Smoky Mountain Living, June 2016 by Smoky Mountain News

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING

100 YEARS OF PARKS | PHOTO TIPS | PICKLE RELISH | OAK RIDGE, TN JUNE/JULY 2016

Celebrating Southern Appalachians THE

HIDDEN GEMS OF THE SMOKIES | GEORGIA’S SCENIC 197 | TN'S SECRET CITY | MARSHALL, NC

SECRETS of the SMOKIES Enjoy the view— all to yourself

JUNE/JULY 2016 • VOL. 16 • NO. 3

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SECLUDED OVERLOOKS, PICNIC SPOTS, STREAMS, WATERFALLS, TRAILS, DRIVES, & MORE

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Contents

FEATU RE STO RIES

SECRETS OF THE SMOKIES Hikers, outdoorsmen, photographers, and locals reveal their favorite treasures of “the back of beyond”—from secluded trails and ﬁshing streams to quiet overlooks and picnic spots. PAGE

STATE SECRETS Explore the role Oak Ridge, Tennessee, played in the development of the atomic bomb at one of the country’s newest national parks. BY MARYELLEN KENNEDY DUCKETT

PAGE

SILENT SONG In this memoir excerpt, a banjo helps the author ﬁnd his voice as he returns to his ancestral land of Henderson County, North Carolina. BY JEREMY B. JONES

PAGE

{

Come see what three hundred Million years of landscaping looks like.

Folks have been coming to Grandfather Mountain for generations. For the views, the hiking, the animals - and to see what happens when you let nature take its course. w w w. g ra n d f a t h e r. c o m

}

GRANDFATHERÂ® MOUNTAIN WONDERS NEVER CEASE

Contents

SWEET APPALACHIA

DEPA RTME N TS

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

Comforts for the mountain soul—from the sweetness of homemade pickle relish to the solemnity of decorating graves, and from the satisfaction of growing food for your family to the gratiﬁcation of today’s range of Appalachian music. Plus, a vintage photo offers a glimpse into early life in the Smokies.

MOUNTAIN EXPLORER

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

Summer in the Southern Highlands means getting out and exploring every chance you get. Take in the dazzling brushstrokes of a regional artist, join a local bird club for an avian adventure, hit the trails of a trio of bike parks, follow word-of-mouth to a house concert series in the backwoods of northern Georgia, and explore the scenic byways and small towns that enrich this land.

FROM THE MANAGING EDITOR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7

ON THE COVER

CROSSWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9

Heintooga Overlook offers private mountain views on the North Carolina side of Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

AT THE PARK. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10

PHOTO BY KRISTINA PLAAS

MEET OUR CONTRIBUTORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 PHOTO ESSAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 STORIES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88

Good Living 4

Southern Appalachian Mountains Gallery Guide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Haywood County, N.C. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Select Lodging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

Million Dollar Quartet The Affections Of May The Music Man The Importance Of Being Earnest Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5 The Diary Of Anne Frank Beehive, The 60’s Musical Vintage Hitchcock, A Live Radio Play A Thousand Cranes A Christmas Carol

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Look closely into the mountains of North Carolina and you’ll discover a place unlike any other. Hendersonville calls out to all to seek out and explore new experiences year-round.

DOWNTOWNHENDERSONVILLE.ORG

CHEERS! Trail

A Guide To Beer Wine & Cider

Be moved. Because that’s what happens in Hendersonville.

1.800.828.4244

visithendersonvillenc.org

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DISCOVER PROPERTIES & COMMUNITIES AT HOME AND ON THE GO ON beverly-hanks.com

When you’re ready to search for a home that’s as breathtaking as our mountain views.

MOBILE On the top right corner of your screen, click:

NEARBY PROPERTIE S

HOME

for prices and photos.

Advanced searches and detailed community information.

<RXȇOO ȴQG WKHUH DUH PDQ\ ZD\V WR OLYH LQ Western North Carolina. We eliminate the guesswork by providing the photos, the analysis, and the community search tools you need. COMMUNITY OFFICES LOCATED THROUGHOUT THE REGION Downtown Asheville North Asheville Biltmore Park Hendersonville Waynesville Lake Lure

866.858.2257 customerservice@beverly-hanks.com

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

EQUAL HOUSING

OPPORTUNITY

FROM THE MANAGING EDITOR Community

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, Maryellen Kennedy Duckett, Ashley English, Dawn Gilchrist, Michael Reno Harrell, Don Hendershot, Bruce & Elaine Ingram, Jeremy B. Jones, Holly Kays, Charli Kerns, M. Linda Lee, Tim Osment, Chris Smith, Natalya Weinstein, Garret K. Woodward Contributing Photographers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . William Britten, Richard Brooks, Terri Campbell, Jim Casada, Bill Hale, Bruce & Elaine Ingram, Holly Kays, Vonda B. Magill, Mary Meiners, Margie Metz, John Northrup, Gregg Passmore, John & Regina Phillips, Gary Pinholster, Kristina Plaas, Kathryn Ray, Meg Reilley, Bonnie Waigand, Garret K. Woodward Contributing Illustrators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mandy Newham-Cobb Smoky Mountain Living has made every effort to ensure 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.

SECOND STREET PHOTOGRAPHY

VOL. 16 • NUMBER 3

My mom can stare into the sea for hours. During my childhood, summer usually meant a road trip away from our landlocked home to spend at least a week at the beach. At the end of vacation, on the way out of town—the family minivan caked with sand and our fair skin sunburned and peeling—she’d always insist on “one last look” at the water. I enjoy the beach, but I can only wonder at the waves for so long. Born and raised in Iowa, where few surprises obstruct the horizon, I have spent more than my share of time looking out across endless expanses. When it comes to the scenery, what you see is what you get: rows of crops and miles of fields, truck-filled highways and dusty gravel roads. Sure, there’s a certain meditative beauty to rolling sameness—whether oceans or farmland—but I’m partial to a more layered landscape. The first time I hiked in mountains, I was hooked. With each step, the view changed. Just as the crashing of waves refreshes my mom, the richness of ridges speaks to me. Here in the Smokies, the journalist in me sees stories around every bend in the trail and over every precipice. Indeed, a tangle of human history and natural biodiversity entwine this ancient land with secrets. And what’s more thrilling than a whispered truth or deserted path? Even so, the complexities of this region can also be a bit overwhelming for a newcomer like me. When you’re a transplant to a new place, you learn to rely on the insights of those in the know. That’s exactly what we’ve done with this issue of Smoky Mountain Living. As the National Park Service turns 100 this August, we’re celebrating the past century—and more—of our namesake park by asking those who know the Smokies best to share their personal secrets of the area. Knoxville writer Maryellen Kennedy Duckett suggests a dozen ways to deepen your park experience, from a different perspective on Cades Cove—one without bumper-to-bumper traffic—to private picnic areas and a secluded swimming hole. Ardent hiker John Northrup names his favorite trails for when he craves solace. Photographer Deb Campbell reveals a few unexpected discoveries, from a “troll bridge” to a peace memorial planted in a surprising place, while loyal park visitors Jon and Regina Phillips give their tips for watching and photographing black bears in the wild. Naturalist Don Hendershot identifies where to find old-growth trees—the original secret keepers—deep in the Smokies woods, while outdoorsman Jim Casada discloses his favorite fly-fishing streams, and renowned author Ron Rash shares a poem about fishing for trout with his cousin in “faraway creeks no map could name.” Still, we’ve scarcely scratched the surface. You know as well as we do that treasures abound in the Smokies. We’d love to hear about your hidden gems, if you’re willing to divulge them. Email editor@smliv.com or join the conversation at facebook.com/smliv.

We’d love to hear

about your hidden gems of the Smokies, if you’re willing to divulge them.

— Katie Knorovsky, managing editor

Smoky Mountain Living assumes no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or photographs. Queries should be sent to Katie Knorovsky at katie@smliv.com. ©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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Where Asheville touches the sky! Prepare to be caught off guard the ﬁrst time you drive through the impressive stone gates, the towering hardwood forest, and the breathtaking vistas. Then realize that 5 minutes earlier you were sitting in a café in downtown Asheville. Welcome to Town Mountain Preserve.

EMERSON ——————————————

George@EmersonGroupUS.com

www.EmersonGroupUS.com

7 Beaverdam Road, Suite 7, Asheville, NC 28804 828.400.0901

GROUP

George Escaravage BROKER/REALTOR

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

Across

Crossword

KRISTINA PLAAS PHOTO • FACEBOOK.COM/PLAASABILITIES

1 Writer who famously called the Smokies “the back of beyond” 5 Go off the beaten path 9 Cataloochee’s ___ herd 10 The A in IPA 11 Large lake in the Smokies where you can paddle and play 12 Word on a ticket—or confess 13 Wheel furrow 14 Street, for short 15 Campground east of Gatlinburg 18 Observer 20 Buddy 21 Distress cry 23 Canoe gear 26 You, in French 27 Anger 28 Marching colonist 32 Writer of “Speckled Trout,” Ron ___ 33 Wildlife 34 Abundant fish in the Smoky Mountain streams 36 Move fast, as a stream 38 “How about that!” 40 Atmospheric layer 41 The Depression was one 42 ____ white trillium, flower to be enjoyed on the Miry Ridge Trail 43 Attracted

ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN

Down

1 Beverage made from fermented milk 2 Lady swan 3 Famous landscape photographer who traveled through the Smokies, Ansel ____ 4 Sad 5 Go on ice 6 ____ Cascades, the Great Smoky Mountains park’s highest waterfall 7 Stayed after descending 8 “Are we there ___?” 15 In Tennessee, one of the top tourist destinations in the Smokies, two words 16 Ancient 17 It buzzes, going from flower to flower 19 Thanksgiving vegetable 20 ____sailing 22 Hiking enthusiast John Northrup recommends this trail for its beautiful spring wildflowers, two words 23 The _____ Ball at Ripley’s Aquarium 24 ___ and behold! 25 ____ Shiner, ray fish to be found in Smoky Mountain streams 29 Sodium symbol 30 Thomas Divide ____, a footpath under the Clingmans Dome Road 31 Not-so-Junior _____ 35 Child 37 All nations’ group, abbr. 39 Before, a poet

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

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AT THE PARK Community

100 Years, 100 Miles It’s not too often that celebration of a century on Earth gets commemorated with a vow to hike 100 miles. For the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, however, that’s exactly what the plan is. The National Park Service turns 100 in 2016, and park units across the nation are devising their own ways to celebrate the milestone. In the Smokies, the focus is on the Hike 100 Centennial Challenge. “Our park has such diversity to explore,” says Christine Hoyer, backcountry specialist for the park. “It’s not necessarily about hiking to the highest peak in the park. It’s about getting out there and enjoying the beneﬁt of being active and being outside and breathing fresh air and enjoying what nature has to offer.” Meeting the challenge requires only that park lovers hike 100 miles of trail within the park by December 6. Those 100 miles can be done on easy paths like the Oconaluftee River Trail or up grades such as the trek to Mount Le Conte. They can be logged through a series of daring backcountry adventures or a steady schedule of after-work strolls. They can be solo excursions or group outings. Or they can be done with the help of a passel of officially organized hikes designed to support the Hike 100 challenge. Park Superintendent Cassius Cash is leading several hikes himself, aiming to show ﬁrsthand the importance and reward of getting out on park trails. He’s doing a pair of “y’all come” frontcountry hikes—August 20 on the Gatlinburg Trail and December 3 on the Oconaluftee River Trail—as well as limited-attendance backcountry hikes—June 25 on the North Carolina side of the park and October 8 on the Tennessee side.

Smokies Superintendent Cassius Cash works on his 100-mile hike tally. NPS PHOTO

Cash is also working to extend the Smokies experience to populations who otherwise wouldn’t likely make it to the park. Grant funding is helping the park bring in groups of kids, especially from urban areas, to show them what the park is all about. It’s a personally important initiative to Cash, who grew up in urban Memphis, and it’s also strategic to ensure the park’s future. “Who’s coming behind all of us to really be caring for these places?” says Hoyer. “At the end of the day, you’ve got to connect them to it in some way ﬁrst.” Other opportunities for guided hikes exist as well. Friends of the Smokies organizes a monthly hike to one of the park’s iconic trails, and the Great Smoky Mountains Association offers a monthly program of Hike 100 guided excursions. For more information, see nps.gov/grsm/planyourvisit/gsmnphike-100.htm. —Holly Kays

and Cherokee counties in North Carolina, as well as in Towns County, Georgia. Parties to the agreement include the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission, Duke Energy Carolinas, the Tennessee Valley Authority, the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, and the Georgia Department of Natural Resources. Planned strategies include captive rearing, stocking, and a host of supporting efforts.

SAVE THE SICKLEFIN

DONATED PHOTO

Help is on the way for the rare sicklefin redhorse fish, in the form of an agreement signed by a coalition of government agencies and power companies bent on keeping the fish off the federal endangered species list. Though Cherokee people have long relied on the sicklefin redhorse for food—the large-bodied bottomfeeder can reach 5 pounds and 24 inches—it wasn’t identified as a species until 1992. It’s been a candidate for listing as threatened or endangered since the early 2000s. As of now, the fish is found only in Swain, Jackson, Macon, Clay,

SWEAT IT OUT Summer is about sweat—at least for the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, which is recruiting hardy souls for its Smokies Wilderness Elite A.T. Crew. The crew volunteers trek out to the Smokies backcountry to complete trail work such as cutting back annual growth, installing erosion control features, and moving heavy rocks and logs dotting the way. Based in Gatlinburg, the SWEAT Crew offers an array of sixday sessions throughout June, July, and August. Find dates and sign up at appalachiantrail.org/home/conservation/trailmanagement/trail-crews/sweat-trail-crew. —H.K.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

MEET OUR CONTRIBUTORS

Jeremy B. Jones

Community

KATHRYN RAY PHOTO

How does Southern Appalachia influence you as a writer? It’s comforting, and perhaps daunting, to find a canon of gifted, insightful writers on the bookshelves of the last century, but we’re also blessed with the constant reshaping and expansion of this tradition—by the likes of Ron Rash and Robert Morgan and Nikki Giovani and Charles Wright and Lee Smith and…the list goes on. What never fails to amaze me is the generosity and inclusivity of this community. When I have an opportunity to sit down with one of our storied writers—Kathryn Stripling Byer, for example— she asks more about my work than she talks of her own. This is a community and tradition of writers who genuinely want their colleagues to be successful.

