the count have come across. Conducted every year between December 14 and January 5, the Christmas Bird Count is run by the Audubon Society and has been going on since 1900. Every year, birders across the continent get together to take as complete an inventory as possible in a single day of birds in their “circle,” an area with a radius of 15 miles.

It can be surprising what turns up. Of the 240 species that have been found in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park—the number includes all habitats and all times of year—Smokies Christmas Bird Counts have turned up as many as 64 species in a single day within that 15-mile radius.

GO BACK IN TIME An audio tour breathes new life into the traditional lifestyles of mountain families in the pre-park years. A collaborative effort of the National Park Service and Great Smoky Mountains Association, the tour of the Mountain Farm Museum at Oconaluftee Visitor Center features the music and voices of typical families on 19th-century farms in the area. The narration discusses everything from beekeeping and vegetable gardens to social events like weddings and funerals.

The self-guided tour is $2.99 or 99 cents

10

Red-headed woodpecker.

WARREN BEILENBERG PHOTO

Bielenberg’s circle includes the northern part of the park, as well as areas outside it, such as Gatlinburg and portions of Pigeon Forge.

Susan Hoyle runs the park’s second bird count circle, which takes place in Cades Cove.

“In that count there have been some very special birds the last couple of years,” Bielenberg says of Hoyle’s group. “Two years ago they had short-eared owls, which are not very common down here.”

The bird count is more than just a chance to get outside and see some cool birds. It’s the longest ongoing citizen science program, amassing a huge amount of data on bird populations spanning more than a century. The more people that can help collect information, the better.

“You can track changes,” Bielenberg says. “When more people are involved in an activity, it becomes more important.”

want to help?

No birding expertise is necessary to join the Christmas Bird Count. Dates for 2015 hadn’t been finalized as of press time, but Warren Bielenberg’s count near Gatlinburg will likely take place the weekend before Christmas, and Susan Hoyle’s count at Cades Cove will likely happen the weekend after New Year’s Day. Contact Bielenberg at web9272@msn.com or Hoyle at hoyleshrike@gmail.com. Learn more at audubon.org/ conservation/science/christmas-bird-count.

for GSMA members, with all proceeds benefiting the park.

888.898.9102; smokiesinformation.org.

HAPPY GOLDEN DAYS OF YORE Ever wondered what Christmas in the Smokies was like in the olden days? A pair of holiday celebrations in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park will give visitors a glimpse.

The Festival of Christmas Past, held 9:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Saturday, December 12, at Sugarlands Visitor

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

Center, will celebrate the season with old-time music, harp singing, storytelling, children’s activities, old-fashioned toys, and demonstrations of traditional crafts, such as weaving and basket-making.

The following week, from 10 a.m. to noon on Saturday, December 19, the Holiday Homecoming will provide another outlet for old-fashioned Christmas celebration with traditional music, children’s activities, and crafts such as candle- and toy-making at Oconaluftee Visitor Center. A holiday music jam will follow from 1 to 3 p.m. nps.gov/grsm/planyourvisit/calendar.htm.

MEET OUR CONTRIBUTORS Community

P

hotographer William Britten captured the snowy scene that appears on the cover of this issue. The covered bridge is named for Frederick Emert, a Revolutionary War soldier who served under George Washington, and spans the Little Pigeon River just outside the national park boundary.

Britten says the hardest part about winter photography is access to locations, as the national park closes roads quickly in the event of bad weather.

With the help of his wife, he has run an eponymous photo gallery along Gatlinburg’s historic Arts and Crafts Loop for the past eight years, where he showcases Smokies landscapes. “I try to create an emotional connection with my images,” says the former University of Tennessee professor. “There is a bench in the gallery, and many times I have seen a person sit down and weep. Then I know that person got what I was trying to do.”

To learn more about the William Britten Gallery, see williambritten.com.

Jo Harris

A

couple of years ago while browsing old postcards, Jo Harris noticed something familiar. There in a photo of a “hillbilly band” performing at Gatlinburg’s Homespun Valley, she recognized the girl in the peasant top playing stand-up bass. In fact, it was her sister, Joda, who had sung at the country store in 1954. From that moment on, Harris found herself “hooked” on collecting vintage postcards, particularly those with notes scribbled on the back. “The messages on the ones that have been mailed are glimpses into history,” says Harris, a Pigeon Forge native and regular contributor to Smoky Mountain Living.

She shares one of her favorite postcard discoveries, the photographs of Louis Jones, in the “Dispatches

from the Smokies” feature in this issue. “I am drawn to his cards because my Smokies ancestors could have lived in the very structures he photographed—and if not those, then something similar. It’s my heritage I’m seeing,” explains Harris, who moved to Jonesborough, Tennessee, two years ago, with her husband.

“There is such raw beauty in old photos such as these,” she says. “I see a reality beyond the well-worn clothing, cast-iron expressions, and primitive settings usually depicted. I see a grandparent who could name the mountain flora as well as a student of botany; an aunt who could treat injuries and illness with herbs, poultices, and moonshine; or an uncle who could quote the Bible as well as a preacher.”

C. Robert Jones

A

s a 12-year-old boy, writer C. Robert Jones received his first rejection slip for a short story he had submitted to a magazine.

No matter—over the decades since, he has never stopped putting pen to paper and counts some fifty plays, five books, and countless articles to his name. His pursuit of higher education took him to the University of South Carolina; the University of Georgia; the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C.; and on a Fulbright scholarship to the Sorbonne in Paris and the University of Dijon, France.

In this issue of Smoky Mountain Living, Jones reflects on the joys of small-town life in his decadeslong home of Mars Hill, North Carolina, where he served as a longtime theater professor at Mars Hill University and helped found the Southern Appalachian Repertory Theatre.

His 2013 book, I Like It Here—Adventures in the Wild and Wonderful World of Theater (Pisgah Press), shares some of the brushes with fame he’s had along the way, from acting with Peter Sellers and crossing paths with the likes of Johnny Mercer and Marcel Marceau to having the playbill for his first play printed at the White House.

These days he’s editing the third volume of a four-part series of books for children ages 8 to 12, called Lanky Tales, which chronicles the life and times of a 13-yearold boy who stands 6’4” tall, set in the fictional mountain town of Claggett Cove in 1913. Also keeping Jones busy are three plays currently under development.

Learn more at crobertjones.com.

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BILL SANDERS PHOTO

William Britten

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Gary Pinholster Chimneys Picnic Area, Great Smoky Mountains National Park

â&#x20AC;&#x2122;Tis the season for

reďŹ&#x201A;ection and resolve. Our readers share their favorite winter scenes from around Southern Appalachia.

Gary Pinholster Farm in Wears Valley, Tenn.

Tammy Bradley “Bud” Ogle Cabin, Roaring Fork Motor Trail

Winter is the time for comfort, for Mary Meiners Chimney Tops, Great Smoky Mountains National Park

good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.

— Edith Sitwell

Mary Smalling Miller Cove

Karl Rohr Oconaluftee Mountain Farm, Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Mary Smalling Cherohala Skyway

Bonnie Waigand Cades Cove

Each issue of Smoky Mountain Living features photographs taken by our readers. The February/March 2016 issue will feature labors of love, ranging from passionate farmers and chefs redefining food traditions to animal lovers rehabilitating abandoned horses. Send us your best photos showing what makes you passionate about life in Southern Appalachia— whether it’s cooking an heirloom recipe or exploring your favorite neck of the woods.

Email photos to editor@smliv.com by December 16; include information on where the photo was taken and by whom. Reader-submitted photos are unpaid but may be rewarded with publication in our nationally distributed magazine.

Connect with us at smliv.com, facebook.com/smliv, and on Twitter and Instagram @SmokyMtnLiving.

Misty Ramsey Knoxville, Tennessee

Vesna Plakanis Great Smoky Mountains National Park

When a cold winter shadow I cast on the ground And frost from the foothills is creeping all around I now and then glance down the road towards the town In a kind of a hope you’ll be coming on down — Traditional folk song, anonymous

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 â&#x20AC;˘ ISSUE 6

SWEET APPALACHIA COMFORTS FOR THE MOUNTAIN SOUL TOOL AROUND In this undated vintage photo, Quill Rose stands on the porch of his Smokies cabin holding a farming scythe (a farming tool featuring a long curved blade used to cut crops), with his saddle and bridle behind him. Mike Aday, the librarianarchivist for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, notes the contrast between the condition of the tools and of the cabin. “The saddle is obviously well maintained, with a rich glow to the leather. The scythe appears to be free of rust and probably had a keen edge. The cabin, on the other hand, lacks chinking between some of the logs, and the upper courses still retain their bark,” Aday says. “Rose’s tools were of obvious importance, and maintaining them was probably of more immediate concern than maintaining the cabin. Of course, some tools—like the cat sleeping on the stump—maintained themselves.” NPS, GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK PHOTO

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THE VIEW FROM HERE Sweet Appalachia

MEG REILLEY PHOTO

Keep It Simple

BY ASHLEY ENGLISH

18

T

here are a lot of things I don’t know. I don’t know why my cat Harold tries to swat me every time I walk by him. I thought he and I were better friends than that.

I can’t explain why I’m so moved by the Vangelis tune “Chariots of Fire,” from the eponymous film. As a child, I’d openly weep whenever I heard it and, even now, in the final year of my 30s, it renders me profoundly emotional at every listen, as though hearing it anew. And I certainly have no idea why my four-year-old son yells “the trombone!” when asked if there’s a musical instrument he’d like to learn. We don’t know anyone who plays the trombone, and my son’s 34-pound stature isn’t exactly the physique required of such an unwieldy instrument.

What I do know, though—what I’m more and more certain of with each passing year—is that, for me, what is simple is often what is best.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

Sure, there is something to be said for the culinary movement known as molecular gastronomy, which approaches food from a playful, scientific vantage point, offering avant-garde spheres of juice or pea foams created by a quick injection of carbon dioxide. Similarly, a case can be made for haute couture and garments painstakingly crafted from delicate or synthetic fabrics, fashioned into unusual styles. It could also be argued that overt, grandiose gestures—be they of love, appreciation, devotion, or in acknowledgement of a momentous occasion—are those which are the most welcome.

Excess and whimsy, the unfamiliar and the atypical—these are the obvious and necessary contrasts to the restrained, the tame, the mundane, and the ordinary. They set the balance,

Wassail That Packs a Punch

A

t once a wish for good health, a hot beverage, and a traditional British ceremony that blesses apple trees for a fruitful harvest the following year, wassail covers many bases. This recipe comes from Asheville native Byron Ballard, who is a writer, scholar, and expert on nature-based traditions and folklore.

Don’t forget to wassail your trees, per her suggestion, by offering them the first cup.

As I age, I tend to find

and are measures on a continuum of human experience. But as I age, I tend to find that those things in life that require the least amount of meddling, interference, or adjusting—those things that allow the flavor, texture, or aroma of a thing to simply exist—often ring as the most sincere, comforting, and abiding. As we enter the time of year when excess has a way of taking center stage, I’d like to advocate on behalf of the simple things.

Wassail, a beverage hailing from the cider-producing regions of southern England, is simple yet full of complexity. A combination of fruit juices and spices is simmered and reduced over the course of several hours. The resulting drink invites conviviality and communion and fellowship. It is basic, yet special. Ordinary yet extraordinary. It speaks to the season at hand, in the gentlest of ways. Few other beverages showcase both individual and combined flavors so effortlessly.

While I may not know a lot of things, I do know that wassail is what I’ll be making this holiday season and offering as a simple, sublime toast to my loved ones. This humble gift leaves a lasting impression.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Candler, N.C., homesteader Ashley English is the author of seven books. See smallmeasure.com.

MEG REILLEY PHOTO

that those things in life that require the least amount of meddling, interference, or adjusting often ring as the most sincere, comforting, and abiding.

Makes around 10-11 cups

YOU WILL NEED: ½ gallon fresh apple cider 1 cup orange juice 1 cup unsweetened cranberry juice ½ cup honey 6-8 cinnamon sticks Whole cloves (a handful) Several chunks of fresh ginger Rum, to taste

TO MAKE: 1) Combine all of the ingredients except for the rum in a deep pot or Dutch oven. Whisk gently to combine.

2) Simmer the mixture over the lowest setting for at least three hours, stirring periodically.

3) When you feel the flavors have all come together to your liking, remove the pot from the heat. If desired, stir in rum according to taste and inclination.

From Quench: Handcrafted Beverages To Satisfy Every Taste & Occasion, Roost Books, 2014.

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19

FARM TO TABLE

Japanese Fruitcake

Sweet Appalachia

Serves 8 to 10

YOU WILL NEED:

FOR THE CAKE: 3 cups all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 1 cup chopped raisins or whole currants 1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts 1 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon 1 ½ teaspoons ground allspice ½ teaspoon ground cloves 1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened 2 cups sugar 4 eggs 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 cup milk

Fruitcake That Won’t End Up As A Doorstop

T

hough Appalachia’s apple stack cake tends to get most of the attention, many Southern holiday spreads wouldn’t be complete without an old-fashioned Japanese fruitcake, a layered spice cake with coconut filling or icing.

Food historians point to Southern Appalachia as the nexus of this more delicious—albeit unusually named—descendant of the maligned fruitcake.

According to Bill Neal’s classic Southern cookbook, Biscuits, Spoonbread, and Sweet Potato Pie, “Japanese fruitcake is an exotically named, typically Southern dessert cake, especially popular in the 20th century. This same cake was once called Oriental cake, but there is nothing of the Far East about it, except the spices, none of which is Japanese in origin. Like Lane Cake and Lady Baltimore, Japanese fruitcake is one of the Edwardian dessert extravaganzas with its rich fruit and nut fillings hidden under mounds of fluffy white icing.”

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FOR THE LEMON-COCONUT FILLING: 1 cup water 2 cups sugar 1 /3 cup lemon juice 1 tablespoon grated lemon zest About 3 ½ cups freshly grated coconut, or sweetened, shredded coconut 2 tablespoons cornstarch ½ cup cold water

TO MAKE: 1) Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Generously butter and flour four round cake pans.

2) Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in one medium bowl. In another, combine the raisins, pecans, cinnamon, allspice, and cloves. Use a big spoon to stir the flour mixture well, and then to mix the raisins, nuts, and spices together.

3) In a large bowl, combine the butter and sugar, then beat with a mixer at high speed to combine them well.

4) Add the eggs one at a time, beating to make a smooth, fluffy mixture. Stir the vanilla into the milk.

5) Add about half the flour mixture, and then half the milk, beating at low speed after each addition only to mix everything together well. Repeat with the remaining flour and milk.

6) Divide half the batter between two of the pans, and set them aside. Stir the raisins, nuts, and

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

spices into the remaining batter.

Divide this spiced batter between the two remaining pans, and set all four cake pans in the oven.

7) Bake 20 to 25 minutes, until the layers are golden brown, pulling away from the sides of the pans, and spring back when touched lightly in the center. Cool the layers on a wire rack or a folded kitchen towel for ten minutes, and then turn them out onto the wire racks or onto plates to cool completely, top side up.

8) While the cake is baking, make the filling. In a heavy medium saucepan, bring one cup of water to a boil over medium heat. Stir in the sugar, lemon juice and zest, and coconut, and bring to a boil. Adjust the heat to maintain a gentle boil, and cook for seven minutes, stirring now and then.

9) Mix the cornstarch into the cold water, stir well, and then add the mixture to the pan, mixing to dissolve it into the filling. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for three to four minutes, stirring often, until the filling is thickened and clear. Remove from the heat, transfer to a bowl, and cool to room temperature, stirring now and then.

10) To complete the cake, place a plain, unspiced layer, top side down, on a cake stand or serving plate, and poke small holes all over it so that some of the filling will penetrate the cake. Spread about one-fourth of the cooled filling over the layer all the way to the edges.

Place a spiced layer over the filling, poke holes all over, and spread with another quarter of the filling.

Repeat with the remaining layers and filling, placing the final spiced layer top side up and pouring all the remaining filling over the layer so that a little cascades down the sides of the cake.