Kristina Plaas ohn Muir recommended spending time in the woods to “wash your spirit clean.” Kristina Plaas can attest to the mountains’ rejuvenating effects: Now retired from her high-stress career as a neonatal nurse, the Knoxville photographer has long found respite amid the scenery and wildflowers of the Smokies. Her “love affair” with nature photography, as she calls it, began after graduation from the University of Tennessee College of Nursing. Since 2013 she has shared her talents as a Volunteer-in-Park at Great Smoky Mountains National Park, assisting visitors at Clingmans Dome. She serves as a “Dome rover” and as a photographer and social media volunteer at the park, as well as helping web designers for the National Park Service as a virtual volunteer. See the cover and page 58 for one of Plaas’ favorite spots in the Smokies to photograph, and find more photos at facebook.com/plaasabilities.

AL HARRIS/MILE MARKER IMAGES

ost of the branches of author Jeremy B. Jones’s family tree have been rooted in Henderson County, North Carolina, for more than 200 years. Like many aspirers, Jones left the mountains for college and never expected to settle back here. “I had a great childhood, but I sensed that my small town and the mountains surrounding it were keeping me from the rest of the world,” he says. “Of course, once I moved to other places, I began to see the richness and rareness in the place I come from. And now I’ve come back. For the long haul.” He writes about the push and pull of his familial Blue Ridge Mountains in his 2014 memoir, Bearwallow: A Personal History of a Mountain Homeland, an excerpt of which appears on page 76. Here he comments on what it means to be an Appalachian writer.

How does it feel to have drawn acclaim from writers like Ron Rash as well as comparisons to Wilma Dykeman? What warms me most about being mentioned in the company of these other writers is the suggestion that I’m getting something right in how I’ve written about the people and the place. This is a region that is often reduced to stereotypes— good and bad—so I hope some of these comparisons acknowledge that I’m presenting the region in all of its complicated beauty. What’s next for you? I’m working on a new book about the decoded diaries of my great-great-great-great grandfather, William Thomas Prestwood. From 1808 until 1859, he kept a log of his life— entirely in code—and the diaries were discovered in 1975 in a soon-to-be-demolished house. A retired NSA cryptanalyst named William Browder cracked the code and transcribed the diaries, and now I’m working on a collection of essays about Prestwood’s life. Spoiler alert: He invented the code because he wrote often of his sexual promiscuity and his extra-marital affairs. But he was an amazing and yet a nearly forgotten man. He farmed and read Greek and Latin. He obsessed over his dreams and charted bird migrations. He surveyed much of Macon County and dug for gold anywhere he could. The book explores his life and this region but also legacy—how do the people who come before us affect us? Learn more about Jones at thejeremybjones.com.

WWW.SMLIV.COM

Mike Aday

emember the federal government shutdown of October 2013? Mike Aday won’t soon forget it. He arrived in Gatlinburg to begin a new job as the librarian-archivist at Great Smoky Mountains National Park just as the shutdown rendered the position unnecessary. Fortunately the setback was only temporary, and soon he was able to apply his experience as an archives technician at Yosemite National Park to the vast history of the Smokies. Each issue of Smoky Mountain Living features a vintage Smokies photo hand-selected by Aday, who also provides insights on the images (see page 17). “The thing I find most fascinating about the history of Great Smoky Mountains National Park is the deep connection that people have with this park and this region,” says Aday. “I work with hundreds of researchers each year, and the majority of them want to learn about their familial connections to this area. I have never experienced anything quite so personal.” For the past year, Aday has worked to help move the park’s vault of artifacts and archives—including more than 1.5 million documents—to a brand-new facility, the Collections Preservation Center in Townsend, Tennessee, is expected to open to researchers later this year.

PHOTO ESSAY Community

Southern Appalachia sparkles Mary Meiners Secret location outside Gatlinburg facing Mount Le Conte Below: Terri Campbell Butterflies gather along Upper Tremont Road, GSMNP

with hidden treasure. Our readers share their views of secret spots and rare discoveries.

Margie Metz Max Patch, N.C.

Bonnie Waigand School house/church building used in the â&#x20AC;&#x153;Christyâ&#x20AC;? TV series, Townsend, Tenn.

Gregg Passmore A small, often-overlooked waterfall in the park on the way to Tenn.

PHOTO ESSAY

Gary Pinholster Secret spot to catch a sunrise, GSMNP

Community

“There are no words that can tell

the hidden spirit of the wilderness, that can reveal its mystery, its melancholy, and its charm.” —Theodore Roosevelt

Terri Campbell Soco Falls, located between Cherokee and Maggie Valley near the GSMNP and Blue Ridge Parkway

ach issue of Smoky Mountain Living features photographs taken by our readers. For the August/September 2016 issue, send us your best photos depicting how you enjoy an â&#x20AC;&#x153;endless summerâ&#x20AC;? in Southern Appalachia.

Bill Hale Roaring Fork Nature Trail in Gatlinburg, Tenn. Right: Gary Pinholster Secret location for rare wildflowers, GSMNP

Vonda B. Magill Dock on the Little Tennessee River

Email photos to editor@smliv.com by June 15; 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.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 â&#x20AC;¢ ISSUE 3

SWEET APPALACHIA COMFORTS FOR THE MOUNTAIN SOUL

HIDE & SEEK In this vintage photo, early Cataloochee resident Milas Messer skillfully tans a hide at his home on Cove Creek. To Mike Aday, the librarian-archivist for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, this likely ordinary moment in Messer’s life highlights the dramatic shift in lifestyles over the intervening decades. “Today, growing our own foods, making our own clothes, and a myriad other activities are taken up as hobbies,” Aday says. “But not all that long ago, in this region of the country at least, these were activities vital to the survival of many people. Milas isn’t tanning leather for enjoyment; he’s tanning leather because he needs the end product to make a plow harness, or a belt, or a pair of shoes.” Aday points to the stack of shake shingles in the background of the photo, marveling at the fact that Messer probably made all of those himself, too. “He would have felled the tree, cut it up into manageable lengths, and used hand tools to split and stack those shingles,” Aday says. “He didn’t do it because he wanted to, he did because he had to.” NPS, GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK PHOTO

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THE VIEW FROM HERE Sweet Appalachia

Relish the Season 18

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 â&#x20AC;¢ ISSUE 3

BY ASHLEY ENGLISH

PHOTOS BY MEG REILLEY

am an “all purpose” lady. Which is to say that I most prefer those objects that serve a multitude of purposes. From all-terrain vehicles to all-weather coats, an item whose usefulness can be employed on a daily as opposed to occasional basis gets my vote. Sure, there’s a time when specificity is the order of the day. When it’s raining something fierce, only a slicker will do. Snow pants typically only come out when the ground is frosty and white. The carving knife won’t do when it’s time to slather your hot toast in butter. That said, objects with a singularity of purpose tend to spend more time languishing and gathering dust in the closet, the pantry, the attic, or the basement than their cando, down-for-whatever kin. In my kitchen, I’ve been an “all purpose” fan for as long as I’ve been stirring, whisking, chopping, puréeing, or otherwise engaging in any food and beverage-related task. Any ingredient, utensil, or piece of equipment that serves multiple purposes is welcome any time. While my stand mixer, my jar of flour (all-purpose, naturally), and my silicone baking mats take first rank as the culinary stalwarts, there’s a condiment that I keep in regular supply that would give them a good run for second place. Right alongside capers, olives, and dill pickles, sweet pickle relish is an all-purpose component of numerous dishes coming out of my kitchen, from deviled eggs to meatloaf to Russian dressing. My mother and grandmother both hail from Henry County in southwestern Virginia, specifically the small mountain towns of Martinsville and Bassett, respectively. It was from them and their own kitchens that I first gained my appreciation of and respect for the full reach of sweet pickle relish. Tucked into deviled eggs, potato salad, sloppy joes, hot dogs, tuna sandwiches, meatloaf, egg salad, and so much more, jars of sweet pickle relish were in nearly constant use. Aside from mayonnaise (Duke’s, of course, another all-purpose champion if there ever was one), this sweet and sour vegetable mixture was the workhorse of their kitchens, and has since become one in mine. Likely brought to the United States by British settlers, who in turn had been introduced to some iteration of it by their dealings in India, sweet pickle relish is now the most commonly consumed variety of pickle nationwide. While I can’t speak to other parts of the U.S., having lived my entire lifetime in the Southern states, I can affirm its importance in Southern kitchens. I use it every season, typically once or twice weekly. An opened jar of it never spoils in my refrigerator, nor rests too long on my pantry’s shelves. Come warmer weather, when cucumbers and peppers are in abundance, consider putting up some sweet pickle relish of your own. I guarantee it’ll become an all-purpose all-star of your own kitchen in no time.

Sweet Pickle Relish Recipe From Canning & Preserving with Ashley English: All You Need To Know To Make Jams, Jellies, Pickles, Chutneys & More, Lark Books, 2010. Makes 6 half-pints

YOU WILL NEED 4 medium cucumbers, peeled, seeded, and diced 2½ cups sweet onion, diced 1 cup green pepper, diced 1 cup sweet red pepper, diced ¼ cup pickling or kosher salt 3 cups granulated sugar 2½ cups cider vinegar 1½ tablespoons yellow mustard seeds 1½ tablespoons celery seed 1 teaspoon ground turmeric

Right alongside capers, olives, and dill pickles, sweet pickle relish is an allpurpose component of numerous dishes coming out of my kitchen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

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

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TO MAKE 1) Combine the cucumbers, sweet onion, green and red peppers, and salt in a large non-reactive bowl. Toss to combine, cover with a kitchen towel, and let stand in a cool area overnight or for at least four hours. 2) Drain and rinse the vegetables in a colander. Rinse several times, pressing the vegetables with the back of a wooden spoon to remove all liquid and salty residue. Set aside. 3) Sterilize six half-pint jars. Fill a canner or stockpot with enough water to cover the jars by three inches. Bring to a boil while you prepare the relish. 4) In a medium stainless-steel saucepan, combine the sugar, vinegar, mustard seed, celery seed, and turmeric. Add the vegetables, and bring the mixture to a boil. Reduce heat to low, and simmer for 15 minutes. 5) Pack relish into the prepared jars, leaving halfinch headspace. Use a nonmetallic spatula to remove any trapped air bubbles, and wipe the rims clean with a damp cloth. Place on the lids and screw bands, tightening only until fingertip-tight. 6) Process for 10 minutes in a boiling water bath. Adjust for altitude as needed.

ROOTS

sway the tide of the battle by supporting the good guys. I have ducks to eat my slugs, bluebird boxes for caterpillar control, ladybug eggs to fight the aphids, and host plants for the beneficial bugs (at Sow True Seed we sell a beneficial attractant mix for just this reason).

Sweet Appalachia

Growth Patterns A Mexican bean beetle makes an unwelcome advance. SOW TRUE SEED PHOTO

hris Smith, the community coordinator of Sow True Seed—an Asheville-based company that specializes in open-pollinated, heirloom, and organic seeds—answers readers’ gardening questions.

With my vegetable garden, sometimes I feel as though I’m feeding the local wildlife more than my family. I don’t like the idea of spraying chemicals, so what are my options? As someone who shares your no-spray philosophy, I really feel your frustration. Last year I spent at least 15 minutes every morning squishing yellow Mexican bean beetles, feeling worried about karmic ramifications, and still losing all the leaves on my bean plants. However, bees still frequented the small pink and yellow flowers, pods still grew, and I still had a respectable bean harvest. Also, because this particular bean seemed to be their favorite, my other bean varieties were less affected and produced a good crop. So, that covers a few options. Hand-picking is a go-to tool for the home gardener. If finger-squishing makes you squeamish, then carrying a bucket of soapy water and knocking the pests into the bucket is a less gruesome control method. Planting a sacrificial crop is another worthy tactic. My Cherokee Trail of Tears beans were hit bad, but their sacrifice allowed my Mountain Rose and Kentucky Wonder beans to thrive. I’ve found these ‘trap’ crops also work well for Brassicas (cauliflower, broccoli, kale, collards, etc.). In my garden, dinosaur kale seems popular amongst the cabbage moths, so a row of that keeps the caterpillars happy, and my cabbage and broccoli survives relatively pest free. My favorite tool for no-spray gardening is nature. It’s a battleground out there, but the ecosystem approach to control is beautiful to see. Last year I noticed a few tomato hornworms chewing up my tomatoes. I decided to leave them be and sure enough, within a week or so, parasitic wasps had mummified the poor hornworm. You can help

I like the idea of growing my own food, but one month of eating zucchini for three meals a day and then no zucchini until next year doesn’t appeal. How do people eat like this? Zucchinis are a common criminal for overwhelming the budding gardener. There are two parts to the answer for this question: garden planning and planning to eat. First, it’s a perfectly normal gardening affliction to plant too much stuff; it’s just too easy and fun to get carried away. I’m not foolish enough to try and persuade you to plant less stuff, but I would encourage you to plant in stages. Most vegetable crops will have peak-production times or relatively narrow harvest windows. If you are able to stagger your planting times, two things will happen: You’ll spread out the peak production and have a more continual harvest, hopefully avoiding being overwhelmed by food. You’ll also extend your overall harvest because as your first crop is dying off, your second, then third crop will be coming in. We call this succession planting and it makes a lot of sense. In practice this simply means not planting a whole bed of lettuce; plant one row and then 10 days later plant another row and another 10 days after that. This theory works with a lot of crops. Plant one zucchini, two weeks later another, and so on. You can also get cunning with this idea and increase overall production by using succession planting with different crops. You can plant a row of radish between two rows of carrots. The radish will leaf out and be ready to harvest just as the slower-growing carrots are beginning to fill the space. Plant some kale under your beans as they are nearing the end of production so that once you cut the bean vines down the kale is ready to go. The other crucial part of the equation is planning to eat. The abundance of a garden can be a blessing and a curse. It is great to eat fresh vegetables throughout the growing season, but things can get a little out of hand. This is where processing and storing comes into play. You can dehydrate, freeze, can, root-cellar, pickle, ferment, and process your excess produce so that you can continue to enjoy your harvest well into the winter and with any luck all the way through until the first ripe tomato of the following season. Yes, it’s a fair amount of work up-front, but eating homegrown pickled cucumbers, your home-ground garlic powder, and home-canned salsa in the middle of winter is a delight that makes it all worthwhile. I’m still enjoying my turmeric-pickled sliced zucchini from last year’s abundance.

It is great to eat

fresh vegetables throughout the growing season, but things can get a little out of hand. This is where processing and storing comes into play.

Email your gardening questions to ask@sowtrue.com.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

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Sweet Appalachia

The Range of Mountain Sounds B Y N ATA LYA W E I N S T E I N

THE LIFE & TIMES OF THE FIDDLER OF BANJO BRANCH A Mighty Fine Memory pays tribute to regional treasure Roger Howell, the master fiddler from Madison County, North Carolina. The documentary tells the behind-the-scenes story of Howell’s music and offers a look inside his fiddle repair shop, which also houses a rare mineral and artifact collection. Howell grew up on Banjo Branch Road in Mars Hill where he benefitted from a number of influences, including a woman named Pearl Ball who lived across the valley and would sit on her porch playing banjo. Howell used to wander across the field to her house and ask her to “pick the banjo” for him. Roger Howell. DONATED PHOTO

Hailing from a family of bluegrass and old-time musicians in Galax, Virginia, 24-year-old Dori Freeman released her ﬁrst album this winter amid buzz in the New York Times and Rolling Stone, which declared it “a strong contender for Americana debut of the year.” Though that magazine says Freeman “seemingly came out of nowhere,” the musical community of southwest Virginia knows better. “There’s an undercurrent in my music shaped by my roots in Galax and the mountains,” Freeman says. “The traditional music here was a big part of my family and upbringing.” Featuring all original songs on themes of love and loss, Freeman’s relaxed vocals soar over each track. Discovered via Facebook by producer Teddy Thompson (son of British folk-rock legend Richard Thompson), Freeman transposes her heartfelt songwriting into many genres. Thompson showcases this in a variety of production styles, from stripped-down vocals and guitar to ﬂavors of country, Americana, and even doo-wop. Dori Freeman’s self-titled album was released February 5 on Free Dirt Records. dorifreeman.com.

AN ASHEVILLE FAVORITE FINDS NEW GROOVE

A protégé of local ﬁddlers Byard Ray and Tommy Hunter, Howell went on to win “Fiddler of the Festival” honors at the prestigious Fiddler’s Grove festival in Union Grove, North Carolina. In 2015, Howell received the Brown-Hudson Folklore Award for his work preserving regional music traditions, such as his impressive memory collection for Mars Hill University’s Southern Appalachian Archives. The 532 ﬁddle tunes he recorded include standards such as “Ragtime Annie” as well as a tune he calls “Asheville,” which he learned from Pearl Ball. Asheville’s Altamont Theater will host a screening of A Mighty Fine Memory and a special concert by Roger Howell and Friends at 7 p.m. on Saturday, June 25.

Asheville bluegrass powerhouse Town Mountain’s fifth studio album, Southern Crescent, showcases the band’s signature energy and drive. That’s in part because the band recorded all of the tracks live with the musicians in the same room—a novelty in this age of complex recording software. Grammy-winning old-time and roots musician Dirk Powell, of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, produced the album, lending a Deep South groove and soul to the recording. Lead singer Robert Greer’s crooning vocal style serves the rug-burners, blues songs, and laments written by various band members, supported by the solid instrumental playing of Jesse Langlais on five-string banjo, Bobby Britt on fiddle, Phil Barker on mandolin, and Nick DiSebastian on upright bass. Southern Crescent was released April 1 on LoHi Records. townmountain.net.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

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LOCAL LORE Sweet Appalachia

The Decorum of Decoration Day BY ANNETTE SAUNOOKE CLAPSADDLE

once had a neighbor who planted splendidly ostentatious flower beds. They stood out amongst the dreary early days of spring like a sore—though quite green—thumb. The patches of cheerful blooms seemed to unfold overnight across his lawn. I was awestruck, even envious, for the entire first week of passing his creation on my daily route to and from work. And then one day there were new additions. The floral blanket transcended from natural greens and pale pinks to vibrant neon oranges and unnatural electric blues. Something was amiss. As I drove slowly by his house one afternoon, I discovered my neighbor’s secret. He had lined his flowerbeds with silk flowers. Artificial charlatans had invaded our neighborhood! My insecurity vanished. After discovering his hoax, each time I passed it, his yard became more reminiscent of a graveyard than Eden. Still, I smiled—though for a very different reason. Due to various motives, faux flora often adorn the graves of our loved ones, particularly in observance of special holidays such as Memorial Day or, as it is known in some circles, Decoration Day. There may be nothing more effective at removing the eerie quality of overgrown, abandoned graveyards than the gathering of dozens of families on a spring day, picnic baskets in hand, to spill bouquets of primaryhued fabric flowers around the bases of gray stones and to meticulously weed away signs of neglect. It is spiritual. Communal. It is historical. Cultural. It is many things; but it is certainly not artificial. According to the U.S. Department of Veteran’s affairs, “three years after the Civil War ended, on May 5, 1868, the head of an organization of Union veterans—the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR)—established Decoration Day as a time for the nation to decorate the graves of the war dead with flowers,” believing this would be an appropriate time because flowers would be in bloom throughout the entire country. The first large-scale observance of Decoration Day was held in Arlington, Virginia, consecrating Robert E. Lee’s former homestead with commemorative draping. Ulysses S. Grant presided. Today we think about Decoration Day, which became Memorial Day following World War I, as a national holiday. But Memorial Day was not originally a Southern holiday. While it has long been tied to a spiritual recognition for the dead, the holiday’s formal recognition came to honor United States military casualties, specifically Union soldiers. In true American spirit, inclusivity dictated that the graves of Confederates should also be honored with the

tradition. At least, this is the official origin story. Almost a year ago, I discussed Decoration Day in the mountains with Luke D. Hyde, proprietor of the Historic Calhoun House. He told me of visiting Watkins Cemetery in Bryson City on Memorial Day and of the waves of distinct segments of our community that would come and decorate family plots. This cemetery is somewhat unique for the American South. It is host to graves dating back to the early 1820s, representing European, African American, and Cherokee populations that make up our community’s composition. It is a completely unsegregated cemetery and has been since long before the Civil War. Though they may not arrive at the site at the same time, descendants from across the racial and cultural landscape of Western North Carolina gather here on Memorial Day. Populations that might have attended quite different churches that morning eventually emerge as one in observance of their ancestors and of the blood that some say has turned our clay soil red.

MANDY NEWHAM-COBB ILLUSTRATION

After hearing of this place, and after imagining the beauty of such a day, I soon found myself, with seven-year-old son in tow, taking a detour on my way home from work one day. I was eager—almost giddy—to witness the site of such unparalleled celebration of unity. I was idealistic to say the least. Watkins Cemetery is perched at the end of a washed-out gravel drive. It would easily blend in with the small community were it not surrounded by a chain-link fence. We parked without obstacle as no one else was visiting. This would be the second cemetery my son had joined me in exploring. The ﬁrst required a canoe journey across Fontana Lake, my grandfather’s childhood home deep beneath the TVA-controlled waters, to a portion of the North Shore’s Hazel Creek, and then a brief hike past the remnants of Proctor—now an isolated, practically inaccessible area. Proctor Cemetery, as well as many community graveyards along the North Carolina border of Tennessee, has become a casualty of environmental protection progress. Though now

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

forever sheltered from the slow creep of industry and commercialization, these family plots were consumed partially by land swaps and government usurpation in the name of eminent domain when the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and other federal works projects took root. It is now commonplace for large families to journey miles into the forest, along parkmaintained trails, to pay homage to their homesteader ancestors. As we began our exploration of Watkinsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; thankful for the signiďŹ cantly easier access than Proctorâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;I reminded my son of the solemnity of such places. That did not restrict his incessant complaints of briars scraping his bare legs or of his rather inappropriate fascination with battling imaginary zombies with his light saber. And while I reminded myself of the sacredness of the surroundings, I also felt disoriented by the wayward stones dotting the ďŹ eld in front of me, many of which were just thatâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;stones with no name or dates or scripture. Tall yellowing grasses concealed rows of small memorials while larger gleaming headstones and newly placed bouquets ďŹ&#x201A;anked the outskirts. There were differences in the plots, but those differences were not exclusionary nor created barriers. It was as if those differences were squeezed together into one windbreak of remembrance emoting upward from the dusty earth. Each speck, aged or fresh, was necessary and intentional. And for those that were not, for those stones or plots that had weathered many storms, there were reminders, like the shelter for gathering, that soon someone would arrive to mend them. Amid the disarray,

the stones, even those without words, stood upright. They were preserved. Someone cared for the departed. As it was with my neighborâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ďŹ&#x201A;owers, things were not as they seemed but for the contrary reason. There was no order or superďŹ cial beauty to the space. It was rough and daunting to navigate, but it was, and is, remarkable. It is beautiful because of its natural vulnerability and a community that guards its simplicity. Linda Ellis penned the poem, â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Dash,â&#x20AC;? that I have heard referenced both at funeral services and motivational speaking events. The poem reminds us that though we often mark our lives with the date of our birth and the date of our death on headstones or in obituaries, what really matters is the space in between, the dash that represents every love, every moment, and hope. As I took my sonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hand and explained to him about why this was such a beautiful place and why some of the most signiďŹ cant stones were the ones without words, I looked down at his smile of understanding and reminded myself, once again, that it is about the dash in between the years. The space. The space or lack thereof between us and our neighbor and our loved ones. Sometimes itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s about ensuring that there is as little space or markers of space between us. For those markers subvert the core of what community isâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;to be in communion with one another. Sometimes itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s about taking the time to truly understand why one might plant artiďŹ cial ďŹ&#x201A;owers, instead of just driving by and shaking our heads. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle is an awardwinning author and member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians.

Amid the disarray, the

stones, even those without words, stood upright. They were preserved. Someone cared for the departed.

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1617 Hendersonville Road Asheville, NC 28803 800-284-1531 828-210-4592 deerfieldwnc.org SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

MOUNTAIN EXPLORER ROVING THESE HILLS AND VALLEYS

FRESH PAINT Cows amble into the fog along a dirt path at Shoal Falls. The Cullasaja River sparkles in the sunlight. An American flag waves proudly from a riverside cottage in Bat Cave. At the hand of self-taught watercolorist James Scott Morrison, otherwise ordinary scenes of Western North Carolina seem to glow from within. The North Carolina Arboretum showcases Morrison’s attention to regional beauty in its current exhibition, “James Scott Morrison: The Magic of Western North Carolina,” which runs through September 5 inside the Baker Exhibit Center. JAMES SCOTT MORRISON PHOTO, COURTESY NORTH CAROLINA ARBORETUM

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OUTLOOKS

Birders strain for a glimpse of their avian neighbors.

Mountain Explorer

HOLLY KAYS PHOTO

Meet the Neighbors B Y H O L LY K AY S

s the days get warmer and longer, I ﬁnd myself thinking about childhood and the periscope I once campaigned so diligently for my father to build me. You know, one of those polelike things that lets you look into the bottom and somehow see whatever’s outside the peephole reaching far above your head.

And why, exactly, did a 10-year-old have such dire need of a periscope? Well, to see inside bird’s nests, of course. Summer was a time of intense, exciting activity in my world, a season packed with blooming ﬂowers, crawling caterpillars, and nesting songbirds—all of whom had to be identiﬁed, their activities recorded. Though I never did get that periscope, if anyone wants to know how the robin nests were doing in south-central Washington County, Maryland, in 1998, I’ve got exclusive access to some rare, painstakingly penciled records. But when you throw a decade or two of space and a series of moves zigzagging the country between my days as an amateur ornithologist and now, you wind up with some knowledge drain. When summer in the Smokies came around, I was pretty excited to land a chance to tag along on an excursion with the Franklin Bird Club, an active

group of bird lovers here in the North Carolina mountains. The word “excursion” might lead you to picture a group armed with days’ worth of provisions, safari gear, and a vast expanse of uncharted wilderness before them. But you don’t necessarily have to probe the depths of the unknown to find cool birds. The location of this particular foray was a neighborhood, actually, though you might not figure that out immediately if you weren’t told. With lot sizes of up to 40 acres, homes were spread out, set back far from the road, and interspersed with the leafy cover of a healthy high-elevation forest. The avian neighborhood, however, was rather obviously present. At least, it was obvious to Jim and Ellen Shelton, a couple inhabiting one of the human homes in the area. They and their binoculars made the rounds on this road An American goldfinch perches on a often, and they were purple coneflower. WILL STUART PHOTO quite familiar with the landscape of avian residents. They knew where the ovenbirds and peewees were likely to hang out, or where to shush the group and urge patience as they waited for the brown creeper that had been frequenting the area to show its face. Up on the ridge, where the forest ended and a field of young Christmas trees began, they weren’t too surprised to hear the call of a raven. There were some visitors to be welcomed, too—such as the veery who approached the group to show off his ruddy feathers, or other “houseguests” like the red-eyed vireo and indigo bunting.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

All three are migrants that travel up from Central and South America for the summer breeding season. Of course, I couldn’t put a name to all or even very many of these feathery faces. The avian demographics in these mountains are quite different from those in the Maryland valley where I grew up—and even of the ones that are the same, putting name, appearance, and call together is not an easy task. When Jim or Ellen or any of the other birders clutching binoculars and ﬁeld guides along the road pointed out a new ﬁnd, rattling off everything about the bird from its name to its diet to its relative abundance in this corner of the world, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Another thing I couldn’t help was thinking back to my days of pining for a periscope. I may be all grown up now, but there’s still a part of me that wants nothing more than to spend hours or even days poking around the forest, getting a bit better acquainted with its winged inhabitants. After all, it’s only polite to get to know your neighbors. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Waynesville reporter Holly Kays is a forester’s daughter who is happy to live in the land of many trees.