11) Let stand for several hours to firm up, and cover and chill overnight. If possible, remove the cake from the refrigerator an hour or so in advance of serving time, to return to room temperature.

—Recipe courtesy of Southern Cakes: Sweet and Irresistible Recipes for Everyday Celebrations,

by North Carolina food writer Nancie McDermott

F

ruitcake isn’t the only liquorsoaked dessert that brings out the holiday cheer. This time of year, the classic Tennessee whiskey cake also finds itself in heavy rotation in Southern kitchens, inspiring the rich updates included here.

Brown Butter Apple Spice Whiskey Cake “This is my modern version of a cake my nenaw—maternal grandmother—used to make at the holidays,” says Shelley Cooper, the Tennessee-born executive chef of TerraMáe Appalachian Bistro in Chattanooga and Dancing Bear Appalachian Bistro in Townsend. “I have the best memories of this cake. It was ridiculously moist and boozy, and it had to be hidden from me because as a little one I would fully overdo it.”

YOU WILL NEED:

FOR THE CAKE: Nonstick vegetable oil spray 3 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon ¾ teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg ¼ teaspoon ground cloves ¼ teaspoon ground allspice 1 ¾ pounds tart apples, peeled, cored, and diced 1 ½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter 1 ½ cups sugar ½ cup (packed) golden brown sugar 1 orange zested and juiced 3 tablespoons fresh grated ginger 3 large eggs 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 ½ cups chopped pecans FOR THE GLAZE: ½ cup (packed) golden grown sugar ¼ cup (½ stick) unsalted butter ¼ cup whipping cream ½ teaspoon vanilla extract 1 cup Belle Meade Bourbon or whiskey of your choice ¼ teaspoon salt

TO MAKE: 1) In medium sauce pan or sauté pan, brown butter over medium heat until amber in color and nutty in aroma. Allow

to cool to the touch before proceeding.

2) Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 325 degrees F. Spray 12-cup Bundt pan with nonstick spray. Sift flour and add next six ingredients into medium bowl.

3) Using electric mixer, beat butter, sugars, grated ginger, and orange juice and zest in large bowl until fluffy. Beat in eggs, one at a time. Mix in vanilla and flour mixture. Mix in apples. Pour pecans into prepared pan and pour batter over pecans. Bake cake until tester inserted near center comes out clean, about one hour. Cool in pan on rack 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare glaze: 5) Stir all ingredients in small nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until sugar dissolves and mixture comes to boil. Reduce heat to medium; whisk until glaze is smooth, about one minute. Remove from heat.

Invert cake onto rack set over baking sheet. Using small skewer, pierce holes all over top of warm cake. Pour glaze over top, allowing it to be absorbed before adding more. Cool cake 30 minutes.

Serve warm with vanilla bean ice cream.

FOR THE CAKE BATTER: 2 tablespoons butter ½ cup sugar 1 egg ½ teaspoon vanilla extract 7 ounces all-purpose flour ½ teaspoon baking soda ¾ teaspoon baking powder ¾ teaspoon salt ½ pound pumpkin puree ½ cup buttermilk

BEALL + THOMAS PHOTOGRAPHY

Whiskey Cake, Two Ways

Blackberry Farm’s Sticky Pumpkin Pudding Cake with Whiskey YOU WILL NEED:

FOR THE BROWNED BUTTER WHISKEY SAUCE: 4 ounces butter 120 grams brown sugar 1 ½ teaspoon salt 50 grams whiskey 100 grams heavy cream Slowly heat the butter in a sauce pot.

Stir the butter occasionally until the solids and the fat separate. Continue cooking until the solids sink to the bottom of the pot and turn a light brown color. Be sure at this point to whisk and scrape the bottom of the pot so that the browned bits do not fully stick to the bottom. At this point you can add the rest of the ingredients individually, one after the other, being sure to stir well. Once everything is combined, bring the sauce to a simmer and stir until the sugar is completely dissolved. Set this aside to cool slightly while you prepare the batter.

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TO MAKE: 1) Preheat your conventional oven to 375 degrees F. 2) With an electric mixer beat together the butter and sugar until they are evenly combined. Add the egg and the extract, and continue to beat on medium speed until the mixture lightens in color to a pale yellow. Combine all of the dry ingredients together and separately combine the pumpkin puree with the buttermilk.

Alternate adding the dry ingredients and the wet ingredients to the mix; blend it fully between each addition. Scrape the bowl down periodically through mixing.

3) To finish and bake the cakes, butter several (eight to ten) eight-ounce ramekins or crocks. Pour three to four tablespoons of the sauce into the bottom of each dish. Drop about ¼ cup of batter into each dish, then top the batter with another 3 to 4 tablespoons of sauce. Bake the cakes for approximately 15 to 20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

4) Serve the cake warm in the dish with a scoop of ice cream or fresh whipped cream.

—Recipe courtesy of Katie Bennett, baker at Blackberry Farm in Walland, Tennessee

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READING LIST Sweet Appalachia

The Gift of Reading

BY JEFF MINICK

S

ome people in our mountains view winter as a prison without walls. They hunker down with soups and other comfort food, and their spirits turn as bare as the leafless oak in the backyard.

They may liven up around the holidays only to spend January and February bemoaning the drab evenings, icy winds, gray rains, and inconvenient snow. They spend the last weeks of February staring out their windows, dreaming of an early spring.

Others rejoice in the plummeting temperatures. They hike lonely mountain trails free of mosquitoes or gnats, delighting in vistas usually hidden by summer foliage. They flock to ski resorts. They even relish their indoor incarceration, listening to the blasts of wind rolling down the hills and through the valleys, watching basketball on their television sets, and snuggling into sleep beneath blankets and quilts.

Then there are the readers. They may belong to either group, but winter nights often find them curled up under an afghan on a sofa, absorbed by a book and with a drink—hot chocolate, herbal tea, whiskey, a glass of red wine—on an end table. Whether they despise or adore winter is immaterial. What readers know is that winter, particularly its dark, cold evenings, is ready-made for sinking into a book.

Given the holidays that occur in these months, readers also delight in selecting books to share with others. Below is a grab-bag of such books, a selection designed for gift giving, amusement, and edification.

Michael Beadle’s Images of America: Canton and Images of America: Haywood County (Arcadia Publishing, 2013 and 2010, $22 apiece) feature scores of black-and-white photographs along with a brief commentary on each picture. Poet, editor, and author of Haywood County: Portrait of a Mountain Community, Beadle does a fine job putting these two books together. Interested readers will find their own counties and communities included in this same series.

For travel lovers confined by snow and ice to fireside and sofa, Travel North Carolina: Going Native in the Old North State (John F. Blair, 4th edition) provides an antidote to winter blues. Here Carolyn Sakowski, Sue Clark, Angela Harwood, Steve Kirk, Artie Sparrow, and Anne Holcomb Waters, all natives or longtime residents, take readers on a tour of the state from the mountains to the sea. Blair Publishers is known for its travel books, and Travel North Carolina is one of its best publications.

Moving closer to home, Marla Hardee Milling’s Only In Asheville: An Eclectic History (History Press, 2015, $20) zeros in on the city’s last 40 years. Milling gives us a sense of why Asheville today is known both as the “Paris of the South” and “the freak capital of the United States” (Rolling Stone Magazine), but what’s really fascinating about this book is the story of Asheville’s comeback from its demise beginning in the 1960s. Anyone who visited downtown Asheville 30 years ago will recall a dirty city of broken windows, shuttered buildings, and empty sidewalks. Milling shows us how daring entrepreneurs and people such as former mayor Lou Bissette Jr. and Julian Price—who pumped $15 million of his own into the city—

Arcadia Publishing, 2013. $22.

Whether readers despise or adore

winter is immaterial.

What they know is that winter, particularly its dark, cold evenings, is ready-made for sinking into a book.

22

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

History Press, 2015. $20.

Forge Books, 2015. $26.

transformed Asheville from a desert into an oasis. Milling also includes photos and brief biographies of artists and eccentrics who today contribute to this thriving mountain community.

In Beer Lover’s the Carolinas: Best Breweries, Brewpubs & Beer Bars (Globe Pequot Press, 2014, $20), Daniel Hartis reveals another facet to Asheville as he touts the city as the heart of the Carolina brewing industry. North Carolina, Hartis points out, boasts more breweries than any other Southern state, and South Carolina is now booming as well with brewpubs and small breweries. In addition to city-by-city reviews of various breweries, Hartis also gives readers a guide to brewpub walks, a list of beer festivals, a review of up-and-coming breweries, and even a chapter on where to buy supplies for

More Ways To Have Fun.

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brewing your own beer. Beer Lover’s the Carolinas is loaded with maps and photographs and should appeal to suds lovers throughout these two states.

Finally, those seeking a little suspense during winter’s gray days may want to turn to William Forstchen’s One Year After (Forge Books, 2015, $26). Forstchen, who lives in Black Mountain and teaches at Montreat College, is the author of One Second After, a best-selling novel set in Black Mountain in the aftermath of an electromagnetic explosion that brings America to its knees. In One Year After, Forstchen returns to these characters to give us a look at how the people of Black Mountain are surviving. Led by John Matherson, an ex-Marine and history teacher at the college, the town has survived assaults from illness and marauders, but now it faces a greater threat from a mysterious government and a “federal administrator.”

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23

LISTEN HERE Sweet Appalachia

The Family that Plays Music Together

BY GARRET K. WOODWARD

S

tanding behind the counter of High Country Tire in Sylva, North Carolina, Summer McMahan is a long way from the bright lights of New York City.

Outside the shop and convenience store, cars zip and zoom by nonstop down U.S. 441, coming from Dillsboro to the north or Franklin to the south. And though the 22-year-old is busy ringing up purchases or talking up the locals who make a stop to High Country as part of their daily routine, McMahan’s thoughts keep drifting back to the Big Apple, back to Radio City Music Hall where she recently took the stage to perform on the NBC hit show America’s Got Talent.

“It all went by so fast, but we’re all definitely glad to be back in the mountains, back in the swing of things,” she says.

“All” refers to Mountain Faith, the McMahan family bluegrass band consisting of Summer (lead singer/fiddle), her father (Sam, bassist), brother (Brayden, banjoist), and close friends Luke Dotson (guitar) and Cory Piatt (mandolin). In their 15 years together, the Jackson County group has crisscrossed the greater Southeast and beyond, taking the stage several nights a week—every week—all in an effort to make their dream of becoming a sustainable, viable touring act a reality. And now with their four appearances on AGT (before being eliminated in the semifinals in September), Summer and her crew are taking their exposure to countless viewers and new fans.

“We play bluegrass we because we love it so much. We fell in love with it 15 years ago, and to think that we put bluegrass in 13 million households with AGT is so incredible,” she says. “We’ve had so much positive feedback from all of this. All these people who perhaps didn’t like bluegrass before are now coming up to us and saying how much they love it because of the show. It’s just an honor for us, because we love playing this music.”

Though it’s only Monday afternoon, the McMahans have been hard at work at the shop since 5 a.m. They’ll be there until 6 p.m., only to head to band practice until 10 p.m. and do it all over again the following morning. That past weekend they had played a handful of shows around the Southeast, with the last being in Mississippi, which led to an overnight drive back to High Country to flip the closed sign around.

After their sendoff from AGT came the latest—and possibly greatest—pieces of news for Mountain Faith. On top of being nominated for “Emerging Artist of the Year” by the International Bluegrass Music Association, the ensemble also learned their song “Feelin’ Blue” hit number one on the bluegrass charts. They were invited to perform for overseas troops in Doha, Qatar, in November.

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It’s been a wild ride, to say the least. But for these musicians, their rising profile is the culmination of years of dedication and perseverance to not only hone their craft, but to also promote a beloved genre of music. “We have to get a younger audience listening to all of us to ensure the survival of bluegrass,” Sam says.

At the center of this whirlwind is Summer, the focal point of Mountain Faith. She lights up when asked about AGT and the current state of the band. With her unassuming tone and Smoky Mountain Mustangs T-shirt (a local high school), an “aw, shucks” nature hints at her youth. But there’s a strong will, persistence, and maturity about her, too, which shows how far she’s come in her musical pursuits since the age of 7.

Mountain Faith released its latest album, That Which Matters, in October. At press time, the record hit number one on the Billboard bluegrass charts. Although they didn’t win “Emerging Artist of the Year” at the IBMAs, Summer took home the “Momentum Female Vocalist” award, which spotlights up-and-coming acts.

Q&A with Summer McMahan of Mountain Faith How do you maintain energy for your relentless schedule, between the shop and the band?

My dad has one of the greatest work ethics of anyone I’ve ever seen in my life. From the time we were kids, he made us

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

AARON DAHLSTROM PHOTO

Love and Harmony

L

ong the heart of Appalachian roots trio Red June, husbandand-wife musicians John Cloyd Miller and Natalya Zoe Weinstein recently released their first album, Equinox, as Zoe and Cloyd. The young Asheville couple’s debut as a duet comes just as they adjust to life as a family of three.

Last winter, while preparing for the birth of their daughter, Cadence, they recorded the album, which features a lineup of traditional and original Appalachian tunes on fiddle, banjo, guitar, mandolin, and vocals.

The musicians come by their sound as authentically as they do their chemistry. Miller, a 12th-generation native of North Carolina, continues in the tradition of his grandfather, Jim Shumate, a

North Carolina Folk Heritage Award winner and bluegrass fiddler who played with Bill Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs. In the last few years of Shumate’s life, Weinstein studied fiddle with him. Her own grandfather, David Weinstein, performed as a professional klezmer and semi-classical musician after emigrating from Russia in 1923.

Equinox pays homage to both family patriarchs: “Lazy Man Blues” evokes the “bluesy, soulful style” of Shumate, played by Weinstein on her former teacher’s own fiddle. “Sheyn Vi Di Levone,” on the other hand, brings together Appalachian and Klezmer musical traditions in an old Yiddish love song often played by Weinstein’s grandfather. Interwoven through the album are a handful of Zoe and Cloyd originals, ranging from a song about a “Groundhog in the Taters” to “Wind River Waltz” about the Wyoming homestead of Miller’s great-grandparents.

Like any good marriage, Zoe and Cloyd’s musical compatibility is rooted in the push and pull of the duet’s complementary strengths. “John likes to tell stories,” Weinstein says. “He always says that it’s not a good song unless you’ve tapped into some emotional core within yourself, so his songs are often really moving and emotive.” Miller credits his wife’s mastery of music theory and classical background.

Though Miller and Weinstein exchange instruments and take turns on vocals along the way, each song on Equinox evokes that of a live show, with only two voices and two instruments.

“When you strip down the music to its barest bones, this framework is who we are as people and as musicians,” Weinstein says. Miller adds: “With two people, there aren’t a lot of places to hide.”

Find tour dates and other information at zoeandcloyd.com.

know that you’re not going to get anywhere without working very, very hard.

That work ethic transitioned into music a long time ago—and more so now, because in the younger years it was more of a hobby, where today it’s what we want to do with our lives. We put as much work into the music as we do into the shop.

years into this. We’ve had several different band changes over the years. With this band, dad and I sat down in January and said that if this band lineup didn’t make it, it’ll never work out. We all get along and play together so well. We figured if it didn’t work this year, we might as well quit and move on with our lives. Two weeks later to that day we got the call from AGT. So, we do the AGT thing, and one day after we get voted off the show we find out we have a number one song on the bluegrass charts. Our four goals at the beginning of the year were to broaden our audience, get a number one song, get an IBMA nomination, and play the Grand Ole Opry. When we made all these goals, in the back of my head I’m thinking if we just get one of these to happen I’ll be happy.

Now we have three out of four, with sights on the Grand Ole Opry next.

You’ve had a high-profile year. Does it feel like a whirlwind, or a natural progression?

Well, it kind of feels like both. This year has definitely been a whirlwind. And yet, we’ve also put 15 really long and hard

Bluegrass is second nature to us here in Southern Appalachia, but it seemed like a foreign concept on America’s Got Talent.