BYO Binoculars Birders in the Smokies region have plenty of opportunities to get connected with its winged residents and those who make a hobby out of watching them. Check out this sampling of bird-oriented organizations in the region. y Elisha Mitchell Audubon Society, Asheville, North Carolina. emasnc.org. y Franklin Bird Club, Franklin, North Carolina. franklinbirdclub.com. y Highlands Plateau Audubon Society, Highlands, North Carolina. highlandsaudubonsociety.org. y Tennessee Ornithological Society, ten chapters throughout Tennessee. tnbirds.org. y Bristol Bird Club, Bristol, Tennessee/Virginia. bristolbirdclub.org. y Carolina Bird Club, meeting in North and South Carolina. carolinabirdclub.org.

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FIELD GUIDE Mountain Explorer

Rise to the Occasion BY DON HENDERSHOT

ummer heat and humidity can drive anyone to extremes. In the mountains, finding reprieve can be as simple as an altitude adjustment. The third highest peak in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Mount Le Conte offers a peak experience—and cool temperatures—at its 6,593-foot summit. Though just a bit lower than Clingmans Dome (6,643 feet) and Mount Guyot (6,621 feet), Le Conte is the highest peak wholly within Tennessee, soaring 5,301 feet from its base near Gatlinburg to its peak, making it the “tallest” mountain in the park. The massif includes four subpeaks above 6,000 feet.

WHY GO: Average high temperatures in July hover around 68 degrees Fahrenheit with average lows of 48 degrees. The record high topped out at 85 degrees Fahrenheit on August 29, 1985. It’s no surprise that the Le Conte area can get busy in the summer, with five unique trails, waterfalls, wildflowers, and panoramic views. If you are an experienced hiker, consider saving Le Conte for winter. But experience is key: A January or February day could start out around 35-40 degrees at the base, but the the peak could be wrapped in fog or snow with temperatures well below freezing. The coldest temperature ever recorded on Le Conte was -32 degrees Fahrenheit on January 13, 1986. BACKSTORY: Le Conte played an integral part in the creation of the national park. In 1924, hiker and explorer

Paul Adams joined the Great Smoky Mountains Conservation Association, a group advocating for a national park in the Smokies. In September of that year he led the Southern Appalachian National Park Commission from Washington, D.C., on an overnight trip to the summit. The group spent the night in a large tent near the location of the present-day lodge and descended the next day by way of the Alum Cave trail, then brand new. Impressed, the Commission recommended the Smokies as a site for the creation of a new national park in the east. It would take another decade for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park to come to fruition, but the very next year, 1925, LeConte resort began as a large tent site. In 1926, Jack Huff of Gatlinburg began construction of the lodge, which was operated by the Huff family until 1960. (Stokely Hospitality Enterprises now operates the lodge.) ROOM WITH A VIEW: The LeConte Lodge is the highest inn in the eastern United States, but the only way you can get there is to walk. The rustic accommodations include seven small one-room cabins and three multi-room lodges. There is no running water or electricity. Meals are served in the lodge dining room, and there is a flush toilet. But don’t just pack your bags and hit the trail. Reservations, especially on weekends, are generally booked a year in advance. GET THERE: Five trails lead to the summit of Le Conte and/or the lodge. None of the trails are easy. The trails from shortest to longest are Alum Cave Trail, a moderately strenuous 4.9 miles long; the moderate 5.4-mile-long Boulevard Trail; the moderately strenuous 6.6-mile Rainbow Falls; Bullhead Trail, 6.9 miles and moderately strenuous (often the least traveled path); and Trillium Gap at 8.9 miles and moderately strenuous (though this trail can be shortened to 6.5 miles by parking at the Trillium gap parking area).

BOTTOM LINE: Le Conte is a place of extremes: extreme beauty, extreme weather—and an extremely powerful sense of place.

The LeConte Lodge is the highest inn in the eastern United States, but the only way you can get there is to walk.

The view from the cliff tops of Mount Le Conte. CREATIVE COMMONS PHOTO

GO WILD Mountain Explorer

For now, beginners must wait for green trails to get built, set to take place over the next few months. Open Friday afternoons 3 to 7 p.m. ($25) and weekends from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. ($35). baileymountainwnc.com.

ROCKY KNOB MOUNTAIN BIKE PARK

A cyclist tackles a log obstacle at Kolo Bike Park in Asheville. BRENDA ERNST PHOTO

Wheels Up BY CHARLI KERNS

addling whitewater on the Nantahala River, ﬂy-ﬁshing the French Broad, mountain biking the single-tracks of Pisgah Forest—outdoor adventure comes naturally in Southern Appalachia. Even so, a crop of dedicated bike parks have recently opened, introducing new challenges and trails for the two-wheeled set. BAILEY MOUNTAIN BIKE PARK Mars Hill, North Carolina Opened July 2015, Bailey Mountain Bike Park tests the mettle of those who choose to try its trails. Riders can hit the intermediate Little Red Riding Hood trail for a 245-foot descent with jumps and roller coasters mixed in. Advanced cyclists can further push themselves on the Jumanji, hitting jumps on more than a mile of nearnonstop 650-foot descent. Park events such as the Ladies Takeover event, Downhill Southeast Race series, and other happenings encourage camaraderie. Reservations are required to hit the trails here, as are full-face helmets (rentals available). A bike with at least six inches of travel— in other words, plenty of shock absorption—is needed to enjoy all features and trails in the park.

Boone, North Carolina Three miles from downtown Boone, the free Rocky Knob Mountain Bike Park offers 800 vertical feet of adventure for riders and hikers. Developing the park was a community affair: Three certified trail-building companies worked with the Boone Area Cyclists volunteers to form some eight miles of bike trails, four skills areas, and a pump track. The 185-acre park was created in 2009 when the Bikes Belong Foundation and Specialized Bicycles managed to acquire a pair of $5,000 grants. Those gifts were thanks to another joint venture between the Watauga County Tourism Development Authority and Boone Area Cyclists, an area nonprofit organization encouraging biking opportunities. Watauga County, with the WCTDA, later obtained a $500,000 grant from the North Carolina Parks and Recreation Trust Fund to help develop the bike park. The key for Rocky Knob’s continued existence is a genuine partnership between the county government and the community. Bikers can start off with moderate difficulty on the Rocky Branch Trail, or head to the top of the mountain for a more challenging ride on the Boat Rock Loop. Organizers are also working on a new set of beginner trails, the first of which will be a sampler trail that new riders can check out to see if they’re ready to ride the whole mountain. A community of bike lovers has taken root here. Social rides and informal gatherings happen regularly. Each Thursday evening, riders can give back to the trails they love by doing maintenance and expansion work. Open dawn to dusk. rockyknob.wordpress.com.

KOLO BIKE PARK Asheville, North Carolina In the heart of one of the Southeast’s top adventure towns, Kolo Bike Park features progressive elements designed to develop one’s skill from beginner to advanced. Depending on a rider’s experience level, each trail and feature can be tackled a variety of ways; the idea is to encourage bicyclists to advance their abilities in a controlled environment. Opened in 2013, Kolo is all about machine-built ﬂow trails with dirt berms and rollers. But plenty of other features exist, too, including wooden balance features and bridges as well as dirt jumps. Kolo rents mountain bikes, road bikes, and city comfort bikes, all of which can be taken to any of the trails and roads in Western North Carolina. Bike rentals can also be combined with a Kolo Bike Park pass for a discounted price. Adults $14, kids under 13 $9; after 3 pm. $8 and $6. Hours vary. kolobikepark.com.

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IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD Mountain Explorer

BRUCE INGRAM PHOTO

COURTESY OF JONESBOROUGH AREA MERCHANTS & SERVICE ASSOCIATION

The Never-ending Story BY BRUCE & ELAINE INGRAM

t may not come as a surprise that the oldest town in Tennessee would also be a hotbed for storytelling. Jonesborough’s National Storytelling Festival, an annual October event that began with 60 attendees in 1973, now attracts more than 10,000 guests. “Storytelling is a tradition that goes back thousands of years, and Jonesborough is the spiritual home of storytelling’s renaissance,” says Kiran Singh Sirah, executive director of Jonesborough’s International Storytelling Center. “Everybody has a story to tell.” Indeed, the historic town of Jonesborough has plenty of stories up its sleeves. Spend a day or weekend exploring its walkable downtown and learning its past and present from the passionate locals who live and work here.

GUIDED WALKING TOUR Clad in Victorian garb replete with top hat, Heritage Alliance guide Bob Dunn leads walking tours of downtown. Excursions begin at the courthouse, the legal center of Jonesborough since the late 1770s, and continue along brick sidewalks as Dunn details the history of the downtown, where many of the buildings date from the mid 1800s. “In the first half of the 1800s, Jonesborough was the western end of the stagecoach routes,” says Dunn. “Beyond here was

wilderness, so Jonesborough was as far as most folks felt safe enough to travel.” The tour highlights famous residents, including Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone, and Andrew Jackson, who practiced law here for a time, and local landmarks such as the Chester Inn—the town’s oldest standing commercial building. Now a museum, the state-owned historic site has been painstakingly restored to its Victorian appearance.

BOONE STREET MARKET The city of Jonesborough took over the gas station that was once on this site with dreams of developing a local business fueled on a farm-tomarket philosophy. Boone Street Market marvelously fulfills that vision with all crafts and foods available made or produced within 100 miles—from the produce case filled with kale, mustard, pea shoots, and sorrel to the spread of sourdough bread, jams and jellies, and beef shepherd’s pie.

THE CORNER CUP Stop here for locally ground coffee or an espresso drink, such as the popular Dirty Chai—a spiced tea latte spiked with espresso. Sweeten your coffee break with cookies from Carol’s Cakes of Jonesborough.

TENNESSEE QUILTS This colorful shop stocks batiks, Judy Niemeyer projects, and Kaffe Fasset fabrics, including discontinued styles. Shelves of Civil War reproduction fabrics and children’s fabrics fill a corner of the spacious building. Classes are available for beginners. THE LOLLIPOP SHOP Fifteen years ago, Jeff Gurley was working at a dot-com company that went bankrupt—in hindsight, he says, the best thing that ever happened to him. One day Gurley and his wife were visiting Jonesborough, and he had an epiphany. “What this town is missing is a lollipop shop,” he recalls saying. Gurley says his most popular pops are the supersize marshmallow flavor as well as classic penny-candy types such as Kits, BB Bats, Sugar Babies, and Cow Tales. Prices start at five cents.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

ACCESSORIES • CLOTHING • JEWELRY

Historic Jonesborough is a special place in so many ways, and shopping is on the top of the list. The picturesque downtown area with its landscaping and well preserved historic buildings creates a beautiful setting for a great shopping and dining experience.

Casual Comfortable Clothing

103 E. Main St, Jonesborough, TN (423) 753-0233 | 11-5 mon-sat

The shops are locally owned, but the retail diversity is amazing. You can find those special Appalachian Mountain crafts, art glass and jewelry from local artisans, and unique handcrafted gifts from around the world. And if you are a “do it yourselfer” there are art, craft, and quilt supply shops in town as well.

144 E. Main St Jonesborough TN37659

HistoricJonesborough.com

423-444-6351 Mon-Sat:10am-5pmSun:1pm-5pm

Great New Spring Clothing! Available in other colors

Sofas & Chairs We Carry a Wide Variety of Gifts for All Ages!

QuiltFest 2016 July 21-23 Nancy Prince, Laura Wasilowski, Sue Nickels, Barbara Jones, Trish Bowman, Lucille Amos, Sue Jones, Renny Jaeger, Ann Moore

Fire Island Hosta Fabric Pack

Over 8,000 Bolts Large Selection of Kaffe Fassett Fabrics & Batiks 24-hour ONLINE Shopping

Our clothing makes you look & feel good! Judy Niemeyer Pattern

Like us on facebook & join our email newsletter list for updates on our special events.

One-O-One West Main Street Jonesborough, TN

114 Boone St., Jonesborough, TN 37659

1-800-611-MAUK(6285) • 423 753-4648

TennesseeQuilts.com

Toll-free 877-385-0934

WWW.SMLIV.COM

139 EAST MAIN STREET JONESBOROUGH, TENNESSEE 423.753.5305 33

IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD Mountain Explorer

EARTH AND SKY CONFECTIONS Business

and specialize in Cuban-inspired cuisine. An array of seafood dishes includes such specialties as seared salmon with a bourbon-brown sugar glaze and red snapper with hearts of palm and artichokes. “We FedEx our seafood to ensure its freshness,” says Edwards.

STEPHEN C. PRICE/CREATIVE COMMONS

manager Rob Parks takes pride in his family-owned and operated confectionary. “We make everything by hand in small batches of 100 pieces,” he says. “It takes three days to make a batch, and at any one time we have about 16 varieties.” Only real food products are used. “If the candy says banana, then it contains real banana, not extract,” he continues. The confections—works of art actually—vary in flavor from delicate Rosemary Caramel to in-your-face Wicked, a habanero caramel-chipotle pecan praline.

BRUCE INGRAM PHOTO

MAIN STREET CAFÉ A second-generation family restaurant, Main Street Café has anchored the Jonesborough scene since 1982. “I was born a block away and grew up in this restaurant,” says owner Zac Jenkins. “My mom would keep me in a bassinet under the counter, and probably half the townspeople babysat me back in the 1990s.” Popular menu items include made-to-order burgers, sandwiches on freshly baked baguettes, and coconut cream pie.

THE DINING ROOM Owners Christine Edwards and Hugo Angel hail from Florida and Venezuela, respectively,

BLAIR-MOORE HOUSE BED AND BREAKFAST Tami and Jack Moore have served as innkeepers in this circa 1832 Federal-style home for 19 years. “About 75 percent of our guests are repeats,” says Tami proudly. “I try to remember what each individual likes to eat for breakfast and what little extras will make someone happy.” Southern Living Magazine called the inn’s fare a contender for the “world’s best breakfast.” The most popular repasts of guests, Tami says, are her variety of French toast entrées, such as French toast stuffed with Italian mascarpone cream. “Someone could stay here for two weeks and not have one of my French toast entrées repeated,” she says.

Storytelling Live! at Jonesborough’s International Storytelling Center.

Gather ‘Round

ow in its 15th year, the International Storytelling Center’s Storytelling Live! program brings a new “teller in residence” to the town of Jonesborough each week through October to host a week’s worth of performances. “We started the Teller-in-Residence program as a way to introduce some of our most talented entertainers from the National Storytelling Festival to a broader audience,” says Susan O’Connor, ISC’s director of programs. The full lineup of master storytellers will pull from a wide array of oral traditions, including traditional tales, personal stories, mountain music, folk songs, and the blues. Returning favorites include Tim Lowry, Andy Offutt Irwin, Sheila Kay Adams, Donald Davis, and Minton Sparks. Irish teller Clare Muireann Murphy and musical talent Don White are among this season’s new voices. All Storytelling Live! performances are in ISC’s intimate theater in Mary B. Martin Storytelling Hall. Tickets for the matinee performances cost $12 for adults and $11 for seniors, students, and children under 18. Ticket holders will receive discounts at many downtown establishments on the day of the performance. storytellingcenter.net.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD Mountain Explorer

The Riches of Madison County BY TIM OSMENT & DAWN GILCHRIST

At Zuma Coffee Marshall, North Carolina, Thursday nights mean bluegrass jams. PHOTO COURTESY OF VISITNC.COM

s we headed into the historic seat of Madison County—a winding descent that passed through thick trees, old vehicles, farmhouses, and a lone blue “Bernie” sign—the murmur of three centuries was almost audible. The road leveled out onto the town’s main street, and seemingly all at once, the French Broad River, an 1880s railway line, the islandbound brick schoolhouse, and a row of retail storefronts appeared. The waft of fresh coffee and bacon beckoned from Zuma Coffee, a combination bistro, diner, and bakery that is clearly a local’s favorite. Known throughout the region for its weekly bluegrass jam—led by none other than Grammy-winning ﬁddler Bobby Hicks—Zuma turned out, for us, to be an unofficial chamber of commerce. Represented at Zuma were young and old, workers and farmers; they wore a wide range of hairstyles, tattoos, piercings, and John Deere hats. One bearded young farmer, with a distinctly non-Appalachian accent, noticed us admiring Marshall’s historic, neoClassical Revival courthouse. He shared with us the local lore that the statue of Lady Justice atop the courthouse cupola is a rare “unbound” variant—that is, her justice was “not blind.” That,

combined with the exclamation, “There ain’t never been a lie told in that courthouse,” harkened back memories of Marshall’s lively past: full of violent raiders, political dynasties, and locals who enjoyed voting so much, they did it over and over again, sometimes even after they had passed through Heaven’s pearly gates. Wanting to enjoy the day’s brilliant sunshine and blue skies, we drove across the short bridge to Blannahassett Island, a small tract of earth surrounded completely by the French Broad but still squarely downtown. Once the home of Marshall High School, built on the island in 1925, the stately brick building has moved beyond its pedagogical roots. These days, refurbished artists’ studios house many regional artists. With its studios nestled among winding pedestrian paths, picnic tables, riverside benches, an outdoor stage, and a ﬁshing pier, Blannahassett Island is just one part of Marshall’s unique geographical footprint. Its position beneath steep cliffs alongside Main Street, the French Broad River, and

the Western North Carolina Railroad gives Marshall the feeling of being “tucked in.” Leaving the island for the “mainland,” we pulled into a parking lot identified by a nondescript “Drover’s Rest” sign. I mused aloud that Marshall’s Main Street was the Dixie Highway a hundred years ago, and going back another hundred years to the early 1800s, it was the Buncombe Turnpike. The sidewalks we were strolling were once trails filled with geese, pigs, sheep, and other livestock making their way from mountain farms to South Carolina markets and beyond. The arrival of the railroad in the 1880s eventually rendered these Drover’s Roads obsolete. Later, in the early 1900s, part of the National Auto Trail system was paved right through downtown Marshall. What eventually became today’s Highway 25 was originally intended to connect the South with the Midwest. Through the open doors of the Marshall Junk Shop, owner Jamey Smith greeted us, alongside Frieda, his aging dog, whose friendly attention added to the charm of the shop’s eclectic collection of books. Next we headed for the highly recommended Madison Pot Pie. Although we were disappointed to find it closed on Saturday, the kind proprietor had listed on the door the directions to nearby Madison Natural Foods, which carries “Comfort-in-a-Crust”—a succulent chicken-pesto pie as well as a roasted vegetable version.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

The sunny sidewalk took us by the former home of Civil War Col. Lawrence Allen. On this early spring day, Colonel Allen’s home was peaceful, with daffodils blooming and curtains moving in a slight breeze on the upstairs porch. But it was not always this way. Late in 1862, an assortment of Union sympathizers and Confederate deserters raided their way through Madison County and into Marshall. Eventually, they entered Allen’s home. His wife and two children, ill with scarlet fever, were the only ones present. The raiding band of marauders terrorized the small family. When both children died several days later, blame was directed towards the now-dubbed Shelton Laurel Gang. A local militia, bent on both justice and vengeance, swarmed the nearby Shelton Valley. On the morning of January 19, 1963, a ﬁring squad executed 13 men in a secluded mountain cove, without trial. It was later determined that only ﬁve of them were involved in the Marshall raid. Today, descendants of both sides live together in Madison County. The Allen House in downtown Marshall remains a symbol of that brutality and the division of the Civil War. Bringing us back into the present of our lovely spring day, a pack of 15 cyclists passed by and called out a cheery “good morning.” As the long shadows signaled that afternoon was winding down, we decided to take the scenic route home. Historically, the land along the French Broad from Marshall to Asheville was the natural passage for native animals, Native Americans, and, later, drovers. Today it is Highway 251, or as it is known locally, the River Road. On most warm days, drivers can look for whitewater rafters and paddlers as they trek south. It is a beautiful drive, with the French Broad on one side and sheer rock cliffs on the other, and its terminus landed us right in the center of Asheville’s River Arts District. The best part about living in Southern Appalachia is its interesting mix of people, all gathered together in one of nature’s most splendid settings. Newcomers blend with natives; community guests chat with locals; strangers become friends. We found all of this in Marshall.

JUNE 16 - JULY 9

the

c i s u M N A M

Husband-andwife team Tim Osment and Dawn Gilchrist explore small towns in Southern Appalachia in search of fresh coffee, smart books, and good eating. ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

WWW.SMLIV.COM

HIGH NOTES Mountain Explorer

Go Tell It On the Mountain BY GARRET K. WOODWARD

layton, Georgia, recedes in the rearview mirror. Head farther west on Highway 76. The last of the day’s sunshine falls behind the Blue Ridge Mountains. Take a right on Persimmon Road, an easy-to-miss turnoff into the backwoods.

Finally, Grouse Mountain Trail appears in the headlights, a steep and winding path that leads to a driveway filled with cars bearing dirty license plates—South Carolina, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Kentucky among them. Welcome to the Grouse Mountain House Concert Series. Here in the living room of Scott Low and his wife, Nicole Kelley, rising Americana, folk, and rock musicians play for a few dozen music lovers who gather for intimate performances over potluck-style food. Acts have ranged from popular regional musicians to higher profile musicians such as Nick Dittmeier & the Sawdusters, Caleb Caudle, and Danny Hutchens. Newlyweds Low and Kelley have held the monthly events at their home for the better part of the last year, since they moved in. “This is what real life should be—friends, family, good food, and real original music,” says Low, a seasoned singer-songwriter in his own right. “Turn off the radio and the phone, and find something original.” The home setting sets a convivial stage. Folks exchange big hugs and hearty handshakes over plates of barbecue and BYO beer. “As people start to pour in, I get very excited to see old friends and new faces, and I’m proud that we — Nicole Kelley can provide a place for original music to be heard,” says Kelley, who grew up in Rabun County. “Not only are we opening people’s eyes to a sense of community that has been lost because everyone is so self-serving and ‘busy,’ but we’re also making connections, getting people to feel again, to experience something totally different than what’s at the local bar.” When it’s time for the music to start, Low dims the living room lights to signal it’s time to find a seat or beanbag chair, a corner or couch, and relax quietly into the showcase, which echoes throughout the two-story house and fills every inch of the 30-foot vaulted ceiling.

“We want to

create a safe and warm place for everyone—seasoned musicians and those who are just ﬁnding their way.”

Nashville roadhouse folk-rock performer Kristina Murray and her band. GARRET K. WOODWARD PHOTO

Want to go? For more information on the next gathering of the Grouse Mountain House Concert Series, search “Grouse Mountain House Concerts” on Facebook. Admission is by donation, with $10 suggested. Capacity is limited to 50 people. 770.316.4809; lionoftheday@gmail.com.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

“It’s different playing to a crowd like this,” says Andrew Klein, a singer/songwriter from Athens, Georgia, who played the series in January. “And that can make me a little nervous, so naturally I’ll be playing with a little more sensitivity. I’m way more vulnerable, where everything I thought I was good at all of sudden becomes a little difficult. The audience notices that intimacy, and so do I, so the back-and-forth bounce grows into this beautiful, intense silence.” In a day and age when many artists rely more on touring than record sales to survive, playing house concerts offers another vital avenue for building a fan base. “There are so many bands out there, and to be able to have people like Scott and Nicole looking for great music to

Nicole Kelley and Scott Low, hosts of the Grouse Mountain House Concert Series. GARRET K. WOODWARD PHOTO

showcase to people is what it’s all about,” says Kristina Murray, a singer/songwriter from Nashville. “A lot of bars and venues want live music, but the pay is so low, and a lot of times you’re just playing for a nonlistening crowd in a really loud room.” Beyond providing a platform for upand-coming bands, Low and Kelley also offer musicians a place to stay and recuperate in a sometimes unforgiving industry. “I’ve traveled almost the whole United States with Scott on tour, and a clean bed and homemade food on the road are a couple of things that can restore your faith in humanity,” Kelley says. “I love being able to put fresh sheets on the spare beds and couches, cook up a ton of food, and set out the merchandise table for their wares. We want to create a safe and warm place for everyone—seasoned musicians and those who are just ﬁnding their way.” That authentic respect for musicians has helped build a grassroots community around the series. “These shows are shockwaves of music and people, where you tell someone, and they tell someone, and that someone tells someone else— that’s how the scene grows,” Low says. “Tell your friends.” WWW.SMLIV.COM

BYWAYS Mountain Explorer

Take the High Road BY M. LINDA LEE

Lake Burton at sunrise. PETER MCINTOSH PHOTOGRAPHY

n a sunny day in mid-March, the hardwood trees lining Highway 197 in northeast Georgia reveal only the smallest of green buds, while cherry blossoms blush pale pink and forsythias herald spring in vivid bursts of yellow on the edges of the road.

Known as “north Georgia’s most scenic highway,” Route 197 begins in the north at US-76 and winds through the Chattahoochee National Forest in Rabun County. From there, it continues down through Habersham County to its terminus, some 30 miles to the south. Locals will tell you that this road was dubbed the Old Moonshine Highway during Prohibition. “Folks used to say that sugar [necessary for making moonshine] came up the road, and liquid corn went down the road,” says Michael Foust, the manager of Mark of the Potter, a pottery gallery set in a historic grist mill on Highway 197. So familiar were the moonshiners with every serpentine twist of the highway, they would turn off their headlights on a moonlit night in order to make it more difficult for the revenuers to catch them. Driving from north to south, Highway 197 zigzags past Lake

Burton, hidden from the road except for a short stretch just north of LaPrades Marina, where the lake’s green-blue waters flash into view. Keep your eye out for signs to Moccasin Creek and Unicoi State Parks, and watch both sides of the road for artisan craft shops such as the renowned Burton Gallery, its walls lined with paintings by some of the Southeast’s most talented artists. About halfway down the highway, the trout-rich Soque River parallels the road. After a storm, the river’s waters often wash over a low point in the road known to locals as “the Dip.” Past this landmark, the curves begin to straighten as 197 skirts emerald pastures before it rolls into downtown Clarkesville, the Habersham County seat. Residents relish their quiet life along this delightful route, flanked by woods and waters. “We’re in the heart of God’s country,” says Abby Jackson, owner of Blackhawk Flyfishing. “And we’re blessed to be here.” Although the highway is not long, plan to spend a day meandering its curves and stopping at natural sites and craft shops along the route. Here, arranged from north to south, are a few highlights:

LAKE BURTON/LAPRADES MARINA Created by the Georgia Power Company in 1913, Lake Burton covers 2,775 square miles in Rabun County. For the best water views, as well as full access and amenities, stop at LaPrades Marina. The lake’s 62 miles of cove-pocked shoreline are best seen from the water, and LaPrades rents

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

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Fresh-Baked Cakes & Pastry Delicious Old-World Breads Mail-order Service Available

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Helen, GA

BYWAYS Mountain Explorer

pontoon boats, ski boats, canoes, kayaks, and paddleboards. If the view’s the thing, stay to have lunch or dinner at LaPrade’s Chophouse. 25 Shoreline Trail, Clarkesville. 706.947.0010; lapradesmarina.com.