That was our biggest concern, because bluegrass isn’t in the mainstream right

“All these people who perhaps didn’t like bluegrass before are now coming up to us and saying how much they love it because of the show.”

— Summer McMahan

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learn more:

Find tour dates and other information at mountainfaithband.com.

now. A lot of people say, “Oh, I don’t like bluegrass,” and you show it to them, and they’re surprised at how much they like it.

A lot of people just haven’t given it a chance. It’s physically demanding music.

All of these different riffs and rhythms going on at once, and it all comes together. And in that first audition, the judges seemed in shock because it was something they weren’t expecting.

How have your live shows changed?

Since AGT, the crowds have gotten a lot bigger. Recently, while we were in a church in Mississippi, the pews filled up; then they brought out all these chairs and they filled up; then they opened the church doors and people were listening from outside. I almost cried, because that’s my dream—to play and to have people love it.

25

LOCAL LORE Sweet Appalachia

With Any Luck

BY ANNETTE SAUNOOKE CLAPSADDLE

E

very December 31st, while millions of Americans from Maine to California resolve to lose the last few pinches of pudge, Southerners have already gotten a jump (or, rather, a hoppin’ john) on the rest of the country.

Though we may not have recognized it, Southerners have been ahead of the “cleanse dieting” craze for generations.

While America recovers from two months of holiday gastronomic cheer—topped off with champagne bubbles— kitchens below the Mason Dixon are steaming with collard greens and hog jowls. Colon cleanse, here we come!

Though I have several loved ones that swear their allegiance to this meal, I cannot imagine a blander or saltier meal (depending on who is in the kitchen) with which to ring in a new year. My own yearly tradition is to concoct complex excuses in order to avoid this meal, knowing deep down that I should embrace it as the first opportunity I will have to begin my annual diet.

The leftover turkey sandwiches of Thanksgiving are long gone. The sugary shards of broken candy canes have already adhered themselves to my couch cushions. Restaurants are closed. It is bitter black-eyed peas or fasting; I choose fasting every time. I can step on the scale on January 2nd and be grateful for one less pound of the twenty I pick up each November and December, even if it will magically reappear by the next day. In the short term, I am grateful to skip out on the tradition.

Of course, this is not the reason for the traditional southern New Year’s Day meal. We eat greens so that our year will be profitable. And while the collards might bring dollars, that is not enough. We also eat black-eyed peas to symbolize coins filling our pockets.

Actually, as writer Jessica Harris explained a few years ago in the New York Times, black-eyed peas were introduced to America in the holds of slave ships and became one of the cash crops of Carolina plantations.

According to About.com writer Amanda Galiano, the peas factored in the Civil War, too: “When Union soldiers raided the Confederates food supplies, legend says they took everything except the peas and salted pork. The Confederates considered themselves lucky to be left with those meager supplies, and survived the winter.”

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Peas became symbolic of luck. Ideally, one must eat 365—one for each day of the coming year. And, if we manage to survive this task, there is always the hog jowl lurking in the cast-iron, waiting to gag the senses. Pigs, unable to turn their heads to look backward, are said to signify progress. Progress and high sodium content seem like strange bedfellows. How I am expected to transition smoothly from sweet pumpkin pie and fluffy mashed potatoes to pig cheek, I will never understand.

If we are truly to begin a new year with luck and ambition, perhaps we have it all wrong. January 1st might just be the start of your new life. For me, it tends to be nothing more than a bad hair day.

Maybe June 20th should be the coming out of the new me; at least I’d have a tan then, and that always hides a few pounds.

Consider for a moment the New Year’s traditions of the Cherokee—also Southerners, also fond of greens and pork, but far more flexible when it comes to opportunities for renewal. Major Cherokee celebrations and ceremonies have never been tied to a specific calendar day. Instead, seasonal changes (atmospherically and agriculturally) drive the coming of a new year. The Great New Moon Festival, held around October, acknowledges the creation of world,

MANDY NEWHAM-COBB ILLUSTRATION

believed to have occurred in autumn. Not unlike other cultures, the Cherokee belief system provides for several opportunities throughout the year for both cleansing and forgiveness. None of which fail to account for our ever-changing environment and all of which ensure that food is celebrated for its nourishment rather than its resemblance to currency.

The rejuvenation of Cherokee practice is not just about bettering ourselves as individuals, but building—sometimes rebuilding— friendships and other relationships. It is about community and

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

collective progress, not just coins in our pockets. Yes, let us focus on committing to a better self, but only as a means for committing to a better “us.” After all, the traditional Southern New Year’s Day meal persists not because it is tasty, but because it is provides one more occasion to gather before we all retreat to our new 5 a.m. workout routines, corporate ladder climbing, or reading of War and Peace. As I reflect on the guilt trips laid down by generations of grandmothers, it is clear that they simply wanted another occasion for the family to gather, to share in one more reminder that if nothing else, the coming year will be bearable if we face it arm in arm, forks in hand.

Sure, there is no harm in hoping that we might eat our way to unearned prosperity, but luck is unsustainable by nature. So if we are going to continue to

While America recovers from two months of holiday gastronomic cheer, kitchens below the Mason Dixon are steaming with collard greens and hog jowls.

Colon cleanse, here we come! celebrate a new year only once every 365 days, perhaps we should focus less on luck and more on sustenance when we begin our journey. Likely this message is what really lies behind our grandmothers’ dinner invitations. While I’d never suggest the forgoing of a tradition—new or old, tasty or tasteless—I would propose we supplement the symbolism with something that will stick to our ribs: perpetual dedication to a “commonwealth.”

Regardless of the calendar reading January 1st or 5th, every day is a new opportunity to better our lives and the lives of those around us—whether by greens, beans, piggy parts, or otherwise.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle is an awardwinning author and member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians.

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27

MOUNTAIN EXPLORER ROVING THESE HILLS AND VALLEYS

EVERYTHING IS ILLUMINATED Whether or not snow is glistening, the North Carolina Arboretum invites visitors to walk through a winter wonderland during its second annual holiday light display. Former Walt Disney World designer Jerry Stripling, who managed the Florida theme park’s holiday decorations, has again brought his light wizardry to Western North Carolina in this second annual spectacle. Through January 2, an artistic array of energyefficient LED lights bedazzles three acres of garden exhibits and landscapes. That includes the arboretum’s signature Quilt Garden and Bonsai Exhibition Garden, as well as the kid-friendly Rocky Cove Railroad model train, a garden-scale model train demonstrating the coming of trains to the region at the turn of the 20th century. Return visitors will discover this year’s addition of animated displays choreographed to holiday music. Buy tickets in advance at ncwinterlights.com; $18 adults and $16 kids ages 5 to 11 (4 and under free). Also brightening the season: Through February 29, Tennessee’s 26th annual Smoky Mountains Winterfest sparkles with some 15 million lights adorning a 25-mile stretch that includes Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, and Gatlinburg.

NORTH CAROLINA ARBORETUM PHOTO

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OUTLOOKS Mountain Explorer

Here Comes Santa Claus B Y H O L LY K AY S

CHIMNEY ROCK STATE PARK PHOTOS

A

s far as Santa Claus is concerned, I’ve long been agnostic.

A press release is the last thing I expected to change my mind.

But when an announcement shot across my desktop proclaiming that Old St. Nick would pay a December visit to Chimney Rock State Park, I paid attention. He’d spend the day rappelling the Chimney, the release explained, perfecting his technique in preparation for Christmas Eve. I’d always been told that magic was Santa’s method for descending all those chimneys in such quick succession, but here was a logical, realistic explanation that I had to see for myself. Using the journalist’s convenient excuse that the meeting was “for a story,” I made arrangements to get a private rappelling tutorial from Santa Claus—the one and only!—and marked the date in my calendar with large letters.

The day finally came, and I arrived at Chimney Rock just in time to witness Claus’s 200-foot descent. Children gasped and applauded from below, relieved to see the rope hold and know that their gift delivery was safe this Christmas. I pressed through

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the crowds to meet the man in the red suit, who I soon learned goes by the name of Travis Weil and works as a rock climbing instructor for Fox Mountain Guides when he’s not fulfilling his duty as bringer of gifts to children worldwide.

Before our lesson, Claus hung up his red suit, stripped off his beard, and appeared in sporting jeans, a zip-up jacket, and a physique decidedly lacking in belly fat and white hairs. Weil bore as little resemblance to Claus as Bruce Banner does to the Hulk, which of course made me wonder: Was this all a cruel joke? Was Santa, in fact, a fake?

But my faith was soon restored. Weil knew an astonishing amount of inside information about Christmas logistics, information

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

Reindeer have a

tendency toward carelessness, which is why Claus is selective in handing out the task— Dasher, with his stalwart attentiveness, is the only one Claus really trusts to belay him.

to which surely only Claus would be privy. I learned that, despite having no thumbs, reindeer are able to belay by sticking the rope through their hooves. However, the animals have a tendency toward carelessness, which is why Claus is selective in handing out the taskâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;Dasher, with his stalwart attentiveness, is the only one Claus really trusts to belay him.

Claus was also able to speak of the difficulties inherent to gift delivery. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been shot at

if you go: Santaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s making a return trip to Chimney Rock State Park this year, scheduled to practice his technique 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. December 5 and 12 on Chimney Rock. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll make a 200-foot rappel down the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s biggest chimney while Mrs. Claus hangs out at the bottom. Live Christmas music, cookies, hot chocolate, kids activities, and live critters will also make the day special. Free with park admission.

800.277.9611; chimneyrockpark.com.

quite a few times, he said, not so much in war zones as in neighborhoods governed by overzealous homeowners associations, which are not tolerant of hoofmarks on the roofs.

Hearing Claus speak made me feel warm and peaceful, my shaken faith restored. Which was all well and good, but not the real reason Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d come. I was here to get my Christmas present, and to get it early.

Claus led me over to nearby Vista Rockâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; not even Santa is free from the lengthy permitting process the state would have required to give me my Christmas wish at Chimney Rock.

There he set up a rappel line and tossed me a helmet and harness.

As I tightened harness straps and adjusted the helmet, I grew steadily giddier until I was grinning ear-to-ear like, well, a kid at Christmas. Claus fastened the belay device and pointed out the surest way down. The ground was a long way away. I felt that familiar thrill of pleasant fear as my nervous system protested the madness of stepping off a cliff, even with safety equipment.

Finally, the moment came. I leaned back from the edge, holding the thick rope in my hands and pausing a moment so Santa could

snap a photo of me with my phone.

I still have my questions: Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not convinced, for example, that reindeer are really suited to air travel or that the North Pole has the ability to support all the infrastructure that a toy-making operation as large as Santaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s would require. But as I hung halfway between cliff top and solid ground, I knew one thing for sure: The joy of Christmas is real.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Waynesville reporter Holly Kays is a foresterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s daughter who is happy to live in the land of many trees.

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31

FIELD GUIDE Mountain Explorer

The Secret Lives of Owls

BY DON HENDERSHOT

A

nything that goes bump in the night scares the bejesus out of us, and that goes for owls.

Owls have had plenty of time to get under our skin; fossil records date back 60 million years and Paleolithic era drawings of owls on cave walls in France represent some of the earliest recognizable avian drawings in the world. Throughout history and even pre-history these denizens of the dark have often been associated with death and dark powers.

Here in Western North Carolina, the ancient Cherokee called the great horned owl tsgill, a word that was also used for witch. But if you step back and shine a light on tsgill you won’t find a demon but, rather, a distinctively evolved creature that fits perfectly into the niche nature created for it—that of an apex nocturnal predator.

The great horned owl stands nearly two feet WASHINGTON DEPARTMENT OF FISH & WILDLIFE tall with a wingspan between 3.5 and 4 feet. It can weigh up to 3.5 pounds.

It is our most widespread American owl, ranging from the tundra tree line on down to Central and South America. The great horned owl of the Southern Appalachians is a tawny chestnut color with black accents. The round facial disk housing its large, forward-facing golden eyes ranges from umber to bright ochre. The “horns”—which are actually tufts of feathers—mimic the overall body color and provide a distinctive silhouette. It is a truly beautiful creature.

But its beauty also adds to its functionality. Those large golden eyes give this predator great binocular vision, allowing it to judge size and distance. Great-horned owls feature large corneas, large pupils, and an abundance of “rod” or light-sensitive cells that allow them to see well in limited light situations. Their night vision is 30 times greater than ours. And if it’s still too dark to see, their asymmetrical ears give them 3-D hearing, allowing the creatures to zero in on their prey in total darkness.

To help it get close to its prey, the great horned owl’s primary flight feathers are fluted rather than solid (like most birds), allowing air to pass through so prey can’t hear the “flapping” of wings. And then there are the talons. Spread, their talons are four inches by

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eight inches, razor sharp, and driven by a force of 300 pounds per square inch. They can crush the spine of animals as large as groundhogs.

Great horned owls could be thought of as lazy when it comes to nesting because, rather than build nests, they usurp nests from other raptors such as hawks or ospreys, or they nest in cavities.

They are so secure in their hunting abilities that they nest in the dead of winter, laying their eggs in January or February. And winter is the best time to listen for these nocturnal creatures, when they are talking to each other; you can actually tell the difference in the calls between males and females. The male calls in a low, short, four to five “hoots” (hoo-hoooo, hoo, hoo) and the female calls in six to eight hoots (hoo, hooo, hoo-hoo, hooo).

Just don’t call them witches—unless witches are that vehicle that allows us to appreciate the beauty of form and function in nature.

U.S. GEOLOGICAL SURVEY/PHOTO BY DENNIS DEMCHECK

Owls have had plenty of time to get under our skin; fossil records date back 60 million years and Paleolithic Era drawings of owls on cave walls in France represent some of the earliest recognizable avian drawings in the world.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

GO WILD Mountain Explorer

ISTOCK/STUCKREED PHOTO

A Tennessee Stopover for Sandhill Cranes

BY CHARLI KERNS

T

he dead of winter may not seem like the best time to attend an outdoor performance. However, for those willing to brave the January chill, the stars of the Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge promise one spectacular show.

Starting in late October, some 12,000 to 20,000 eastern sandhill cranes all but take over the refuge’s 6,000 acres, the “primeval” calls of these four-foot birds filling the air. “It’s an overwhelming experience to see them in such numbers up close and to hear their voice,” says Mime Barnes, wildlife information and education specialist for the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency in Crossville.

As migratory birds, sandhill cranes make their summer homes in the north, from Alaska through much of Canada’s tundra and down into Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin.

Come autumn, most of them make their exodus toward the warmer, southern regions of Mexico and U.S. states like Texas, Mississippi, and Florida.

Most migratory birds know their path at birth through genetic coding. Crane species, on the other hand, must learn their route from generation to generation, explains Kevin Calhoon, the Tennessee Aquarium’s assistant curator of forests. The eastern sandhill cranes have been making their migration from the Great Lakes region to Florida for tens of thousands of years. That was until some of them discovered corn in eastern Tennessee.

The Hiwassee River spans three states beginning in Towns County, Georgia, and flowing northwest through North Carolina and across the Tennessee border. The river ends its 147-mile journey at the confluence with the Tennessee River in Meigs County, the juncture creating a

ISTOCK/LYNN BYSTROM PHOTO

wide expanse of marshes, shoreline, and shallow river that “provides a fantastic environment for wildlife, especially migratory waterfowl,” says Barnes.

Seeing a conservation opportunity for both land and animal, the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency helped deem the confluence a public land around the 1960s, naming it the Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. Since then, the agency has been planting crops such as corn to attract waterfowl. Over the years, ducks, swans, and geese discovered the crops and have grown to over 5,000 individual birds today. Other birds also found the plethora of food and space and lack of predation suited their taste. Over 100 great blue herons, 1,500 gulls, and half a dozen bald eagles now take up winter or permanent residency at the refuge.

“There’s no place in Tennessee where you can see so many big birds in one spot,” says Calhoon. Sporadic and a few at first, by the 1990s, thousands of sandhill cranes turned the initial pit stop into the eastern population’s biggest meeting grounds outside of Florida.