NO ONE ALIKE Father-daughter team Bill and Kim Padula opened this shop last summer. Kim, who studied fine arts, creates painted scarves and leather goods, in swirling multihued designs. Her dad crafts burl wood-handled Damascus steel knives and carves wooden bowls, peppermills, and bangles. After a visit here, pop in next door at Hickory Flat Pottery to admire the work of potters Cindy Angliss and Mark of the Potter overlooks the rushing Soque River. DONATED PHOTO Cody Trautner (hickoryflatpottery.com/hpgallery). HARVEST HABERSHAM A perfect place for dinner 13430A Hwy. 197 N., Clarkesville. 803.528.1848. after a day of driving, this restaurant occupies a cheery 1940s storefront on Highway 197, which becomes MARK OF THE POTTER Set on the Soque River 10 Washington Street as it bisects the city of Clarkesville. An miles north of Clarkesville, this is the oldest craft shop (est. impressive list of local farms and producers supply the 1969) in Georgia in its original location. Mark of the Potter ingredients for daily changing entrées such as smoked corn displays the work bread-dusted catfish over grits, and buttermilk roasted of four in-house chicken with sautéed kale confit and whipped sweet potters (so marked potatoes. Count on a well-chosen wine list and regional with yellow dots), craft brews to complement your meal. along with the 1362 Washington St., Clarkesville; 706.754.0056; juried pottery of 40 harvesthabersham.com. regional and national artists. Note the vestiges Hemlock Falls makes a popular of the 1931 mill, hiking destination off Highway 197. which have been incorporated into the retail space, and be sure to check out the upper deck. Here you can chill to the sound of the rushing falls, and toss food to the greedy trout that gather in the water below. 9982 Hwy. 197 N., Clarkesville. 706.947.3440; markofthepotter.com.

BLACKHAWK FLYFISHING Two decades ago, Abby Jackson and her husband renovated a circa 1860s farmhouse off Highway 197 as a rustic fishing lodge. Today they run it as a year-round fly-fishing operation on the Soque River, known for its rainbow and brown trout. On their private two-mile stretch of river, the couple operates a strictly catch-and-release program using barbless hooks. When Abby is not tending to guests, she whips up her own line of pickles, salsas, and hot sauce (abbyjsgourmet.com). This year, her Field to Fork Sweet Fire Pickles won a Flavor of Georgia Award. 9410 Hwy. 197. 706.947.3474; blackhawkflyfishing.com.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

PETER MCINTOSH PHOTOGRAPHY

Scenic Highway 197 starts in Clarkesville & follows the Soque River up to Lake Burton. Besides being voted the most beautiful scenic drive in Georgia, it has some of the best Art in the state. Along the route you will find Galleries, Stained Glass, Folk Art, a Theatre, Wine Tastings, Lodging, great restaurants, a Marina, and even a realtor to find your perfect Mountain Getaway!

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AROUND BACK AT ROCKY’S PLACE The Ultimate Folk Art Gallery in the South! Representing a plethora of self-taught artists. Best selection by artist “Cornbread” in the Universe! Established 2002. 3631 Hwy. 53 E. at Etowah River Rd. Dawsonville, Ga. • 706.265.6030 aroundbackatrockysplace.com Sat. 11-5; Sun. 1-5 BURTON GALLERY Welcome to Burton Gallery, a northeast Georgia tradition of fine art and craft. Paintings, pottery, wood, jewelry, folk pottery, and other handmade work by local artists. 150 Burton Dam Rd. • Clarkesville, Ga. 704-947-1351 • burtongallery.net

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HICKORY FLAT POTTERY Functional pottery, jewelry, glass, ﬁber and wood art made by hand in the hills of North Georgia. Come see the potters at work daily. 13664 Hwy 197 N • Clarkesville, Ga. 30523 706.947.0030 • hickoryﬂatpottery.com MARK OF THE POTTER The oldest crafts shop in Georgia in the old Grandpa Watts’ Gristmill, celebrating over 45 years in the same location. Mark of the Potter features handcrafted pottery, a potter working weekends, and other crafts. Don’t miss the best view on the Soque River with generations of huge brown and rainbow trout (protected, of course). 706.947.3440 • markofthepotter.com SEVEN SISTERS GALLERY Discover something different at Seven Sisters Gallery, a staple in charming, historic Black Mountain since 1981. The gallery has one of the broadest ceramics collections available, plus furniture, original artwork, jewelry, and more. Everything is made in the U.S.; much of it is local. 117 Cherry St. • Black Mtn, NC 28711 828.669.5107 • 7sistersgallery.com Mon.-Sat. 10-6; Sun. 12-5 SCENIC HIGHWAY 197 Beautiful Scenic Highway 197 starts in Clarkesville and follows the Soque River up to Lake Burton. Besides being voted the most beautiful scenic drive in Georgia, it has some of the best art in the state. Along the route one will find galleries, stained glass, folk art, a theatre, wine tastings, lodging, great restaurants, a marina, and even a realtor to find your perfect mountain getway. Shop, dine, stay and play on Scenic Highway 197! 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

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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 â&#x20AC;¢ ISSUE 2

Secrets mokies S of the

No doubt about it, with 814 square miles to roam, Great Smoky Mountains National Park keeps as many secrets as there are trout coursing through its 2,900 miles of streams. Beyond the bumper-to-bumper traffic of Cades Cove, scores of scarcely trodden woods and tucked-away spots beckon. Indeed, ﬁnding your own space in the Smokies is as simple as knowing where to go. To celebrate the 100th birthday of the National Park Service (see page 68), we asked an array of locals to share their favorite places and ways to explore the Smokies— from picture-perfect overlooks to ﬁshing holes “no map could name,” as writer Ron Rash describes in his poem, “Speckled Trout” (at right). Where in the Smokies are your favorite hidden gems? Email editor@smliv.com or join the conversation at facebook.com/smliv. We might just print your response in an upcoming issue of the magazine.

Facing Page: A secret footpath once used by hikers, the Thomas Divide Tunnel passes under Clingmans Dome Road. DEB CAMPBELL PHOTO

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riter Horace Kephart famously called the Smokies “the back of beyond.” Naturalist John Muir, in an 1867 journal entry, noted the “simplicity and mysterious complexity of detail” of this “ocean of wooded, waving, swelling mountain grandeur.”

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SPECKLED TROUT The following words by North Carolina author Ron Rash appear in Poems, a new collection of his poetry released this spring by Ecco Press.

Water-flesh gleamed like mica: orange fins, red flankspots, a char shy as ginseng, found only in spring-flow gaps, the thin clear of faraway creeks no map could name. My cousin showed me those hidden places. I loved how we found them, the way we followed no trail, just stream-sound tangled in rhododendron, to where slow water opened a hole to slip a line in, and lift as from a well bright shadows of another world, held in my hand, their color already starting to fade.

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[INSIDER’S GUIDE]

Paths Less Traveled

f the 59 national parks in the United States, Great Smoky Mountains attracts the most visitors. More than 9.4 million park visits are recorded each year, which can make it challenging to ﬁnd room to roam. With 522,427 acres divided roughly in half between North Carolina and Tennessee, however, there’s always somewhere new to discover away from the crowds. Here we offer a dozen ways to explore a less-trodden side of the Smokies.

PARKWIDE BECOME A NOT-SO-JUNIOR RANGER The park’s Not-So-Junior Ranger program targets big kids (ages 13-130) looking to deepen their experience of the Smokies. Earn a patch by participating in three ranger-led programs (check the park website and the park’s free Smokies Guide newspaper for details). Document your participation by having the ranger sign your Not-So-Junior Ranger card, available at the Cades Cove, Oconaluftee, and Sugarlands visitor centers. TAKE A GUIDED HIKE Discover the history, identify the ﬂora and fauna, and learn about your favorite trails or a new-toyou route on a hike led by a ranger, naturalist, historian, or other park expert. Guided hikes and walks are offered by the national park, as well as partner organizations such as Friends of the Smokies (friendsofthesmokies.org), Great Smoky Mountains Association (smokiesinformation.org), and the University of Tennessee’s Smoky Mountain Field School (smfs.utk.edu).

TENNESSEE DRIVE RICH MOUNTAIN ROAD It’s no secret that Cades Cove is a top tourist destination. That popularity regularly causes bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 11-mile Cades Cove Loop Road. For a different perspective on Cades Cove, turn off the loop at the Rich Mountain Road entrance, across from the Cades Cove Missionary Baptist Church. “Rich Mountain Road is well worth the drive,” says John Reaves, an avid hiker who lives in the Blount County, Tennessee, foothills of the Smokies. “One of the ﬁrst pull-offs affords an unobstructed view of the

Methodist Church in Cades Cove. It’s one of the most photographed scenes in the Smokies.” Also viewable from the eight-mile road (which climbs out of the cove and down into the gateway town of Townsend) is Dry Valley and other areas outside the national park boundaries. Tip: Rich Mountain Road is one-way until it reaches the park boundary, meaning you won’t be able to turn around and reenter the park.

CAMP OR PICNIC AT COSBY CAMPGROUND Located in the less-visited northeastern part of the park, Cosby Campground is off-the-beaten tourist path (yet only a 30-minute drive east of Gatlinburg). Even if you don’t camp overnight, stop here to picnic, walk the one-mile Cosby Nature Trail loop, or to hike. “Trails lead out to the Appalachian Trail for the more adventurous, but there are a few shorter trails that aren’t too hard,” says Knoxville resident Ric Brooks, leader of the Happy Bottom Hiking Club. “Lower Cammerer Trail will lead you to a beautiful lookout, and Henwallow Falls, a 2.2-mile hike, is a nice place to picnic.” Tip: A tougher hike is Snake Den Ridge, which leads up to the A.T. Near the A.T. junction, look for remnants of a plane crash (there have been two near here) Old remnants of a plane crash dot Snake Den scattered along the Ridge Trail. RICHARD BROOKS PHOTO trail.

ENTER THE PARK AT GREENBRIER Ramsay Cascades, the park’s highest waterfall, is what draws most visitors to Greenbrier. Even if you’re not ready for the strenuous, 7.7-mile (out-and-back) hike up to the cascades, there’s plenty to see and do. “Greenbrier is my favorite part of the Smokies,” says Reaves. “It was thickly settled before the park was formed, so it is full of fascinating stone walls, house sites, cemeteries, and other evidence of human activity.” Reaves recommends hiking the Porter’s Creek Trail in the spring to see dozens of wildﬂower species, including huge displays of several kinds of trillium.“In a good year, the white-fringed phacelia near Fern Falls looks like a snowfall,” he says. Tip: Greenbrier provides easy access to the eight-mile Great Smoky Arts and Craft Community trail, where you can meet artists and purchase original pieces.

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Clockwise from top left: A black bear strikes a pose. J & G PHOTO

Rugel's ragwort appears only in the Smokies. KRISTINA PLAAS PHOTO The Lonesome Pine Overlook rewards hikers with an impressive mountain panorama. JOHN NORTHRUP PHOTO

Bluets line a stream in the Smokies. JIM CASADA PHOTO

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TAKE AN EARLY MORNING HIKE TO LITTLE GREENBRIER SCHOOL The Metcalf Bottoms Picnic Area ﬁlls up fast in summer thanks to the shaded picnic tables tucked along the Little River. Arrive before 8 a.m., though, and you may have the place to yourself. Park at the picnic area and walk across the one-lane bridge to follow the trail up to the oneroom, Little Greenbrier schoolhouse. This easy hike leads through a rhododendron tunnel, which is outrageously gorgeous when blooming (usually early June). Tip: The road through the Metcalf Bottoms Picnic Area is a back entrance out of the park and into Wears Valley.

NORTH CAROLINA PADDLE AND PLAY ON FONTANA LAKE Created by the tallest (480 feet high) concrete dam in the eastern United States, Fontana Lake covers approximately 11,700 acres and forms the far southwestern border of the park. Canoe, kayak, paddleboard, and tube rentals are available nearby at Fontana Village Marina, as are scenic boat tours. Tip: The marina offers a backcountry boat shuttle service for trout ﬁshermen, hikers, and campers who want to reach remote North Shore locations such as Hazel and Eagle Creeks.

DRIVE THE ROARING FORK MOTOR NATURE TRAIL If you’re short on time or are mobility impaired, this

SOAK IN AN OLDFASHIONED SWIMMING HOLE The Big Creek

5.4-mile-long driving loop near Gatlinburg is an easy way to sample the best of the Smokies. The speed limit is 15 miles per hour, ensuring you won’t miss the sights, such as well-preserved homesteads, old-growth forest, and (particularly after a heavy rain) the fast-ﬂowing Roaring Fork stream. Tip: Trailheads for two of the park’s prettiest waterfall hikes—Rainbow Falls and Grotto Falls—are located on (Grotto) and just before (Rainbow) the motor trail.

Trail follows an old jeep bed, a remnant of the days when lumber companies logged the surrounding forest. Today, day-hikers follow the trail about a mileand-a-half up to

A kayaker plies Fontana Lake. BILL RUSS, VISITNC.COM PHOTO Above: Midnight Hole. MARGIE METZ PHOTO

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Midnight Hole, a pool ﬁlled with bonechilling waters that appear ink-black (because you can’t see the bottom). Lounge on the huge boulders to heat up before taking a dip. Tip: Horseback riders share this trail, so watch your step.

EXPERIENCE CATALOOCHEE Getting to Cataloochee is part of its allure. The entrance road is a narrow, winding gravel route without guard rails in some places. “Cataloochee is remote but worth the trouble,” says hiker John Greaves. “The drive over the gap at Mount Sterling is half the pleasure of the trip, especially in early August when the yellow-fringed orchids bloom along the roadside.” Tip: Although Cataloochee’s elk herd is the big draw, the valley also is home to the park’s largest intact settlement of late 19th-century and early 20th-century frame buildings. Most are open for self-guided touring.

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GO BACKCOUNTRY “HIKING” IN YOUR SUV Of all the roads less traveled in the Smokies, Heintooga-Round Bottom delivers most everything you’d want out of a day in the Smokies: seclusion (it’s rare when you see another vehicle), scenic overlooks, thick woods, wildlife, and, depending on the season, wildﬂowers or fall foliage. The one-lane, 14-mile gravel road begins along Balsam Mountain and travels down about 2,000 feet to the end point near the Qualla Cherokee Indian Reservation. Tip: Make the drive in a high-clearance vehicle (such as a Jeep or SUV) due to the potholes and places where low water can cover the road.

Alpine Inn The Alpine Inn is a wonderfully unique establishment with breathtaking views and spectacular sunrises.

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Switzerland Café and General Store Where European Charm meets Appalachian Comfort. Milepost 334 on the Blue Ridge Parkway in “Downtown” Little Switzerland.

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HIKE TO A DEEP CREEK WATERFALL Start at the parking lot at the end of Deep Creek Road and choose a waterfall loop hike that ﬁts your ﬁtness level. The easiest is the 0.6-mile Juney Whank Falls trail. The longer loops (such as the 4.4-mile Deep CreekIndian Creek loop) pass multiple falls and typically have lighter trail traffic. Tip: Deep Creek is one of the only places in the park where mountain bikers can trail ride. Only certain trail sections are bike-friendly. Obey posted signs. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Knoxville-based writer Maryellen Kennedy Duckett is the co-author of 100 Secrets of the Smokies.

Emerald Village Family fun with REAL mine tours, gem mining in a REAL mine, gold panning, museum, shopping, emerald & mineral collecting, free exhibits, spectacular historic mines!

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For Information: www. LittleSwitzerlandNC .com WWW.SMLIV.COM

Top photo provided by the McDowell Tourism Authority

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Trail Magic

former staffer at LeConte Lodge, nature photographer and hiking enthusiast John Northrup (facebook.com/Smokies StoriesandGlories) knows the Smokies inside and out. As a member of the elusive 900 Miler Club, he has hiked every trail in the park. For that matter, he has nearly finished his second time around the map. Here he offers his top picks for lesser-known wonders of the park. SILENT SPRING “As popular as Mount Le Conte is, one trail that receives insufficient attention for being so beautiful is the Bull Head Trail,” says Northrup. “It’s one of the best wildflower trails in the park for multiple reasons: If solitude is what you seek, you'll find it on Bull Head, whereas Alum Cave and Rainbow Falls get the most visitor action.” On an average year, Northrup says, mid to late April is the best time to explore this trail. Hikers can see wildflowers from top to bottom, with an elevation difference of 4,000 feet rising from the cove hardwood forests in Cherokee Orchard to the spruce-fir forest atop Mount Le Conte. “Working your way up the trail, you'll see some of the first pink lady slippers, crested dwarf iris, and wood betony of the season, along with star of Bethlehem,” he says. “As you reach the middle elevations, several varieties of trillium dominate the slopes, intermixed with Dutchman’s breeches, squirrel corn, and lingering rue anemone. The area around the top of Bull Head is a mostly pine forest that houses a great deal of fetterbush, as well as mountain laurel and rhododendron that bloom several weeks later. As you transition into the spruce-fir forest and

A stand of painted trillium (above). Left: Dutchman’s breeches (top) and white erect trillium (bottom). JOHN NORTHRUP PHOTOS

approach the crest of Mount Le Conte, dense patches of spring beauties and trout lilies line the trail, their blooms closed when cloudy and open in the warm spring sun.” Another reason this trail is so unique in the spring is due in part to the abnormally large white trillium that ﬂourish a couple miles up from Cherokee Orchard. On a stretch along the western slopes of the mountain, the trail passes beneath two tall rock overhangs. Predominantly shaded, the area features a few well-drained seeps that pass between the boulders. Here the largest of these trillium bloom. “If you were to imagine a circle around the outside of the plant’s three leaves, then measure the diameter of that circle, you’d ﬁnd several plants with a span of two feet across,” Northrup says. “The Smoky Mountains have trillium everywhere in the spring, but I’m yet to stumble upon a stand that is as impressive as this one.”

BLOOMING WONDER Another area of the park for wildﬂower lovers that prefer solitude, Northrup says, is along the upper reaches of the Miry Ridge Trail, between the junction of Lynn Camp Prong and the Appalachian Trail. In late April and early May, many of spring’s early bloomers reach these higher elevations.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

As it traverses the Smokies, the Appalachian Trail opens up to this view of the Balsam Mountain range.

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JOHN NORTHRUP PHOTO

“Guidebooks make mention of Lonesome Pine, but words can’t put into detail the experience of seeing the view for yourself. The southern half of the Smokies ﬁll the western and eastern fringes of your view.” — John Northrup

“Along that 2.5-mile stretch is the best population of painted trillium I’ve ever seen, numbering in the hundreds,” Northrup says. “One year, I seemed to have caught it and other ﬂowers in a grand super bloom along this same stretch. There were sweet white, white erect, and yellow trillium numbering in the thousands above and below the trail as far as the eye could see, most populous below the summit of Cold Spring Knob.”

LONELY AT THE TOP Of the many overlooks in the Smokies, Northrup points to the Lonesome Pine Overlook, along the lower end of the Noland Divide, as an under-appreciated highlight. Getting there requires a 2,300-foot climb in 3.5 miles from the Deep Creek Campground, enough to deter the average park visitor. “Guidebooks make mention of Lonesome Pine, but words can’t put into detail the experience of seeing the view for yourself,” he says. “The ridge narrows greatly and the trail dances along the spine, where it reaches several exposed rock outcrops. The approximately 270-degree view is stunning as you look out in all directions and see mountains out to the horizon. The southern half of the Smokies fill the western and eastern fringes of your view. Directly below lies Bryson City and the numerous open fields filling the Deep Creek watershed. To the south stand the mountain ranges of the Nantahala National Forest and beyond. It's a great spot to have a picnic, listen to the birds, and soak up some sun in peace and quiet. I’m yet to share the vista with another soul.”

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Secrets Smokies of the

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cabins off of Little River Trail. “Some people refer to it as the ‘troll bridge,’” Campbell says.

[PHOTOGRAPHY TIPS]

Into the Woods

hotographer Deb Campbell of Maryville, Tennessee (debcampbellphoto.com), seeks out unexpected attractions in the Smokies. Here are three of her favorites: TUNNEL VISION Just after you turn onto Clingmans Dome Road, a small foot path leads down the side of the mountain and around to a stone tunnel under the road—a former hiker’s underpass known as the Thomas Divide Tunnel. “Very few people know about it,” Campbell says.

CROSS IF YOU DARE Not visible from the main trail in the Elkmont Historic District, an off-the-beaten-path stone bridge (pictured below) connects the second and third old

SEEDS OF PEACE In Cades Cove, take the ﬁrst pull-off on the right past the big overlook, then follow the trail through the woods to the top of the hill. There you’ll ﬁnd a towering sweet gum tree, with a rusty wheel embedded in its trunk. Former Cades Cove resident Golman Myers planted the tree 75 years ago as a tribute to those who lost their lives in the attack on Pearl Harbor. Myers’ son added an engraved metal tag in the 1970s to note the tree’s history.

DEB CAMPBELL PHOTOS

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Personal Picnic Spot

s a volunteer for Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Knoxville photographer Kristina Plaas (facebook.com/plaasabilities) knows her way around the most popular spots in the park, as well as how to side-step the masses.

One of her favorite places for solitude—and crowd-free photos—is Heintooga Picnic Area, accessed by taking Heintooga Ridge Road off the Blue Ridge Parkway and driving past Balsam Mountain Campground to a turnaround parking area. At 5,326-feet elevation, the picnic area is in a spruce-ﬁr forest that is never hot, even on the warmest days of summer. “It is never crowded, even on the Fourth of July, and it is always peaceful,” Plaas says. “Wildﬂowers abound all summer long, and it is an excellent place for birding.” Hikers can walk the short Balsam Mountain Nature Trail, between the picnic area and campground, or take the longer Flat Creek trail, which skirts the crest of Balsam Mountain and offers an easy walk in the woods. Civilian Conservation Corps workers built Heintooga Picnic Area at the time the park was established. The original restrooms,

located in a stone building near the parking area, are still in service. “If you walk up the steps to the picnic area, past the modern picnic tables, and over the top of the hill, you will find Heintooga’s hidden secret—enormous rock slab picnic tables hand-carved by CCC workers,” she says. “Looking like something straight out of Bedrock on the ‘Flintstones,’ these tables are pure art—art that has endured more than 80 years. I’ve enjoyed gatherings with friends and peaceful solo meals at these tables, surrounded by towering spruce trees and wildflowers such as Canada mayflower, yellow clintonia, and fly poison. In my opinion, a picnic at Heintooga is the best-kept secret in the Smokies.” A short stroll from the parking area along the Flat Creek trail, just north of the picnic area, leads to Heintooga Overlook—a stunning view over remote and rugged ridges to Mount Guyot and the eastern crest of the Smokies. Two wooden benches allow visitors to sit and savor the view while enjoying cool mountain breezes from this high-elevation perch. “Those wishing for more adventure may elect to drive the oneway, gravel Balsam Mountain Road on their return to Cherokee. It’s what I call ‘hiking on four wheels,’” Plaas says. “For almost 15 miles, Balsam Mountain Road meanders between ridges deep in the forest. In late summer wildlife and wildflowers abound along this drive. Though not for the faint of heart, it can be safely driven in a passenger vehicle. It's slow, bumpy driving, so allow oneand-a-half to two hours for this journey. I highly recommend it.” Plaas notes: This area is not suitable for all park visitors. There are restrictions on vehicle size on Heintooga Ridge Road (no large RVs, buses, and other oversize vehicles). In addition, vehicles with trailers are not permitted on Balsam Mountain Road. Both roads have areas with very sharp curves. The picnic area is not ADA accessible. Disabled persons can get to the restrooms, but there is no paved or level access to the picnic tables. The walk to the overlook is flat, but not intended for wheelchairs or scooters.

Heintooga Picnic Area. KRISTINA PLAAS PHOTO

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Bear Essentials

hotographing wildlife can be a bear of an endeavor. For Erwin, Tennessee, hobby photographers Jon and Regina Phillips (facebook.com/JandGPhotos), patience is more than a virtue—it’s their M.O. A mechanic by trade who has been visiting the Smokies for 30 years, Jon Phillips shares a few secrets to capturing candid shots of animals in the wild: “The black bear is the symbol of the Great Smoky Mountains Park and, of course, everyone would love to see one. First of all, you always need to be bear aware—respect them and give them

plenty of space; do not disturb them in any way, as they are wild animals. Next, you need a good camera with a long zoom lens to get the close-up shots that you want at a safe distance as to not change their behavior. The rule is 50 yards, which is 150 feet, to keep you and the animals safe. If they start walking towards you, back away slowly—do not run. “You can see bears anywhere in the Smokies, such as Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail and Cades Cove. You just have to be patient, look for signs on what they are feeding on, and walk the trails and backwoods. A lot of the bears we know use the same territories year after year, but they cover big areas. “The best way to capture good photos of them is to be quiet and have your camera ready at all times, because you never know when they will walk around the corner or into a ﬁeld and pick their head up from feeding, wake up from sleeping, or go get a drink of water. I have sat on a ridge at a safe distance for over ﬁve hours to get photos of bears eating and sleeping. It takes a lot of commitment and time. Some days we don’t see any bears out and about, but there is always another day—and that's what keeps us coming back time after time.”

First of all, you

always need to be bear aware—respect them and give them plenty of space.

J & G PHOTOS

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

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[PHOTOGRAPHY TIPS]

A Waterfall All to Yourself

or the better part of a decade, William Britten has run a photography gallery along Gatlinburg’s historic Arts and Crafts Loop (williambritten.com). A former University of Tennessee professor, he finds himself drawn to the layers of history present throughout the park. He considers Spruce Flat Falls a hidden gem in the Tremont section of the Smokies, an area first settled by Black Bill (William Marion) Walker in the 1850s. “Walker was a legendary frontiersman who reportedly fathered 26 children and killed 100 bears in his lifetime,” Britten says. The Smoky Mountains Institute now stands on the site of Walker’s former homestead and provides the starting point for accessing Spruce Flat Falls (follow the sign simply marked, “Trail to the Spruce Flat Falls. WILLIAM BRITTEN PHOTO Falls”). A hike of about a mile each way passes through a thicket of mountain laurel that blooms in early May. “Since the national park does not publicize the trail, it has much less traffic than some of the more well-known falls— you may have this one all to yourself,” Britten says. The trail climbs up, then meanders along the side of a ridge, and then abruptly descends to the basin of Spruce Flat Falls. From there, Britten says, photographers find “many possibilities for climbing around the falls to find special vantage points.”