Sandhill crane numbers reach their peak at the Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge in early January, making it the ideal time to visit the area to see the birds. While the island is closed from November 15 through the end of February, an observational deck across the river is open year-round and provides an unobstructed, 360-degree view that stretches far over flat farmland and marshland.

The best up-close view is from the water. Over the first three weekends in January, the Tennessee Aquarium will offer two-hour sandhill crane cruises aboard the River Gorge Explorer. Two cruises will depart daily to Hiwassee Island, one at 10 a.m. and the other at 2 p.m., Friday through Sunday. Volunteer and staff naturalists will be on board detailing the area’s biodiversity.

Closing the cranes’ seasonal climax is the annual Sandhill Crane Festival, with January 16 and 17 marking its 25th event.

Visitors will have the opportunity to use scopes set up by the Tennessee Ornithological Society and to learn about the Native Americans who once called that land home.

By the end of March, most of the sandhill cranes will leave the refuge for their northward journey to breed, the flocks cutting huge Vs across the sky.

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IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD Mountain Explorer

F

The Tennessee Two: Newport & Cosby HUSBAND-AND-WIFE TEAM TIM OSMENT AND DAWN GILCHRIST EXPLORED NEWPORT AND COSBY, TENNESSEE, IN SEARCH OF THEIR FAVORITE HALLMARKS OF SMALL-TOWN LIVING IN SOUTHERN APPALACHIA— FRESH COFFEE, SMART BOOKS, AND GOOD EATING. 34

rom our home in Sylva, we sidled up along Jonathan Creek in Haywood County and rode it until we approached the Pigeon River and intersected Interstate 40. A few more miles, two tunnels, a welcome center, and a variety of sweeping curves later, we landed in downtown Newport, Tennessee, population 6,926. It was still early.

The fragrant wood smoke from the cooker at the Gigglin’ Pig was just heating up, and the library did not open for another hour, so we settled for an outdoor table at the nearby East Tennessee Coffee Company.

I walked inside for two mugs and a menu and returned with one regular coffee and one cup of Bourbon Pecan. My flavored coffee selection proved the highlight, though I could have opted for an Uncle Ratt, a Jamie Fish, or a Vera Pratt (don’t ask). It was a weekend, so our barista, Jessi, had both the time and the inclination for a chat. After telling us how the phrases “graveyard shift” and “saved by the bell” originated, she informed us that the nearby Pigeon River was “the best fishing around, but don’t eat anything out of it.” Mostly, Jessi provided us a generous serving of what we determined was the inspiration for the name of the town’s newspaper, the Newport Plain Talk.

By now the town was stretching its legs, and we were interested in sampling another kind of nourishment. We headed down the block and across the street to the modern Stokely Memorial Library, open six days a week. Local history best reveals itself through the stories of an area’s founding families, so I was especially curious about one of the library’s prominent features: the Mark Goins Genealogy Room. Leaving bags, pens, and other accessories in a secure drawer, I was permitted to walk a shadowy passageway and enter into a researcher’s dream of overflowing shelves heavy with a century of binders, self-publications, microfilm, and newspaper clippings. It was a treasure of information: some fact, some lore, all love. (Bookmark this stop under “come again.”)

Leaving the Memorial Library, we moved west along the repurposed storefronts of Broad Street.

Debbie’s Drive-in beckoned Tennessee’s Cocke County is rich in sustenance, from fried hand pies (top left) and hearty sandwiches with their Fried (above) to endless shelves of books to devour “Tater” Chips, but (opposite page). temptation was tempered with temperance, and we decided to explore an area a few miles south. We exited the town identified for its propinquity to several strategic river fords—hence “New Port”—and pointed our car towards the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and Cosby, Tennessee.

We drove down Old Highway 32, paying close attention so as not to miss a one-of-a-kind used book and coffee store that had been the talk of travelers for several years. Suitably named Our Place, it is an extension of the owner’s home. On the way, we passed Janice’s Diner, its nondescript building surrounded by Tennessee tags. (Hint: Local patronage is often a truer indicator of good food than are dozens of Yelp reviews.)

Just as our GPS announced that Our Place was getting close, something

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

on the left captured our attention: the Cosby satellite location of Newport’s own Gigglin’ Pig. Suspecting it may be a sign from the big BBQ smoker in the sky, we spun into the gravel parking lot and learned that, while not heaven, it was certainly otherworldly. We selected pulled-pork sandwiches, slow-smoked with real wood. With the additions of coleslaw, smoked vegetables, chips, and several varieties of sauce (try the Twisted), our hungry souls were headed for salvation. This notable lunch behind us, we could now return to the subject of books and bookstores.

Our Place stood just around the corner, describing itself as a family-run business that loves both books and the Great Smoky Mountains. With over 60,000 new, used, and rare titles—and serving as the region’s outlet for Larry’s Beans (fair-trade, organic coffee)— this small store feels right the moment you arrive.

Forget “No Parking” signs; here visitors are invited to “Park Anywhere.”

While Dawn browsed inside, I decided on a shady chair and a bowl of water outside for our four-legged traveling companion. About then, the owner called out that I was welcome to enter, and so was our “well-behaved dog.”

It’s hard to describe the combined feelings of privacy, quiet, and excitement that arose from exploring aisle after aisle of books stacked floor to ceiling. A suggestion: Set aside some time for Our Place, where you can get lost for hours, if not the entire day.

Outside shadows were appearing; in my mind Buddy Holly was singing “Not Fade Away.” But we had one more promise to keep: a stop at Carver’s Orchard. The parking lot was full, and folks were taking a number at the Carver family’s adjacent Applehouse Restaurant, known for its apple fritters, apple butter, and sharp shots of apple cider, not to mention plentiful servings of fried chicken. We decided to forgo the restaurant, pick through the fresh produce in their vast barn shop, and then arrange for a fried pie or two to join us on our trek back to North Carolina.

Musings for the drive home: The rolling designs of the Great Smoky Mountains around Newport and Cosby, Tennessee, are as humbling as they are impressive. Combine them with good company, tasty food and drink, an old black lab, and stacks of well-read books, and the emotions border on reason to celebrate.

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LIVING HISTORY Mountain Explorer

O, Tannenbaum

BY SARAH E. KUCHARSKI

I

n late fall and early winter, families find their way to the steep slopes of Southern Appalachian farms to choose and cut the most favored of trees—the Fraser fir.

In the mountains of North Carolina, steep slopes and higher elevations provide prime growing conditions. The Fraser fir represents 95 percent of the state’s Christmas tree market, and the state market represents 20 percent of all Christmas trees y ncchristmastrees.com grown in the United States. y scchristmastrees.org “Fraser fir is native to and y tennesseechristmastree.org grows naturally only in the y virginiachristmastrees.org Southern Appalachian mouny gacta.org tains above 3,000 feet,” says Jennifer Greene, executive director of the N.C. Christmas Tree Association. “The cool temperatures and large amounts of rainfall in the mountains of North Carolina create the optimal climate for Fraser firs, ensuring a superior Christmas tree that customers will ask for again and again.”

For 50 years, a North Carolina Fraser fir has been selected for the holidays at the White House, and the largest home in North America—the Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina— erects a 35-foot Fraser fir in the Banquet Hall.

More info:

Exploring choose-and-cut farms in search of the perfect tree is a time-honored way to get the family outside.

“Having grown up in Western North Carolina, my favorite time of year was making a family trip to buy a Christmas tree. The ‘home grown’ trees always have been my favorite for their smell and beauty,” says Jake Muirhead, a homebuilder and fireman who lives in Maggie Valley, North Carolina.

As an added benefit, Christmas tree farms can give back to nature.

“The farms that grow Christmas trees stabilize soil, protect water supplies, provide a refuge for wildlife, and trees absorb carbon dioxide and other gases while giving off fresh oxygen,” Greene says.

CHOOSE, CUT, AND STAY Some farms in North Carolina have partnered with local lodging establishments to create vacation packages around the tree-cutting tradition.

In Todd, RRR Laurel Knob Tree Farm welcomes visitors to ride tractor-pulled wagons across the fields to pick out the perfect Fraser fir that they may choose to cut themselves. Overnight accommodations packages are booked through High Country area hotels, bed-and-breakfasts, or vacation rentals. 828.264.6488; rrrtreefarm.com.

For a tree experience complete with Santa, an elf village, and a post office with delivery to the North Pole, consider Tom Sawyer Tree Farm in Lake Glenville. Accommodations packages trend toward the high-end with stays at Bear Lake Reserve, Cashiers Village Inn, Old Edwards Inn, and High Hampton Inn. 828.743.5456; tomsawyerchristmastreefarm.com.

Boyd Mountain Tree Farm in Waynesville spreads across 130 acres of hiking trails, a stocked trout stream, a Fraser fir farm, and seven hand-hewed log cabins that are centuries old and sleep two to ten people. 828.926.1575; boydmountain.com.

No matter where you go, you can design your own overnight excursion. Make use of the tree farm listings available through Christmas Tree Growers’ Associations; the Tennessee and Georgia associations’ interactive map features make it easy. Whether you want a hayride and a cup of hot cocoa with Santa or to simply seek out the largest tree in the field, you’ll find a farm for you.

Tom Sawyer Tree Farm in Glenville, North Carolina.

TOM SAWYER PHOTO

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

DETOURS Mountain Explorer

More than 300 volunteers built Kingsport’s menagerie-style carousel. Right: Project leader Reggie Martin with Valerie Joh, whose late husband first envisioned a carousel for Kingsport, along with Pickle the Flying Pig. JEFFREY STONER PHOTOGRAPHY

Where Pigs Fly A CAROUSEL FIT FOR KINGSPORT

BY JO HARRIS

G

ale Joh’s fascination with carousels began in Binghamton, New York, where he spent his boyhood riding the city’s six merry-go-rounds. In 2008 at age 72, he told his wife, Valerie, that Kingsport, Tennessee—the couple’s home for over three decades—should have its own carousel.

Valerie, a businesswoman and Kingsport alderman at the time, knew that the wooden, menagerie-style carousel her husband wanted would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and that the city would scoff at such a frivolous suggestion. Her response to Gale was an emphatic, “When pigs fly!”

Though Gale was determined, he sadly didn’t live to see his dream fulfilled. But as of this past summer—some seven years after his wife told him it would never happen, and five years after his passing—pigs have been flying at the newly opened Kingsport Carousel.

“I’d never carved anything at all, not even a bar of soap,” admits Valerie, a onetime art major. The desire to see her husband’s dream become reality was a powerful motivator, so she started carving animals including—what else?—a pig. She named the critter Pickle and gave her a place of honor atop the ticket booth. Valerie also carved two sweep animals (smaller animals in the rafters above the carousel)—a unicorn and a pink tutu-wearing Siamese ballerina cat named Sassy that little girls find irresistible.

Before illness took hold, Gale had called on his friend Reggie Martin, a retired chemist and woodworker, to spearhead the project and recruit volunteers. Ted Heilig remembers raising his hand

during a Kiwanis Club meeting when the call went out for volunteers to attend classes at Horsin’ Around, a carousel animal carving studio near Chattanooga.

“I’d never done anything like this before and didn’t realize what a time commitment it would be,” says Heilig. “Each carousel animal represents some 1,000 man hours. Considering we have 32 animals, two chariots, plus 24 sweep animals, that’s a lot of time.”

Heilig estimates 60,000 volunteer hours have gone into the project.

His pride is obvious, and for good reason. The attention to detail is impressive. With elaborate carvings, eye-popping colors, whimsical expressions, and striking poses, the animals easily capture the imaginations of young and old.

Over 300 volunteers—including carvers, artists, painters, and mechanics—have made the Kingsport Carousel a popular East Tennessee destination. But it’s not only the ride and animals that entertain visitors. The town’s history plays out in colorful murals on the carousel’s 24 rounding boards, while original paintings of birds, wildflowers, and butterflies common to the Kingsport Birding Trail decorate the area below. And it’s impossible to overlook the giant buffalo The Kingsport Carousel is standing on the sidelines. He wheelchair accessible and open 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. weighs in at a whopping 640 Wednesday through pounds—a perfect photo op Friday, 1 to 7 p.m. for up to seven people willing weekends, groups/tours by appointment. Rides cost to climb on.

A forthcoming book will $1. 423-392-8414; chronicle the process and high- engagekingsport.com. light animals and their artists. It will include backstories about the serendipitous occurrences that Valerie Joh says prove that her late husband was overseeing the project from the beyond—“taking it all in, smoothing the way.”

The city never did scoff at the idea, actually donating property where the carousel sits inside the 65-foot octagonal “Pal’s Roundhouse” in historic downtown Kingsport.

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EXPLORE

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SUSAN MARIE DESIGNS With visionary talent and skills acquired in thirty-three years as an award-winning goldsmith, Susan Marie transforms nature’s most exceptional gemstones, diamonds and pearls into wearable contemporary elegance. As a G.I.A. Graduate Gemologist, she selects the most vibrant and highest quality cut stones to create fine jewelry.

Four Biltmore Ave. • Asheville, N.C. 828.277.1272 TPENNINGTON ART GALLERY Teresa Pennington is a self-taught colored pencil artist who renders, in amazing detail, the scenery and landmarks of western North Carolina and beyond. See her distinctive work at TPennington Art Gallery in downtown Waynesville, N.C. 15 North Main St. • Waynesville, N.C. 828.452.9284 • tpennington.com TWIGS AND LEAVES GALLERY Stroll down Main Street in Waynesville to find a unique gallery where art dances with nature.

Browse through an unforgettable collection of nature-inspired works by 140 primarily regional artists and crafts persons. Take home a piece of art that echoes the wonder of nature.

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EXPLORE

VISIONS OF CREATION With over 40 years of experience, Roberto creates contemporary and one-of-a-kind fine jewelry in gold and silver. Each hand-crafted piece has its own unique properties. Most are Limited Editions and signed. Roberto is constantly creating, evolving and designing new and innovative pieces.

100 Cherry St. • Black Mountain, N.C. 828.669.0065 • visionsofcreation.com WAYNESVILLE GALLERY ASSOCIATION The Waynesville Gallery Association is represented by 11 unique galleries: Art on Depot, Burr Studio, Cedar Hill Studio, Earthworks Gallery, Gallery 86, Grace Cathey Sculpture, The Jeweler’s Workbench, the mahogany house art gallery and studios, TPennington Art Gallery, Twigs and Leaves Gallery, and Village Framer.

The group promotes and participates in Art After Dark which happens the first Friday evening May through December. waynesvillegalleryassociation.com THE WILLOWS POTTERY Creating functional handmade stoneware since 2003. Specializing in custom dinnerware and vessel sinks, we are proud to provide an excellent selection of locally made gifts.

7273 S. Main St. • Helen, GA 706.878.1344 • thewillowspottery.com

Southern Appalachian Galleries

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The

WOW to her

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Western North Carolina’s premier smoke shop. Offering only the best in locally made glass, tobacco accessories, hookahs, water pipes, and much more.

The Octopus Garden is here for all of your smoking and tobacco needs.

More than 2,000 sq. ft. of fine American crafts.

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SMOKE SHOP

41

(Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s No Place Like)

T

his season tends to make even the most restless among us ache for a hearth to gather around. In this issue we explore the many ways and places we connect in the mountains this time of year.

Because anywhere that loved ones come together, a sense of home can be found—whether at Grandma’s dining room table or in a 400-squarefoot “nanostead,” whether by retreating to a cozy treehouse inn nestled in the woods or by touring an historic mansion by candlelight.

Asheville’s Omni Grove Park Inn beckons people to gather around the fireplace.

THE OMNI GROVE PARK INN PHOTO

Home Sweet Tiny Home

BY ANNA OAKES

Jake and Annelise Hagedorn’s miniature home is currently parked outside of State College, Pennsylvania, while the two attend graduate school.

The project was the springboard for a new family company: Western North Carolina’s Brevard Tiny House Company. PHOTO BY NICK SLOFF

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I

n Boone, N.C., a college instructor believes she has found the small solution to a big dream.

“I’ve always wanted to have my own little home on a piece of land to homestead and live as self-sufficiently as possible,” says Tracy Myhalyk, 45, a longtime leaser of her living quarters. “To grow as much of my own food as possible, keep bees for honey, chickens for eggs, and purchase solar and wind energy sources to get off the grid,” she explains.

In 2011, the concept of tiny homes came knocking, introduced by a video of Jay Shafer, the entrepreneur widely credited with popularizing the miniature housing movement. Tiny houses—in case you haven’t heard, or read about them, or watched a reality TV show about them—average about 400 square feet, are sometimes built on wheels, and are viewed by many as a vehicle for reducing housing costs, debt, and environmental impacts. An Asheville workshop the next year further fueled Myhalyk’s interest, and this fall, she announced her plans to build her very own tiny home, with hopes of beginning construction in spring 2016.

“I’m realizing there are alternatives to being chained to a 30-year mortgage for a house that is also very expensive and costly to maintain, heat and cool, insure, et cetera,” Myhalyk says. “Once my home is built, I

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

will be rent and mortgage free.”

“Chained,” “slavery,” and “freedom” are metaphors oft employed by disciples of the tiny home doctrine. Among those spreading the good word are several in Western North Carolina who have gone into business designing, building, and selling turnkey tiny houses.

“It’s the dream of living debt-free and increasing your life experience—[putting a premium on] experience over possessions,” says Teal Brown, who founded Asheville’s Wishbone Tiny Homes with his father two years ago. “People are really attracted by that idea of debt-free and not slaving to a job just to pay the mortgage.”

Over the past four decades in America, new homes have grown increasingly larger: from an average size of 1,660 square feet in 1973 to 2,690 square feet in 2014, according to the U.S. Census. As many in the region can attest, land and homes in the mountains are expensive, with median home values in cities such as Asheville and Boone around $216,000, according to the real estate listing site Zillow. Many long to buck this trend.

Millennials—the generation currently between 18 and 33 years old—are thinking small to make ends meet, says real estate agent Scott Turner of Austin, Texas, in a June 2015 article by the National Association of Realtors. “They’re happy with less space and less stuff,” he claims.

That rings true for Annelise Hagedorn of Brevard Tiny House Company, who lived abroad with her husband, Jake, and few belongings, before grad school at Pennsylvania State University. Jake stumbled across the tiny home concept while researching a project in college, and the two decided to build their own and park it outside of State College, Pennsylvania, while they pursued their degrees. The Hagedorns have resided in their pale yellow tiny vessel, which they christened “Keep on the Sunny Side,” for more than two years now. And the project served as a springboard for a new family company, with five more tiny houses built to date.

“We work with the customer so that the house fits exactly what their lifestyle is like,” says Annelise, whether it’s kitchen counter space for those who love to cook, an extra bed or additional storage, and any number of features and amenities suited for the primary residence, retirement home, vacation cottage, guesthouse, or hunting cabin.

Smaller square footage means fewer materials and less time to build, and it also means lower utility and energy costs. Picture

the “Sunny Side” home under a blanket of Pennsylvania snow. “We keep the whole thing warm with one little space heater,” she says.

“It feels as warm and comfortable as a regular house.” The houses can also be fitted with small wood stoves, solar panels and water heaters, portable air conditioners, combination washer-dryers, and other appliances.

Natalie Pollard parks her tiny house on friends’ land in Candler. PHOTO BY TAMARA GAVIN

“A tiny studio apartment in San Francisco, a vintage trailer in New Zealand, a tent cabin in Yosemite—all of the places I was happiest were incredibly small.”

—Natalie Pollard, Asheville business owner and tiny home dweller

PARK IT HERE Demand for houses on wheels is high, with mobility a key attraction for tiny home seekers. Among them is Asheville business owner Natalie Pollard, who has lived in a Nanostead home parked on her friends’ property for nearly a year and a half.

“That was part of the motivation of having it on wheels. I like that flexibility,” she WWW.SMLIV.COM

explains. “It is nice to have the security of a home without feeling trapped by it— financially, its location. It takes a lot of weight off of owning a home.”

Pollard’s transition to her tiny haven was borne out of dissatisfaction with the Asheville housing market. “I was unhappy with my current living situation [a two-bedroom house in West Asheville]. I found the rental market in Asheville quite challenging,” she says. “I wasn’t finding anything that felt like home, and I didn’t have the capital to buy a traditional home.”

She relayed her frustrations to a friend, who asked which types of spaces made Pollard the happiest. “I reflected on that, and all of the places I was happiest were incredibly small—a tiny studio apartment in San Francisco, a vintage trailer in New Zealand, a tent cabin in Yosemite. I owned very little, had less responsibility, and that sense of freedom always made me happy.”

She considered a yurt, but there were concerns about durability and comfort in the winter. She ultimately found her answer by casting a ball into ten pins.

Yes, bowling—that’s where she ran into friends seeking the first client for their new company, Nanostead. “We made the decision that night,” she recalls. Pollard agreed to buy Nanostead’s prototype home, and friends in Candler offered parking on their land, about 20 minutes away from Pollard’s urban homestead supply shop, Villagers, in West Asheville. She started a blog, Hello Tiny Home, to chronicle the process of designing, building, and living in her new home on wheels. Since she had never accumulated too many belongings, downsizing wasn’t a colossal undertaking. “Most of the time, my house felt really empty; it didn’t feel comfortable or cozy,“ she says. “For the first time in my life, my house was full of the things I own. It felt really good.”

Electricity is available at the Candler site, and although Pollard’s nano-home is fully plumbed, there are no water hookups in the field. Once or twice a week, she visits her friends’ house to fill her water containers for cooking, drinking, and basic hygiene, and she showers at the gym and yoga studio. “Because I don’t have water, I’m much more conservative about grabbing another dish, and a lot more thoughtful about water consumption,” she notes. “I feel as if I’ve really become more in tune with the resource.”

Pollard’s home has garnered quite a bit of attention and has been featured on CNN, HGTV, Apartment Therapy, and many other outlets.

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A MOVEMENT CONSTRAINED

Tiny Houses

Clockwise from top left: Natalie Pollard’s living area includes a daybed she built herself, which also provides storage space and functions as bench seating for the dining table. TAMARA GAVIN PHOTO Vibrant colors perk up this Wishbone Tiny Home.

Homeowners Vince and Sam celebrate their new tiny abode constructed by Wishbone Tiny Homes.

PHOTOS COURTESY WISHBONE TINY HOMES

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Of course, tiny home life isn’t all tiny roses.

Pollard had Asheville friends willing to let her park the house in their yards or driveways, but stories of people being asked to move steered her westward on Interstate 40. “I prefer living in town,” she says. “As beautiful as it is in Candler, I don’t like driving, so for me that’s been the biggest downside.” Tiny homeowners across the country have run afoul of zoning regulations in cities and counties, which don’t yet know how to classify the structures. Many don’t meet minimum square footage requirements for new homes, and others are barred by restrictions on camping.

“One of the biggest challenges for living in a tiny house is not a personal challenge, but kind of a political or institutional challenge,” says Annelise Hagedorn. “Finding parking is really hard.” Some homeowners have had success finding space in “eco communities,” she adds, and Brevard Tiny House

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

Company’s first client—an environmental inspector for oil companies—traveled across the Northwest and parked in RV parks.

“There are a lot of options,” she says, “but you have to be flexible.”

Related to parking is another speed bump: finding access to utilities such as electricity, water, and septic.

“People think off-grid living is really simple. They don’t think much about utilities,” says Wishbone’s Brown. “That’s where it gets really messy and less romantic.

We all take such things for granted.”

Then there’s the downsizing process, which can be daunting. “People have this idea that they can do more in the space,” Brown says. “It’s pretty amazing what they want to fit in. We have to have a difficult conversation: This sectional is not going to work in here.” And while many set eyes on a tiny house to save money, there’s no such thing as a free lunch—and no free homes, either. From the WNC builders, turnkey models range from $30,000 to $75,000. Not all lenders will provide financing for tiny

“People are really attracted by that idea of debt-free and not slaving to a job just to pay the mortgage.”

—Teal Brown, owner of Wishbone Tiny Homes

houses, but options are available.

In Boone, Myhalyk plans to build her own house with new and salvaged materials, using tools and skills loaned from friends in the community. “I feel I will learn and grow throughout the process, as well as feel a sense of pride once complete. I'm sure there will be plenty of frustration and tears along the way, too,” she says. “This is the beginning of a big step in choosing to be responsible for my own footprint and working towards self-sufficiency.” For Myhalyk, making decisions is the most monumental task ahead: “There is an immense amount of information out there compared to just a few years ago—both helpful and overwhelming!”

Skeptics, like Florida State researcher Matt

Kelly, view tiny houses as a temporary fad: “They’re not common, and I doubt they’ll ever be a substantial part of the housing market,” he told the National Association of Realtors. But don’t tell that to the town of Spur, Texas, which in 2014 went all in on the movement by removing its square-footage regulations and proclaiming itself the “nation’s first tiny house–friendly town,” with lots available from $500 to $1,800.

And don’t say it to Teal Brown, who in two years has watched interest in Wishbone grow exponentially, especially in terms of website traffic. “It’ll go up from here,” he says. “People are looking from all over the world.”

Reduce, Reuse, Reside “The stories these walls could tell” takes on new meaning when your home has traveled across the Pacific Ocean. Constructed from steel and built to withstand hurricane-force winds and crashing waves, shipping containers are sturdy structures being converted into a growing number of homes and other buildings.

Founded in 2008, Boone-based DwellBox was the first company in North Carolina to utilize the containers to construct homes. Structural engineer Patrick Beville reviewed the company’s first Left: Inside the “Robin’s Nest” project, a two-story unit near Appalachian State home built by Brevard Tiny University with an apartment on top and storage House Company. PHOTO COURTESY on bottom. Since then, Beville and his firm BREVARD TINY HOUSE COMPANY IONCON Engineering have been involved in about Above: The Smoky Park Supper a dozen container home projects, with about half Club recently opened in of them followed through to completion.

Asheville’s River Arts District, Several features of containers make them built from 19 shipping containers.

PHOTO BY KELI KEACH PHOTOGRAPHY attractive home options, including their strength and durability, uniqueness, and sustainability appeal. “It provides an opportunity to reuse these old shipping containers that otherwise have no other purpose; they would just be scrapped,” says Beville.

“It’s a creative approach to providing housing.”

Cost depends on the situation. More design work is necessary due to structural implications and the fixed dimensions of the containers, he explains.

“There’s this idea that people are saving a lot of money, but at the end of the day, that’s not reality,” he says. “It costs just about as much as a stick-built home.”

But with thoughtful design, the 8-by-40-foot containers can be stacked and arranged to create homes ranging from one-bedroom apartments to multistory metal mansions. Speaking in October, Beville said one of his current clients was proposing a 17-container home. A survivalist commissioned another design, for an underground shelter. And one of the firm’s most recent projects is the Naylor residence—the first shipping container home in Asheville, completed in 2014. Dubbed the “40x28 Home,” the 1,140-square-foot residence cost approximately $110,000, including land, and was built on a standard foundation with two shipping containers and a shed roof.

Commercial uses of container buildings are also on the rise, including the newly opened Smoky Park Supper Club on the French Broad River in Asheville— a 2,400-square-foot restaurant built from 19 shipping containers. “Interest has definitely been picking up,” Beville says.

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Deck the Halls

L

ong before the advent of icicle string lights and inflatable snowmen, holiday decorations brightened even the humblest of log cabins. Celebrate the season—and connect with our region’s roots—at these historic residences around Southern Appalachia.

RAMSEY HOUSE KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

Holiday decorations adorn the Chief Vann Historic Site in Chatsworth, Georgia.

GEORGIA STATE PARKS & HISTORIC SITES PHOTO

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Most of the year, Knoxville’s historic Ramsey House is known for its pink (marble) and blue (limestone). Each December, though, Knox County’s first stone home—and one of its finest—looks to festive reds and greens for special holiday events including a Christmas dinner (December 4 to 8, 6:30 to 9:30 p.m., fee applies), natural wreath-making workshop (December 12, noon to 3 p.m., fee applies), and candlelight tour

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

(December 13, 6 to 8 p.m., donations accepted). Throughout the season, natural greens and colorful fruits and vegetables adorn the 1797 residence in the style of Col. Francis A. Ramsey and his family. ramseyhouse.org.

MABRY-HAZEN HOUSE KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

Built in 1858 atop the highest hill outside downtown Knoxville, this family home offers sweeping views and proved strategic for both Union and Confederate forces during the Civil War. Three generations of the MabryHazen family lived here from 1865 to 1987, leaving one of the country’s largest family collections of china, silver, crystal, and antique furnishings. Annual Christmas tours feature holiday embellishments by wellknown Knoxville decorators and light refreshments (5 to 8 p.m. on December 12 and 2 to 5 p.m. on December 13). mabryhazen.com.

CARTER MANSION ELIZABETHTON, TENNESSEE

Built in the 1770s along the Watauga River, the Carter Mansion takes the title of Tennessee’s oldest frame house. Unlike the primitive log cabins of the frontier, the mansion features hand-carved panels, crown molding, decorative chair rails, and even landscape paintings above two of the fireplaces. December 4 and 5 at 6 p.m., the Carter Mansion hosts guests for candlelit evenings complete with holiday greenery, music, refreshments, and historic interpreters acting out scenes from an 18th-century Christmas. Reservations required. tnstateparks.com/parks/events/ sycamore-shoals.

Knoxville’s Ramsey House hosts holiday festivities.

CHUCK COOPER PHOTOGRAPHY

Right: Georgia’s Chief Vann Historic Site marks the season with holiday finery and candlelit tours.

GEORGIA STATE PARKS & HISTORIC SITES PHOTO

CRAVENS HOUSE

CHIEF VANN HISTORIC SITE

HARDMAN FARM

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, TENNESSEE

CHATSWORTH, GEORGIA

SAUTEE NACOOCHEE, GEORGIA

Ever wonder what Christmas looked like during the Civil War? Tennessee’s Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park invites visitors to experience the holiday at the historic Cravens House. From its perch halfway up Lookout Mountain, the opulent 19th-century home became a wartime observation post and headquarters for both Union and Confederate armies. Periodappropriate decorations set the scene for holiday tours leaving every half hour (December 4 and 5, 6 to 8 p.m., reservations required), which will reveal the hardships facing soldiers and their families on both sides following the battles for Chattanooga in 1862 and 1863. nps.gov/chch.

In 1805, Cherokee Chief James Vann invited Moravian missionaries into his newly built, elegant brick mansion, Spring Place, to celebrate Christmas together—marking the first time the Cherokee Nation recognized the Christian holiday. The meticulously preserved Chief Vann House Historic Site in North Georgia continues the custom with a candlelit tour this December 11 and 12 (5 to 9 p.m.). Visitors discover traditional decorations such as multi-pointed stars (to symbolize the Moravian belief that God is everywhere), historic interpretation by park rangers and volunteers, and harp music on the main floor. gastateparks.org/chiefvannhouse.

Georgia’s newest state-designated historic site, Hardman Farm, has long been a local landmark for its iconic red-roofed gazebo topping an Indian mound and cow pasture.

Located in historic Sautee Nacoochee just south of Helen, the 1870-built home typifies Italianate architecture with a grand parlor, original lighting, and early telephone and climate control system. Though it was named for its famous 20th-century resident, the twoterm governor Lamartine G. Hardman, the only full-time residents of the home were Civil War Col. James H. Nichols (known as Captain Nichols), who built the farmhouse in 1870, and his family. Christmastime evokes the life and times of the Nichols family with

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HISTORIC CARSON HOUSE MARION, NORTH CAROLINA

Top: Asheville’s Biltmore Estate pulls out all the stops for the holidays. THE BILTMORE COMPANY PHOTO Above: The Italianate Hardman Farm house celebrates seasonal traditions. HARDMAN FARM PHOTO

late 19th-century decorations. Guided tours available at 10 a.m., 12:30 p.m., and 3 p.m.

Thursdays through Sundays; reservations suggested. Children can discover the origins of Appalachian holiday traditions (crafts, foods, stories, and music) during a three-day heritage holiday camp (December 21 to 23, 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., fees apply). gastateparks.org/hardmanfarm.

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Col. John Carson, an Irish immigrant from Ulster Province, emerged as a leader of Western North Carolina’s Catawba Valley after growing his fortunes as a plantation owner. The Historic Carson House dates to 1793 and once served as the seat of county government. Throughout the years, notable guests included David Crockett, Sam Houston, and Andrew Jackson. A late Civil War skirmish here plundered the home, but today the restored home is adorned with period furnishings, ornaments, and textiles.

Christmas candlelight tours will take place December 5 and 6 (6 to 8 p.m.). historiccarsonhouse.com.

BILTMORE ESTATE ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

It should come as no surprise that at America’s largest private home, holiday revelry takes on monumental proportions. Out front, a 55-foot-tall Norway spruce tree bedazzles guests with 45,000 tiny white lights and

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

hundreds of surrounding luminaries lit by hand. Inside, thousands of ornaments, lavish wreaths, and miles of garlands provide sensory overload throughout the 250-room house, centered on the seven-story-high Banquet Hall where a 34-foot-tall Fraser Fir tree holds court (provided by the family-owned Andrews Nursery in Newland since 1975).

The annual Christmas spectacle began with George Vanderbilt himself, who opened the Biltmore Estate to friends and family for the first time on Christmas Eve, 1895. Visitors can experience the house in its daytime “Gilded Age Christmas” splendor from November 6 through January 10, with candlelight evening tours offered November 6 through January 2. Special seasonal events include daily seminars on holiday wreaths and table-setting, poinsettia displays in the Conservatory, and visits with Santa and holiday carolers in Antler Hill Village.

December 17 to 19, the Inn on Biltmore Estate hosts its annual gingerbread house tea (reservations required). biltmore.com/christmas.

Historic Homes CARL SANDBURG HOME NATIONAL HISTORIC SITE FLAT ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA

“America’s poet” Carl Sandburg lived his final 22 years at Connemara, his family’s sprawling estate just south of Hendersonville.

In addition to the family’s home, visitors can explore more than five miles of hiking trails and Mrs. Sandburg’s prized goat farm. This year during Christmas at Connemara (November 28 and December 19), dulcimer and harp music will resound from the living room, with guests invited to pull up a chair or wander through the home. Craft activities, holiday decorations, and more music will fill the other rooms, which have been cleared of Sandburg belongings as part of a three-year preservation project. At 11:30 a.m. on December 19, accomplished storyteller Becky Stone will share traditional African-American holiday stories and songs accompanied by guitar, alongside warm cider and cookies. nps.gov/carl.

SMITH-MCDOWELL HOUSE ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

Asheville’s first brick mansion—and oldest surviving dwelling—offers a glimpse at antebellum life in the 19th century. Now the History Center at Smith-McDowell House on the campus of Asheville-Buncombe Technical Community College, the four-story manse gets decked out for the holiday season with Christmas trees, garlands, ornaments, and toys of the Victorian era, with six rooms done up in gold, silver, and glassware from the museum’s holdings. Holiday home tours run Wednesday through Saturday, November 18 through January 3 ($9). New this year is an hour-long guided Twilight Christmas Tour to be held December 3 and 4 (6 to 9 p.m., $25, reservation required). wnchistory.org.

Neighborhood Home Tours

North Carolina’s Carl Sandburg Home (top) and the Vance Birthplace (above). DONATED PHOTOS

VANCE BIRTHPLACE WEAVERVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

The legendary Zebulon Baird Vance— Civil War officer, North Carolina governor, and U.S. senator—comes alive at his farmstead birthplace in the Reems Creek Valley. The five-room log house and its outbuildings (including a corn crib, smokehouse, slave house, and loom house) feature furnishings from 1795 to 1840. On December 5, the historic site hosts an 1830sera Christmas, complete with native greenery and costumed interpreters. Tours take place from 4 to 8 p.m. ($3). nchistoricsites.org/vance.

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In Knoxville, the historic Old North neighborhood—a “streetcar suburb” of Queen Anne, Craftsman, Neoclassical Revival, and American Four-Square homes—swings open its doors for merry-making during the 27th annual Victorian Holiday Home Tour. Candlelight tours are offered from 4 to 9 p.m. on December 5; afternoon tours run from 12:30 to 5 p.m. on December 6. Tickets cost $15 ($10 seniors, 12 and under free). Likewise, during the annual self-guided Montford Home Tour, Asheville’s oldest neighborhood decks the halls of its Victorian, Arts and Crafts, Greek Revival, and Dutch Colonial homes (built in the period from the 1890s to 1920s).

Celebrating its 20th year this December 12, the neighborly event typically includes holiday foods, drinks, music, and other entertainment. The $20 ticket includes a map and information about included homes.

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Family Time

C

oming home for the holidays stirs up different emotions for everyone. Here, a few regional writers share their memories and reflections on what family and home mean to them.

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6 5

When You’re Here, You’re Family

BY C. ROBERT JONES

M

y mother grew up in a small town in South Carolina and was fond of saying that small-town living is the best there is. Having lived in Savannah, Georgia; Dijon, France; and Washington, D.C., I had no way to judge this until I found myself moving to Western North Carolina.

I knew a change in lifestyle was inevitable, but I had no clue just how different things would be.

One of the first things I noticed while getting used to the open spaces was that drivers in pickup trucks were waving when I passed by. I assumed they thought I was somebody else, someone they knew. After several days of this, it hit me they were just being friendly. In no time I was waving back with gusto, really getting into the spirit of things. That’s small-town living.

When I arrived in Mars Hill at my new home, it was nighttime on a hot Friday night, my car was overloaded, and I was bone weary. All I wanted was a shower and a night’s sleep on a pallet on the floor since the furniture had not arrived. I stepped into the shower. Not a drop of water. Oh, the frustration! I was new to home ownership and didn’t realize that the water was actually cut off during a change of owners. The next morning, I called the Town Hall, not expecting anyone to answer since it was Saturday, but town employee Manuel Briscoe just happened to be there. I explained my plight. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Jones. I’ll be right there.” And he was. From then on, he was “Saint” Manuel in my book. That’s small-town living.

I was told I’d need to rent a box at the post office, and it was there that I began to get a sense of the slower pace of life hereabouts. A three-minute transaction at the window could take up to ten minutes. The postmistress knew everybody, and of course it would be impolite not to exchange pleasantries and ask about Effie who was getting married and Grandpa who had the gout. I kept wondering why they couldn’t just get on with it. That’s small-town living.

Sometime later when local mover Woodrow Edwards broke a piano leg screw as he was moving my piano into the house, I was in a panic. He looked at me and smiled. “Don’t fret, Mr. Jones. I live here, too.” It was his way of reminding me of his ethics and love of the town we shared. He became my instant hero and remained so until he died—and my

Over the years, I’ve learned to slow my pace, and these days I can dawdle in the post office with the best of them.

piano is still as solid as the day it was built. That’s smalltown living.

Not too long after I got settled in, a play of mine was produced at Mars Hill College. Three dear senior lady friends drove up from Savannah to see it. The weather turned bitter cold, and on that dark Saturday night they managed to get the front axle of their car caught on a protruding oil intake pipe located near the theater. The car was stuck, unable to go forwards or backwards. The next morning—a Sunday—I called Carl Eller who owned the oil company (and who also supplied heating oil to my house) and told him of the difficulty. He was there shortly in a truck with winch and cables to extract the car. Not only did he do that, but he towed the car directly to a nearby mechanic who’d be able to do the repair early Monday morning. He charged the ladies not one penny. I thought of the Biblical ox-in-the-ditch story. Several years later, Highway 213 through Mars Hill was renamed Carl Eller Road in his honor. For the much beloved man, it was a fitting tribute.

And that’s small-town living.

One Friday, I developed a searing toothache. Nothing would take the pain away. In desperation that night, I called my dentist, Dr. Reese Steen. I did not know he was in the middle of his daughter’s wedding reception. “Sounds like an abscess,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the office at nine in the morning.” He did, and with no staff to help, he solved the problem. Once again, trouble arrived on a weekend, and a guardian angel had come to the rescue. That’s smalltown living.

Over the years, I’ve learned to slow my pace, and these days I can dawdle in the post office with the best of them.

Could I be happy in a big city again? Maybe, but why would I want to leave a place where there’s beauty, substance, and real people? Can’t ask for better than that.

My mother was right: Small-town living is simply the best there is.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: C. Robert Jones is profiled on page 11.

Charity on Hold

BY LINDA GOODMAN

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few years ago, while telling stories at a bookstore in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, I came across a copy of Studs Terkel’s Hard Times, a book of first-person stories about life during the Great Depression. One of the stories told of a father who refused to take charity, even refusing to let his wife accept milk for their baby. The baby died of starvation.

That story brought back long-buried memories to me. I was born in St Paul, Virginia, a coal mining town in the Appalachian Mountains, in 1952. People who know how my family lived say that I was born into “abject poverty.” My

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canned. The doctors said not to father, an Army-trained electrician, worry about it. “Just pay me when could not find work. Most of the you can,” he told my father. Then he people that we knew, ourselves left. included, had no electricity. My As poor as we were, my father family of six lived in a rented onehad vowed that he would never room shack. Daddy received just leave the mountains. He had lived $30 a month disability from the with the land all of his life and Veterans Administration. To put would not live apart from it. food on the table, he hunted, fished, After Dr. Cox left our home that and cultivated a garden. day, however, my father made the My parents felt that it was all right decision to apply for a job at the to do charitable works for others, Norfolk Naval Shipyard in but they were too proud to take Portsmouth, Virginia. He did so as charity themselves. That is why we soon as I hit the road to recovery. children were never allowed to go Six weeks later, he was called to meet the Santa Train at Christmas Family Time Portsmouth for an examination. He time. That is why we never accepted was offered a job immediately. At help from organizations such as Save the age of 50 years, he had found his first steady job. Never the Children or the Appalachian Service Project. again would he have to put off taking a child to the doctor When I read the story in Hard Times, I wondered what due to lack of funds. my father would have done in the same situation. Would he The first thing Daddy did when he got his first paycheck have accepted charity if it meant the difference between life was to pay Dr. Cox’s bill. He did that even before setting and death for one of his children? I mused on this for several aside money to bring our family to the city. Dr. Cox was days, not liking the feeling that I was wrong about my father; astounded. He sent back a letter thanking my father and that he was perhaps not as saying that Daddy was the first person who promised to pay wise and reasonable as I him later who actually did so. had always believed.

That memory comforts me. It makes me realize that my Finally, a story that my father valued his family’s well-being above his pride. He mother had once told me would not accept straight-out charity, but he could live with came to my mind. When accepting charity on hold.

I was five years old, I was sick and there was no ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Linda Goodman is a member money for a doctor. of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild.

Momma treated me herself with home remedies, but after a day or two I became incoherent, babbling on about strange hallucinations of giant cats and rabid dogs. I vaguely

BY MARK LYNN FERGUSON remember certain phases of this illness: the strange dreams and my mother’s frantic ministrations. riving to Roanoke for a weekend visit, I nearly The February air was bone cold and there was snow on missed my exit. I’ve taken this turn thousands of the ground. My father put on his tattered overcoat and times, but, in the dark, my mind had drifted to warm walked to town to get a doctor. I do not know how many butter beans—ones Grandma said she’d have simmering. miles he had to walk, but my mother said he was gone for When I noticed the ramp to my left, I pulled the wheel hard hours. The doctor he found drove my father back to our and veered faster than I should have, alarming myself home and diagnosed me with pneumonia. He gave me a shot because local police seem to materialize whenever I make a of penicillin (I clearly remember that!), and he gave my boneheaded move. parents some tablets for me to take later. He said I was near This last-minute gaff meant that I rolled into the valley death, and he hoped that I would recover. with my mind on the road, on my speed, on everything My father offered the doctor a smoked ham that had been except the fact that I’d made it home. I drove for a mile like given to us by his brother, but the doctor refused to take it. that, my eyes on the lane divides and fists tight around the My father then offered some of the fruits my mother had wheel, not looking up until I thought to check traffic

Would my father have

accepted charity if it meant the difference between life and death for one of his children?

Life & Death Under the Roanoke Star

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ahead. That’s when I spotted it—nine stories of neon bliss.

The Mill Mountain Star beamed at me across the valley, a gaudy yet glorious landmark, a constant beacon in a world with precious few.

Whizzing past the airport and the mall restaurant where I first worked, I watched the star grow and felt my tension melt. I thought about all the nights I had spent in its glow.

Every long walk home from that restaurant job. Every night I yelled “Mother may I” in a yard overflowing with children.

Every time I stood behind our apartment house alone, squealing toward the sky, trying to coax bats to fly low overhead. Every dinner, every bath, every night’s sleep.

The Mill Mountain Star shone through my entire childhood, and long before I existed.

It was lit bright, brand new in fact, the night my momma was born. A 1946 holiday publicity stunt that had somehow stuck around until her June birth, it welcomed her, inducted her into the first generation that would always know the star’s glow.

Momma biked right under this landmark as a girl, when it was still safe to ride around Southeast Roanoke after dark.

By the early 1970s, she’d had two babies near its base, neither of which she got to hold—the first because she was just 16 years old and told to give that child up for adoption, the second because the baby was born too small to live. She married my father at the start of that decade and divorced him by the end of it, loving and fighting like all couples and having two more children in between. Once they split, I imagine she spent hours by our third-floor apartment window, watching the star and wondering how she’d manage to raise us boys, dead broke and alone.

I don’t want to overstate the importance of the star. It’s not as if it could have helped her with her problems. It couldn’t have given her a job or a car or an education beyond high school. She’d have to find those things herself, which she did, but the whole while, the star did glow. Up on the side of Mill Mountain, too big and silly to be believed, it must have inspired a thousand smiles on my momma’s face and as many on mine.

The night she died, the star was right there, just yards above us. In the hospital that sits next to the mountain, she took her last breath, having struggled through months of starvation, big tumors clogging up her insides. Her two boys, my brother and me, held her hands as she drew a final, weak gasp, not even a lungful, and then let go. We

Up on the side

of Mill Mountain, too big and silly to be believed, it must have inspired a thousand smiles on my momma’s face and as many on mine.

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stared at one another stunned and then met at the foot of the bed and hugged, long and silent, until a nurse whispered that when we were ready, we should gather the things we wanted to keep.

I stepped outside that night with full arms—Momma’s overflowing purse, greeting cards, her cane, and a little Christmas tree someone had brought. It was December. The air was brisk but not bitter, so I walked slowly to my car.

Between the hospital and its parking garage, I looked up.

The star was dark, already shut off, which happens every night around midnight. Even its steel frame was concealed against the mountainside, itself a deep blue silhouette, dark as a burial mound, just too sincere.

I wanted to find the switch—wherever it was hidden, behind bushes atop Mill Mountain or in some municipal basement. I wanted to flip it, to light the star, the sky, to light the whole valley and remember every night my momma lived, the lifetime she spent, beginning to end, with nine stories of neon bliss overhead.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Mark Lynn Ferguson runs the blog The Revivalist: Word from the Appalachian South (therevivalist.info), where this essay first appeared.

The Christmas Pie Affair

BY WAYLON WOOD

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y grandma was a great Southern cook. She baked coconut cakes and cooked fat, pink hams. She fried the breast of the turkey and then incorporated the rest into dressing. She would pull a moist, golden-brown casserole of corn bread, turkey, celery, onion, and sticks of butter from the oven. Juicy pieces of white turkey, dipped in buttermilk and dredged in seasoned flour, were deep-fried and placed on the oven racks to warm.

My grandmother has three sons who married three women who then had seven sons and two daughters. With my grandpa that added up to ten men and six women. We observed only one tradition during the holidays: sneakiness.

In my family you had to be on your game. The family knew and documented where all the food was. Then, systematically, we would begin to hoard. Many times I would find food hidden around the house and beyond. As if my Depression-era grandma might run out of food. Fat chance! A huge refrigerator and three times as huge a deep freezer would’ve seen us through a nuclear winter.

Nevertheless, biscuits went in pockets, chicken legs wrapped in paper towels appeared on truck dashboards, divinity fudge candy was stashed in drawers under delicates.

We were secret agents, surrounded by betrayal at every turn.

If you got caught, you had to eat all of the evidence. If you stumbled upon food, you ate it, like secret codes that enemies must not get their hands on.

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waited until her low blood sugar Why all this bizarre eating had set in, when everyone would’ve behavior? Survival. Sixteen people thought she was confused. But her crammed into one house at one time nibbling had kept her sharp. You’d was dangerous. Think threethink that she wouldn’t miss one generation dining on a layered dip of pie, but miss it she did. She wanted betrayal, anger, hurt, fear, and that pie back! humiliation. Holidays were full of Grandchildren were marched land mines. into an interrogation overseen by Once, during the middle of the general and her corporals. I was Christmas dinner, my grandpa grilled, Gestapo style, at the pulled a knife out of the ham and kitchen table alongside the other began chasing my dad with it, suspects. Where was that pie? saying that he was finally going to Planting doubts and red herrings kill him. Finally—as if the thought into adults’ minds was my strategy. had crossed his mind every day of No one was immune to my fire: “I Family Time my dad’s life. It was hunting season. thought I saw cousin Troy with a Dad ran to his truck to get his rifle. pie earlier…I could be wrong.” Bam! “Didn’t Uncle Willis Grandpa got to the front porch, shotgun in hand. Dad say he stole a pie last Christmas?” Smack! “Aunt Pink has actually shot twice at Grandpa, coming so close that later talked about sweet potato pie for weeks. I’d check the trunk they had to pick the splinters out of his face. This did not of her Pinto.” Kaboom! stop any of us, by the way, from enjoying the peach cobbler.

I knew what I had to do: I had to eat that pie, and I had to No wonder there was constant emotional eating. Battle eat it now. lines were drawn and we were in the fog of war and turkey.

I slid under the bed. I couldn’t trust any of the cousins to We had favorites and, in this conflict of Southern aggression, help dispose of the evidence. They would eventually rat me everyone had their trophies. out. I’d have to do this alone. I dove into that pie. The I prized pie, especially sweet potato pie. Grandma only creaminess of the sweet potato, the hint of vanilla—I could made a few of these along with the standards: pecan, do this. I was home free. That is until the dictator, my coconut, custard, and pumpkin. I wanted that pie. Not a mother, decided to retire to her headquarters to reapply her slice. Not a piece. The whole pie. In preparation for my play, makeup. I didn’t realize she was there until she sat down on I had already stuck a fork under my parents’ bed between the the bed. bed slats.

Maybe it was the tin pie plate banging against my fork or the noisy shoving of sweet potato goodness into my smacking maw. Whatever it was, I was found out. Dragged by the leg out of my foxhole, I tried to stuff the remaining pie plate down the back of my pants. I was marched to the kitchen to confess my crime.

It was the promised torture in the form of caning with a switch that broke me. With a pie plate sticking out of my Toughskins and tears rolling down my face, I gave a heaving confession. I prepared to meet my fate. Instead, a Christmas miracle occurred. Turning around to show the pie that was down my pants made them laugh. They actually laughed.

I haven’t spent a holiday with my family in over 20 years.

Grandma died many years ago, and I find it too painful to go home at this time of year. I long for her food.

Time was of the essence. Mom and my aunts (the colonels) were out of the kitchen. Cousins (spies) were in But that doesn’t mean I won’t accept an invitation to another the yard. Fathers and uncles (sergeants at best) were fishing family’s home for the holidays. I pull up a chair and wait for it or skinning game. Grandma (the five-star general) would all to come spilling out: the subtle look, the glare, the passivehave to have her back turned, preferably crouched down aggressive comment about last year’s dinner. It is all a delight over the oven. As swiftly as a ninja, I swiped the pie and hid to me. I still make adults laugh and, every so often—just to it under my parents’ bed. keep my hand in the game—I fill my pockets full.

Immediately I regretted it. Grandma hadn’t had enough ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Waylon Wood is a playwright time to become confused by the number of pies. I should’ve and performer in Asheville.

We were secret agents,

surrounded by betrayal at every turn. If you got caught, you had to eat all of the evidence. If you stumbled upon food, you ate it, like secret codes that enemies must not get their hands on.

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1797-01

Cocke County, Tennessee

The Adventurous Side of the Smokies

For your next Smoky Mountain adventure, give us a holler! yallvisitthesmokies.com

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Eastern Tennessee

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INN CROWD The New

Lookout Mountain’s Treehouse Hideaways.

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

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outhern Appalachia’s latest crop of guest retreats deepen the experience of some of the region’s most popular destinations—from the glitz of Dollywood and Biltmore Estate to the rugged allure of Pisgah National Forest and Lookout Mountain.

Sleep Like Dolly DREAMMORE RESORT PIGEON FORGE, TENNESSEE

Dolly Parton could fill a sprawling resort with all of her one-liners about dreams. In fact, that’s exactly what she’s done. Opened in July, Pigeon Forge’s newest Dollywood property, DreamMore Resort, provides more than 300 rooms and suites and 230,000 square feet to do just that—to “dream more, learn more, care more, and be more,” as the signs in the resort’s elevators instruct.

Out front, a water fountain centered on a swirl of colorful butterflies and musical instruments sets the tone from the moment guests pull up. White rocking chairs line the covered porch, sized for big and little rockers.

Inside the lobby and to the left, a “moving mural” showcases screen shots of Smokies

scenery from behind the reception desk.

Straight ahead, the real thing takes center stage thanks to a three-story-tall picture window that frames Mount Le Conte in the distance.

The style is all Dolly, without the flash.

Well, OK, there’s a bit of bling: Her rhinestone-encrusted instruments decorate the board game-stocked “living room.”

Downstairs, a colorful grid of Dolly albums light up a hallway to the indoor pool, fitness center, game room, and kids-only Camp DW. Lest you forget where you are, Parton’s signature butterfly motif appears everywhere from the backs of rocking chairs to carpet patterns and mirror etchings in the bathrooms. Staffers in the lobby serve pink lemonade daily from 4 to 6 p.m.

Though the resort is well suited for all types of guests, family perks range from bunk beds alongside king-size beds in many of the rooms to lifeguards staffing the indoor and

outdoor pools (with waterfalls and a splash area at the latter), outdoor fire pits that host nightly s’mores roasting, and evening story time for kids in their pajamas. Upon check-in, all guests receive a TimeSaver Pass for lineskipping at Dollywood, and a free door-to-door shuttle connects the resort and theme park.

At the quilt-draped Song & Hearth restaurant, the “family supper” serves a hearty meal for four with soup or salad, a loaf of cheesy bread, a bucket of fried chicken or pot roast alongside mashed potatoes and green beans, and apple donuts for dessert. Those dining à la carte choose from Southern favorites—deep-dish chicken pot pie, smothered pork chops, corn fritters, deviled eggs on toast. Drinks include the likes of cherry pop with Pop Rocks as well as a full list of cocktails and regional craft beer.

Likewise, the spa offers a little something for all ages—from aromatherapy and deeptissue massages to cotton candy facials for teens and glittery manicures and pedicures for the 12-and-under crowd.

From $179. 2525 DreamMore Way, Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. dollywoodsdreammoreresort .dollywood.com.

Up in the Air TREEHOUSE HIDEAWAYS LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, GEORGIA

Driving south from Chattanooga, Tennessee, a quarter mile after crossing the state line into Georgia, there’s a corn maze

The latest addition to the Dollywood empire, DreamMore Resort features Dolly Parton flair and family-friendly perks such as a large outdoor pool. DOLLYWOOD’S DREAMMORE RESORT PHOTOS

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$34,000 to help the treehouse create more electricity and water than it consumes. Built mostly from reclaimed materials, the treehouse comes equipped with cozy furniture, romantic string lights, a Bluetoothenabled Gramophone-style speaker, a lofted sleeping space, and a small bathroom and basic kitchen stocked with Clif bars and quick-brew Mayfly coffee, roasted atop nearby Signal Mountain. The shower is made from the bottom half of a Chattanooga Whiskey barrel.

Lightning-paced Internet from Chattanooga offers a gigabit-per-seconds connection that’s 200 times faster than the national average. A sliding door of heavy window panes—repurposed from an old Chattanooga warehouse—offers a vantage into the woods as well as access to the 90square-foot balcony. Just beyond the treehouse, a trail connects to a bubbling mountain creek.

“We hope to pull people back outdoors,” says co-owner Andrew Alms, as his pitch slips excitedly from greywater waste systems to the sense of imagination he hopes the retreat sparks among guests. “As a kid, you’re thinking about who you want to be that day—a pirate or an astronaut or whatever— not what tasks you have to accomplish.”

From $275. 576 Chattanooga Valley Road, Flintstone, Georgia. sleepinatree.co.

It Takes a Village VILLAGE HOTEL ON THE BILTMORE ESTATE ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

Lookout Mountain’s Treehouse Hideaways is built from old barnwood and other reclaimed materials. String lights and rustic decorations add homey touches. TREEHOUSE HIDEAWAYS PHOTOS

and a red barn with “See Rock City” painted on the roof. This is the base of Lookout Mountain, home since the 1930s to Rock City Gardens, a natural wonderland turned kitschy theme park. Garden gnomes dot a trail winding among boulders, a huge waterfall, swinging bridge, and view that delivers seven states on clear days. The barn is a relic from the early days, when Rock City painter Clark Byers traveled the Southeast painting barns for free, in exchange for adding a few promotional words to each roof.

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Today there’s a new attraction that has taken root. Across the street from the end of the cornfield, the grounds for Treehouse Hideaways begin. A short path through oldgrowth forest leads to a Swiss Family Robinson-style suite. Floating some 16 feet in the air around a giant gumtree, the structure is made from reclaimed oak that was pulled from an old Tennessee barn and cradled among the boulders of the Cumberland Plateau.

Backyard play space this is not. An online Kickstarter campaign netted more than SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

When George and Edith Vanderbilt lived at Biltmore in the early 20th century, a mix of cottages and farm houses dotted the sprawling estate. Today that convivial atmosphere lives on at Antler Hill Village, which has drawn tourists and locals for shopping, dining, the Biltmore Winery, live music, craft demonstrations, and more activities since its debut in 2010.

Welcoming its first guests December 1, the new Village Hotel is poised to anchor the scene. Connected by walkway to Antler Hill shops and restaurants, the 124,000-squarefoot hotel offers 209 rooms and suites as well as its own casual restaurant and bar called The Village Social, where sustainable seafood and regional produce shine at lunch and dinner. For breakfast, guests find classics such as silver-dollar pancakes and omelets.

Guests on the move can opt to grab breakfast

or picnic supplies at The Kitchen, a graband-go counter.

Each room and suite features a window seat for taking in the hilltop views plus built-in furniture and walk-in showers (accessed via sliding barn-style door). Niceties include a Keurig coffee maker and 42-inch LCD-screen TV. Blue painted ceilings in each room nod to the Southern tradition of “haint blue” porch ceilings, while the wallpaper replicates an elegant design from inside the Biltmore House.

In addition to the The Village Social, guests can relax at an outdoor swimming pool and in the courtyard and patio area. Touchscreen information kiosks in the lobby help guests plan their days exploring the surroundings, and a free shuttle provides transportation around the estate.

The Village Hotel adds to the Biltmore’s accommodations, which also include the luxe Inn on Biltmore Estate.

From $129. One Lodge Street, Asheville, North Carolina. biltmore.com.

Guest rooms at the Village Hotel feature window seats and built-in furniture. THE BILTMORE COMPANY PHOTO

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Gardening tips, contests and seasonal updates.

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Hendersonville’s Reeb Ranch. REEB RANCH PHOTO

Betting the Ranch REEB RANCH HENDERSONVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA n many ways, it’s the story of Western North Carolina: Where dairy cows once grazed, outdoor recreation lovers now flock to ride single-track trails and unwind with locally brewed craft beer. Owned by Dale Katechis, the founder of Brevard’s Oskar Blues Brewery, the Reeb Ranch reimagines Henderson County’s historic Shoal Falls Farm as a playground for beer and bike lovers.

Sitting between Brevard and Hendersonville and Dupont State Forest and Pisgah National Forest, the 145-acre Reeb Ranch provides ride-in and out access, a swimming hole for post-ride cool downs, and an on-site bike park with pump track. Eight miles away is the Oskar Blues Brewery.

Limited accommodations maintain a retreat-like sense of privacy that encourages wedding and special occasion rentals. Sleepover options include an apartment that sleeps six to eight, attached to a milking barn built in 1945 by German prisoners of war to house a herd of prizewinning Guernsey cows. Tucked back into the woods stands a 1940s log cabin that sleeps four to six, within sight of the showstopping twin 43-foot Shoal Creek waterfalls. Finally, a handful of creekside sites host tent camping with access to outdoor showers.

Guests can camp or rent out the cabin or apartment for one night (rates from $250), or book the entire property for a weekend event (starting around $3,500). Camping costs $35 per night.

315 Shoals Falls Road, Hendersonville, North Carolina. reebranch.com.

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Staying Power These hotels and inns offer history as their top amenity.

MARTHA WASHINGTON INN & SPA ABINGDON, VIRGINIA

Following his victories in the War of 1812, Gen. Francis Preston built this massive brick residence for just under $15,000 in 1832. Over the years, the former family home has taken turns as an upscale college for women in the 1850s, a training barracks and makeshift hospital during the Civil War, and sleeping quarters for actors and actresses in town to perform at the Barter Theater across the street. Since opening in 1935 as a hotel, the Martha—as it is locally known—has hosted a guest list of notables ranging from Eleanor Roosevelt to Elizabeth Taylor in its 63 rooms and suites. Tip: Look for the Dutch-baroque grandfather clock in the Edith Wilson Parlor; the nine-foot-tall antique was shipped here in the 19th century by one of the Preston daughters. themartha.com.

GENERAL MORGAN INN GREENEVILLE, TENNESSESE

Built in the 1880s to serve the new train depot in town, this marble-trimmed brick hotel began life as the elegant 60-room Grand Central Hotel (with rooms costing around $2 in the early days). In the mid-20th century, the hotel added the General Morgan Room,

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Top: The grande dame of hotels in Abingdon, Virginia, the Martha was originally built as a private residence. MARTHA WASHINGTON INN PHOTO Above: The General Morgan Inn first became a hub for overnight guests and diners during the 1880s heyday of passenger rail in Greeneville, Tennessee.

GENERAL MORGAN INN PHOTO

which earned a regional reputation for supper club-style dining. But the 1960s and 70s proved hard on downtown Greeneville, and the hotel fell into disrepair. As part of a Main Street campaign beginning in the 1980s to revive the historic downtown, the hotel reopened in 1996 with 51 modern rooms and suites that evoke its former glory. Tip: Peek at the hand-carved, blue glass bas-relief etched mirrors behind the mahogany bar in the lounge area. Completely restored, the mirrors date to 1948. generalmorganinn.com.

WESTGLOW RESORT & SPA BLOWING ROCK, NORTH CAROLINA

Landscape painter and writer Elliott Daingerfield fell for Blowing Rock in 1886, returning every summer to follow. In 1917, he

built this Greek Revival manor house in the shadow of Grandfather Mountain as a seasonal retreat, where he soaked up and painted the mountain light and “slumberous air” until his death in 1932. The gardens and grounds appear in such works as The Sisters, one of his most well-known works. In 1978, fitness guru Glynda Valentine purchased the estate and ultimately turned it into a wellness retreat. Restored and renovated in 2006, today the luxe resort offers fireside upscale dining, fitness classes and activities (from hiking to Pilates to meditation), and a full spa and salon. Tip: Take in the unparalleled mountain views that so inspired Daingerfield from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the allwhite relaxation lounge. westglowresortandspa.com.

MAST FARM INN VALLE CRUCIS, NORTH CAROLINA

MAST FARM INN PHOTO

Three generations of the Mast family lived in the 1810-built log cabin—now called the Loom House and considered among North Carolina’s oldest inhabitable log cabins— facing the main house at the Mast Farm Inn in historic Valle Crucis. By 1896, the family had completed the main farm house, which began operating as an inn after the turn of the century. Guests kept the beds full until closing in 1964; the inn reopened in 1985 after a painstaking restoration. In 2012, the inn was inducted into Historic Hotels of America, a program of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

Today, guests choose from 15 unique lodging options including seven rooms in the 19thcentury farmhouse and eight cottages and cabins. Chef Andrew Long elevates homestyle cooking at Simplicity and its more casual sister restaurant, Over Yonder. Tip: Go back in time with a stay in the log Blacksmith Shop, post-and-beam Woodwork Shop, or restored Loom House. themastfarminn.com.

GROVE PARK INN ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

First Edwin Wiley Grove built a fortune on his tasteless tonic, a household staple of the late 19th century. Then he moved to Asheville, began buying up property around

MORE HISTORIC STAYS: Several

Top: The Snowbird Mountain Lodge has been a fixture of the Cherohala Skyway since 1941. SNOWBIRD MOUNTAIN LODGE PHOTO Above: The lobby at High Hampton Inn evokes the inn’s hunting lodge past.

JILL SCHWARZKOPF PHOTO

town, and built the Grove Park Inn. Often called the Father of Modern Asheville, Grove opened the hotel on Sunset Mountain in 1913—less than one year after breaking ground—to a crowd of 400 Southern gentlemen that included Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan, who declared the inn “built for the ages.” In its first century, famous guests have counted ten U.S. presidents, Harry Houdini, Thomas Edison, WWW.SMLIV.COM

favorite Southern Appalachian inns close for winter. Overlooking Lake Santeetlah and Cherohala Skyway on a secluded mountaintop in Robbinsville, North Carolina, the Snowbird Mountain Lodge (snowbirdlodge.com) will open for its 75th season on February 5. Stays include a hot breakfast, to-go lunch, and four-course seated dinner daily. Reopening in April in Cashiers, the High Hampton Inn (highhamptoninn.com) has welcomed guests since 1922, retaining a throwback sensibility complete with dress code.

Sitting on 1,400 acres in the Blue Ridge foothills, the mountain resort features 116 rooms and suites, cottages, a private lake, hiking trails, dining, golf, tennis, and family activities. Old-world charm has been the hallmark of the Switzerland Inn (switzerlandinn.com) since it first opened in Little Switzerland in 1911. Its other big claim to fame: closest proximity to Mount Mitchell on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The historic inn will reopen for the season in mid-April.

Eleanor Roosevelt, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, who spent two summers here writing and attempting to shake tuberculosis while his wife, Zelda, lived across the valley at a psychiatric hospital. Today the Omni Grove Park Inn offers 513 guest rooms, an 18-hole Donald Ross championship golf course, a subterranean spa, and multiple restaurants. omnihotels.com/hotels/ asheville-grove-park.

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Dispatches from the Smokies THE FORGOTTEN POSTCARDS OF LOUIS E. JONES

BY JO HARRIS

POSTCARDS COURTESY OF THE FRANK ALMQUIST P R I VAT E C O L L E C T I O N

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hen artist and photographer Louis E. Jones arrived in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, in the 1920s, he became the first artist to reside permanently in the remote mountain village and earn a living from his craft. He spent three decades capturing the beauty of the Smokies and the spirit of its people in photographs, impressionistic-style paintings, etchings, and drawings.

Though a talented painter, Jones made much of his livelihood from his photographic postcards, purchased primarily by tourists for souvenirs and as an economical means of communicating. His Great Smoky Mountains Series of postcards, some which are featured here, consists of at least 40 black-and-white images.

A native of Pennsylvania, Jones studied at Bucknell University and Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts. In 1910, he and his wife, Emma, moved to Woodstock, New York, where he studied at the Art Students League and settled into life as an artist and businessman.

His work didn’t become legendary, but his Cliff Dwellers Gallery— perched on a hill overlooking the main street in Gatlinburg—did.

Designed and built by Jones in 1933, Cliff Dwellers served as a residence, studio, and gift shop. The building, like nothing Gatlinburg residents had ever seen, was crafted of wood and stone and featured gabled roofs, exposed beams, decorative moldings, and balconies—architectural details similar to buildings at Woodstock’s Byrdcliffe Arts Colony.

Two employees purchased Cliff Dwellers when Jones retired in 1955, but it was local artist Jim Gray and his son Chris who eventually became torchbearers for Cliff Dwellers. When the iconic building was set to be razed, Gray purchased the building, had it dismantled and moved—in four separate sections which took five weeks—to the Arts and Crafts Community east of Gatlinburg. The Grays later sold Cliff Dwellers, and it became a cooperative art gallery showcasing the works of area artists.

Today it stands as the longest operating gift shop in Gatlinburg.

Another Gatlinburg landmark—the Little Cathedral of the Smokies, or First United Methodist Church—owes much to Louis and Emma Jones.

The couple donated land behind Cliff Dwellers for the church, and Jones directed all aspects of its design and construction.

Except for the Museum of East Tennessee History in Knoxville, a private collector in New York, and a handful of people around Gatlinburg, Jones has largely been forgotten. He and Emma had no children to perpetuate their memory. Occasionally, his works show up at auctions.

Case Antiques in Knoxville holds the record for a Jones painting: $12,500 for a large, untitled mountain landscape. One of his Smoky Mountains postcards recently sold for $38 on eBay. Jones customarily signed his work LEJ, or L.E. Jones, and often included a copyright.

Jones died in 1958 at age 80. “He was a prince of a man,” said church historian Peggy Smith. In 1945, when he and his wife joined the church and donated the land, Jones said, “If we don’t leave the world a little better off than when we found it, we have failed.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jo Harris is profiled on page 11.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

MOUNTAIN MAN: Wiley Oakley was born at the base of Mount Le Conte in 1885. This celebrated woodsman was an author, entrepreneur, artist, musician, and storyteller who brought his homespun tales to a national audience and became an ambassador for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. With his intimate knowledge of the mountains, he became a legendary guide to hikers, hunters, fishermen, congressmen, businessmen, and celebrities. He was even an unofficial member of the Cherokee. A sign in front of his business, The Wiley Shop, where local crafts were sold and mountain musicians performed, read “Antiques Made While You Wait.” His nicknames—Will Rogers of the South and Roamin’ Man of the Mountains—proved well deserved.

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MATERIAL WORLD: Handed down through several generations, many basket designs in the Smokies can be traced back to Scotland and Ireland. Typical materials included willow, white oak, birch, and vines, including honeysuckle. The basket on this craftsman’s lap appears to be what many called a “kidney” or “gizzard” basket because of its shape. A smaller design in the left

foreground might have been called an egg basket. The utilitarian containers were often designed to fit the need, a striking example of ingenuity kindled by necessity. Baskets and other mountain crafts such as wood carvings and weavings were marketed by the Arrowcraft Shop in Gatlinburg, which opened in 1926 and gave the mountain people a source for much-needed cash.

ROOMS WITH A VIEW: In 1916, Andy Huff built Gatlinburg’s first hotel, the Mountain View. The small wooden structure was modified and eventually became an expansive three-story hotel with a wide stone veranda and a long, inviting lobby paneled with many different native woods. A massive stone fireplace at one end served as the room’s focal point. Guest rooms featured locally made furniture, also of native woods.

Several generations of the Huff family operated the hotel, which closed in the early 1980s and was demolished in 1993.

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ROADS DIVERGED: Jones often hiked great distances to capture views like this one, which focuses on a farm at the edge of a dusty lane winding through the Smokies. Closer inspection reveals cultivated fields, utility poles, a footpath leading to the outhouse and river, and what appears to be an early 1930s vehicle parked near the center building.

Did you know?

According to Mountain Ways: An Album of the Smokies, photographic postcards in the early 20th century were produced by exposing each photo-sensitive postcard to light through a negative. The postcards were then developed by hand, treated with a fixer solution, washed in running water,

then run through an old-fashioned washer-type wringer to force close contact between the postcard and a ferrotype tin.

The tins with the photographs on them were placed in a rack and, as the photo postcards dried, dropped off and ready to be packaged or displayed for sale.

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CABIN FEVER: From this single image one can draw profound insight into the story at the heart of Smoky Mountain history. Homes like this small rustic cabin—which might have housed a dozen or more children (note the baby sleeping on the porch)—were common in the mountains.

Though they were simple abodes, many homeowners clung tenaciously to them when threatened with condemnation to make room for the coming national park. These homes were built with strong hands, using skills learned from earlier generations. The stones in the chimney would have been gathered from nearby fields and streams and held together with mud mortar. The roof’s wooden shakes would been made with a few simple hand tools, from oak trees felled by the owner. The pegs on the front porch walls

would have held clothing, farm implements, baskets, food items such as strings of dried beans, and perhaps a sweeper made from broom corn grown on a steep hillside behind the cabin. The iron pot would have had many uses but primarily as a wash pot for the family’s laundry. Life was hard in the remote mountains.

SNOW DAY: Deep in the Smokies or just out the back door?

Though Jones was known to hike for miles to get the right shot, in his era—before crowds and commercialization came to Gatlinburg—he could have captured this snowy scene simply by walking into the woods behind his Main Street gallery.

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

SELECT LODGING

Eat. Sleep. Hike. Repeat.

Directory

HEMLOCK INN This historic inn, set just off Main Street in downtown Blowing Rock, is only steps from shopping, restaurants and event activities.

Eighteen unique rooms, including suites with fully-equipped kitchens. All rooms are nonsmoking. Rooms feature private baths, cable TV, air conditioning, phone services, microwave ovens, refrigerators and WiFi. Take advantage of a variety of packages offered throughout the year.

Downtown Blowing Rock, N.C. 828.295.7987 • hemlockinn.net

Smoketree Lodge

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BOYD MOUNTAIN LOG CABINS AND CHRISTMAS TREE FARM Featured in Southern Living’s Best Weekend Getaways. Enjoy a peaceful country setting in charming authentic log cabins, 1-4 bedrooms, located on 140 beautiful acres. Full kitchens, wood burning fireplaces, Wifi, & A/C. The cabins overlook the Smoky Mountains, a Fraser Fir Christmas tree farm, 3 stocked fishing ponds, flower and vegetable gardens. Hiking trails to the top of Boyd Mountain, volleyball, basketball and badminton, swimming hole in the creek, sledding in the winter. Open every season.

Waynesville, N.C. 828.926.1575 • boydmountain.com

COUNTRY INN

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11914 Hwy. 105 S. Banner Elk NC 28604

828-963-6505

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Lodging & Dining Available.

Call for Reservations.

Waynesville, NC

Smoketree-Lodge.com

Managed by Vacation Resorts International

800.789.7672 • TheSwag.com

SMOKETREE LODGE Smoketree’s cozy atmosphere and prime location gives visitors the choice of enjoying the peace and solitude of the Blue Ridge Mountains or the opportunity to partake in the many activities available in the High Country.

11914 NC Hwy. 105 S. • Banner Elk, N.C. 800.422.1880 • smoketree-lodge.com THE SWAG COUNTRY INN Chosen by readers of Conde Nast Traveler magazine as the #2 Best Small Hotel in the Unites States, the secluded hideaway itself consists of 250 private acres. The main lodge and cabins, consisting of 15 rooms, are built of 17th and 18th century hand hewn logs and local field stone. For 33 years, visitors have been able to experience just how remote, rustic, refined and remarkable it can be at 5,000 feet. Three gourmet meals are served daily, with turn down service each evening.

Waynesville, N.C. 800.789.7672 • theswag.com THE WAYNESVILLE INN GOLF RESORT & SPA This resort has been welcoming visitors to the mountains with southern hospitality since the 1920s. Traditional resort amenities include historic and mountain view lodging, 27 holes of championship golf, restaurant and tavern, plus outdoor event space and pro shop. Convenient location provides easy access to shopping, skiing, fishing, hiking and more.

176 Country Club Dr. • Waynesville, N.C. 800.627.6250 • thewaynesvilleinn.com

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Overlooking the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains 112 Guest Rooms, 2 Restaurants, Spa, and 27 holes of Championship Golf Perfect for Vacations, Meetings, and Weddings

800.627.6250 | TheWaynesvilleInn.com 176 COUNTRY CLUB DR. | WAYNESVILLE, N.C. WWW.SMLIV.COM

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STORIES Community

Christmas Heartbreak

BY JIM CASADA

I

n December of 1916, hard times held the high country of the Smokies in a stranglehold. The Lusitania rested at the bottom of the Atlantic, our traditional allies in Europe were stalemated on the Western Front, and visionaries realized America’s entry into World War I was in the offing.

But the little boy living on the headwaters of Juneywhank Branch in the remote fastness of the Smokies remained blissfully unaware of ominous world affairs. Nor did he fully appreciate the near-desperate financial straits of his large family.

His father, though a willing worker, struggled to find paying work. Cutting acid wood, gathering chestnuts by the bushel for sale, digging a few ginseng roots, and seasonal gallacking (gathering galax leaves for holiday decorations) were about the only types of endeavors where money changed hands. Almost everything else relied on a barter system.

Such matters were beyond the lad’s ken, but with Christmas approaching he had a consuming desire for a single gift. Throughout spring, summer, and fall, his father had periodically let him use what mountain men considered the ultimate tool—a pocket knife. His apprenticeship with the knife involved practical matters such as cutting up seed potatoes for planting and whittling wooden pegs to hold barn doors in place, but there had also been pleasures such as shaping a dogwood fork into a dandy slingshot and, with a bit of help, crafting a whammy diddle.

To the boy’s delight, his father had also commented, more than once, “First thing you know you’ll be ready for a knife.” With those words and experiences firmly implanted in his mind, he expressed a single wish for Christmas: a pocket knife as his gift.

To his eyes that seemed reasonable, even though he knew from

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previous Yuletides not to expect too much. Come daylight on December 25, the boy, along with his numerous siblings, rushed to the fireplace area of their simple log home to check stockings their mother had lovingly knitted. Each one contained a single orange, mittens or headwear she had made, a couple of apples, chestnuts and hazelnuts, and some hard candy.

The starry-eyed boy immediately noticed, right at the bottom of his stocking, a tell-tale bulge in the shape of a pocket knife. Eagerly he dug through the fruit, nuts, and candy to reach that item, but his excitement quickly gave way to dismay. It was indeed a pocket knife of sorts—a piece of hard candy shaped and colored to resemble the real thing. Heartbroken, he rushed from the room so no one would see the tears rolling down his cheeks.

That little boy was my father. Yet to his lasting credit—a testament to the resiliency of mountain character—his disappointment did not result in lasting bitterness. Instead, he managed to turn that moment of abject sadness into enduring gladness.

First with his sons and subsequently with his grandsons, whenever Christmas rolled around Daddy made sure a knife of some type—first a quality pocket knife with two or three blades, then later fixed-blade hunting knives—appeared under the tree. He continued this practice for virtually all of his 101 years, and one of the highlights of December family gatherings was hearing him relive that formative moment from his youth.

“I never want my offspring to be without a good knife,” he would say. “It’s a companion that will serve you well in some way, every day for all your years.”

Whenever one of us pulled out a pocket knife he had given us, Daddy’s eyes lit up with joy. He MANDY NEWHAM-COBB took immense ILLUSTRATION pride in the Eagle Scout rank attained by each of his grandsons and was delighted they had Boy Scout knives to complement those he gave them.

At his funeral, family members all carried a knife he had given us or that came from his own sizable collection.

After the service, we bushwhacked to his boyhood home place, now well off-trail and deep in the bosom of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. There we toasted his memory with pure, sweet water from the spring that once served the family.

As I did so, one hand grasped a tangible link to the man—a knife embodying his spirit and memory. I suspect others did the same.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Born and raised in Bryson City, North Carolina, Jim Casada has written widely about fishing, hunting, natural history, Appalachian folkways, and more mountain topics. See jimcasadaoutdoors.com.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 15 • ISSUE 6

From Our Family To Yours,

Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year!