“Since the national park does

not publicize the trail, it has much less traffic than some of the more wellknown falls.”

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

— William Britten

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[INSIDER’S GUIDE]

See the Forest for the Trees

imber barons had already laid waste to most of the accessible eastern forests by the early 20th century, but the rugged terrain of the Smokies spared pockets of these primeval forests.

The protection of these relic forests was a major factor in the creation of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Today the park is home to more than 100,000 acres of old-growth forest, with the Chimneys picnic area and the Cove Hardwood Trail among the easiest places to access old growth. More strenuous hikes noted for old-growth forests include the Ramsey Cascades Trail and the Albright Grove Loop. Old growth is impressive and awe-inspiring wherever you find it. But there’s a lot to be said for taking the trail less traveled to commune with these gentle giants in solitude. Cherokee legend tells of a time when trees could speak and routinely took part in council meetings. They don’t talk to us today, at least not in words. Or perhaps we can’t hear them, but they speak to our hearts if we can find a place to be still and listen. Josh Kelly—the public lands field biologist for the nonprofit environmental group Mountain True—is familiar with many stands of old growth across the landscape of the Smokies.“There are some huge chestnut oaks along Old Settlers Trail,” Kelly says. Old Settlers Trail can be accessed from the Greenbrier area near Gatlinburg or from the Albright Grove Trail just west of Cosby, Tennessee. The Boogerman Trail in Cataloochee Valley is another favorite of Kelly’s. “It’s home to the tallest white pine in the park, the Boogerman Pine.” And one of the cool things about the Boogerman Trail is that much of it is relatively flat and easy walking. It was spared the axe because reclusive owner Robert “Boogerman” Palmer refused to sell to the timber barons. A third favorite of Kelly, Noland Divide Trail is a 15.6-mile out-and-back trail located just outside of Bryson City, North Carolina. Camping is allowed along the trail, but you must have

Cherokee legend

tells of a time when trees could speak and routinely took part in council meetings. They don’t talk to us today, at least not in words.

Chestnut oak. CREATIVE COMMONS PHOTO

a backcountry permit from the park. “Noland Divide is a tougher hike,” cautions Kelly, “but it has some great old growth spruce-ﬁr forest” near the terminus of the trail at Clingmans Dome. An easier way to experience the old growth is to access Noland Divide from Clingmans Dome Road. You can hike down as far as you like; just remember that there will be a climb when you turn around. Perhaps one of the best-kept old-growth secrets in the GSMNP is the shortleaf pine forest along the western edge of the park. Trails to look for around Abrams Creek include Gold Mine, Pine Mountain, and Rabbit Creek. Because these trees don’t reach the girth or height of other species such as poplar, hemlock, and white pine, one might not immediately recognize them as old growth. But there are shortleaf pines in the area more than 300 years old. Old growth forests are great places for secrets; secrets held and secrets told; secrets that ride on the wind and sing in the branches. ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

Don Hendershot is a naturalist in Waynesville, North Carolina.

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Old-growth forest. CREATIVE COMMONS PHOTO

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Go Fish

n younger days I thought any respectable trout fisherman had to keep some secrets. Years of mellowing have led to a far different perspective; namely, that favorite destinations can be revealed without fear—after all, most of the best spots lie back of beyond or demand special approaches. Here are five top picks, chosen from a life spent astream, for “must visit” trout waters in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. FORNEY CREEK Accessible only via Fontana Lake or by a four-mile hike starting at the end of the “Road to Nowhere,” this remote stream holds only wild trout and is ideal for two or three days of camping and fishing. BEECH FLATS PRONG Also called Upper Luftee, this stream parallels Highway 441 for miles but is not served by any

trail. Once the road leaves the creek, you need to bushwhack to access it, but getting in and out is fairly simple and involves little walking. It is a great place to catch a “Smoky Mountain Slam”— a rainbow, brown, and speckled trout in a single outing.

BONE VALLEY CREEK Hike several miles up fabled Hazel Creek to where Bone Valley Creek enters from the west. A trail follows the dandy little stream fairly closely to the Hall Cabin. That’s it for trail access, and two small feeders upstream, aptly called Desolation and Defeat, suggest that only the hardy or foolhardy will continue farther. LEFT FORK OF DEEP CREEK There is no trail system whatsoever on the Left Fork, which can only be accessed by bushwhacking; the point where Fork Ridge Trail drops down to Poke Patch backcountry campsite on the Right Fork is the best bet. It offers mile after mile of surprisingly open ﬁshing thanks to the fact that occasional headwater cloudbursts keep vegetation at bay.

UPPER STRAIGHT FORK For miles a gravel Park Service road runs alongside Straight Fork as one heads upstream. However, almost immediately after it crosses a bridge the road veers away. Soon afterward there is only a vague ﬁsherman’s trail that follows an old railroad grade upstream. It is difficult to ﬁnd at times, but this is beautiful water and, as is true for several other destinations, the stream effectually becomes your trail. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jim Casada is the author of Fly Fishing in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park: An Insider’s Guide to a Pursuit of Passion (High Country Press, 2009), among other outdoors books.

Casting a line on Bone Valley Creek. JIM CASADA PHOTO

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Saluting the flag atop Chimney Rock. [INSIDER’S GUIDE]

CHIMNEY ROCK STATE PARK PHOTO

Parties of the Century

he year 1916 marked a banner year for land conservation across the country with the dedication of the National Park Service. Southern Appalachia is home to a few of the country’s most popular park entities—Great Smoky Mountains National Park, the Blue Ridge Parkway, and the Appalachian National Scenic Trail—as well as Virginia’s Shenandoah National Park and North Carolina’s Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site, a lesser-known gem just south of Asheville. Also 100 years ago: North Carolina launched its state park system with the dedication of Mount Mitchell State Park. Plus, the wilderness of Pisgah Forest officially became one of the ﬁrst national forests in the eastern United States. The parks are celebrating the centennial with a host of events. y The Great Smoky Mountains National

Park and Appalachian National Scenic Trail challenge park goers to hike 100 miles of trails throughout 2016. Participants receive a commemorative pin. (See page 10 for more information.) y Centennial events at Shenandoah National Park range from

special fee-free days (August 25–28) to live music (June 17, 18, September 30, and October 1). Plus, on August 20, the park will host a rededication of Hawksbill Viewing Platform. y From September 10 to 25, the Carl Sandburg Home National

Historic Site will host a two-week community celebration of the poet and the park service. y In March 1916, 6,683-foot Mount Mitchell became North

Carolina’s ﬁrst state park, protecting the highest point in the eastern United States from logging. August 26 to 28, a lineup of

educational programs, exhibits, and hikes will commemorate the park’s ﬁrst century. y The Fourth of July will be extra special this year at Chimney

Rock State Park, which marks 100 years since the first raising of the American flag over the 315-foot rock monolith. A special flag raising will kick off the holiday starting at 7:30 a.m., with the first 100 cars admitted free of charge. y Gorges State Park, near the North and South Carolina border,

will host live music and family-friendly activities on July 2 and October 15.

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461 W. Outer Dr. Oak Ridge, TN 865.482.1074

childrensmuseumofoakridge.org

STATE SECRETS

Oak Ridge, Tennessee: Discover the story of the Manhattan Project at one of the country’s newest national parks. BY MARYELLEN KENNEDY DUCKETT

The main control room at the K25 plant in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, during the WWII Manhattan Project. AMERICAN MUSEUM OF SCIENCE AND ENERGY PHOTOS

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

“There will be a huge factory in Bear Creek Valley that will help win the greatest war there will ever be.”

— “Prophet” John Hendrix, Bear Creek Valley, Tennessee, 1900

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There will be a huge factory in Bear Creek Valley that will help win the greatest war there will ever be.” —“Prophet” John Hendrix, Bear Creek Valley, Tennessee, 1900 During John Hendrix’s lifetime (1865-1915), Bear Creek Valley was a secluded, East Tennessee farming community with little connection to the outside world. The valley’s remote location likely made Hendrix’s prediction about a “huge factory” seem all the more preposterous to his fellow homesteaders. As it turned out, location played a huge role in making his vision come true. Hendrix was a mystic, an eccentric ﬁgure who once spent 40 nights sleeping in the woods. It was during this time, according to local tradition, that he experienced his revelation about the land and its connection to a future war. This part of his story was shared in subsequent years by Hendrix’s relatives and neighbors. The next chapter was written more than 25 years after Hendrix’s death. That’s when the United States government began searching for a remote area with an ample water supply to build (at the time of its construction in 1943) the largest industrial complex in history.

In 1942, the Hendrix family farm was among the 59,000 acres the government purchased to rapidly construct the “Secret City” of Oak Ridge. The massive, top-secret undertaking—code named “the Manhattan Project”—displaced the roughly 1,000 rural families who lived in Bear Creek Valley and the small Clinch River communities of Elza, Robertsville, Scarborough, and Wheat. In their place rose a built-from-scratch city of 75,000 new residents. Most of the new arrivals were members of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and young, skilled workers—including architects, cooks, scientists, steelworkers, stenographers, and woodworkers. Except for a select group of high-level scientists and government officials, few knew that they had been recruited to the hills of East Tennessee to help build the world’s ﬁrst atomic bomb.

SEE WHERE SCIENCE MADE HISTORY Oak Ridge’s Secret City story is one of three told through one of the nation’s newest national parks, the Manhattan Project National

Historical Park (Manhattan Project NHP). Established in November 2015, the park is composed of the three principal Manhattan Project locations: Oak Ridge; Los Alamos, New Mexico; and Hanford, Washington. A fourth location—the park headquarters—will be built in Denver, Colorado. In addition to having multiple units spread across the country, the Manhattan Project NHP stands apart from other national parks by being co-managed by the National Park Service (NPS) and the Department of Energy (DOE). Since the DOE owns, operates, and maintains the buildings and land within the park, the main role of the NPS is to interpret and share the extraordinary Manhattan Project story. Since the park is brand new, the foundation documents are yet to be ﬁnalized. Some programs, such as ranger-led bus and walking tours, lectures, a Junior Ranger program, and community outreach activities, are up and running. Additional programming will be added in the coming months, says Frank Graham, the acting lead ranger of the Oak Ridge unit of the Manhattan Project NHP. “The story told at the Manhattan Project NHP Oak Ridge unit will go from prior to

Secret City 411

Y-12 calutron operators, controlling the separation of isotopes from uranium. Multiple shifts kept the calutrons working 7 days a week, 24 hours a day without ever knowing the machinery’s purpose.

1. Check nps.gov/mapr for the latest national park events and updates. 2. Reservations are required for the guided DOE Public Bus Tour, which departs from the AMSE and includes highlights of Oak Ridge past and present. Check the bus schedule and register for the tour online at the AMSE website, amse.org. Or, register in person (first come, first served) beginning at 9 a.m. on the day of your visit. 3. A valid photo ID is required to register for the bus tour. 4. The $5 AMSE admission fee includes the bus tour (space permitting). 5. The bus tour begins at 11:30 a.m. and lasts at least two and a half hours. Eat a big breakfast or early lunch beforehand. 6. Large bags and backpacks are not allowed on the bus.

Decoding the Secret City The American Museum of Science & Energy (AMSE), headquarters of the Manhattan Project NHP, features the walk-through exhibit “Oak Ridge: World War II Secret City.” Plan on spending at least two hours at the museum absorbing the memorabilia, photographs, and artifacts—including news reels from the 1930s and 40s—that trace the history of the atomic bomb and tell the story of Oak Ridge. Stop at the NPS visitor desk located just inside the front door to pick up a brochure, as well as walking and driving maps to other Oak Ridge Manhattan Project sites. amse.org.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

Security search at the Elza Gate entrance to Oak Ridge.

More to Explore y Read The Girls of Atomic City: The Untold Story of the Women Who Helped Win World War II (Touchstone/Simon & Shuster, 2013), author and journalist Denise Kiernan’s best-selling book based on her intensive interviews with 10 women who worked on the Manhattan Project in the early 1940s.

the city being there, through the development of the Secret City and the science that went on during World War II, and on to the period after the war through today,” says Graham. “That story includes the continuing development of nuclear energy and the science that comes out of that, along with the building of the atomic bomb, which was the result of the Manhattan Project.” Graham readily acknowledges that interpreting the history of the atomic bomb for the general public comes with challenges. The story, which includes the realities of war and the destruction caused by nuclear weapons, covers complex topics and an unprecedented time in our nation’s history. “The park service doesn’t shy away from tough issues,” he says. “There are parks that talk about

slavery, the internment of Japanese Americans, and POWs [prisoners or war]. This park talks about the ﬁrst atomic bomb [which included enriched uranium produced at Oak Ridge] dropped on Hiroshima and causing the deaths of 100,000 Japanese people in a very short period of time.” According to Graham, one goal of the Manhattan Project NHP is to tell the story from both a Japanese and an American perspective. “We have to take into consideration what that time period was like. It was called a ‘world war’ for a reason,” he says. “The whole world was involved, and tens of thousands of people were being killed in a variety of ways. In most people’s opinion, the success of the Manhattan Project is what ended World War II. That wouldn’t have happened without Oak Ridge.”

y K-25 was the code name of the massive gaseous diffusion plant built in Oak Ridge to enrich uranium for the first atomic bomb (code name: “Little Boy”). The plant recently was demolished, but the K-25 Virtual Museum preserves the history of the facility’s contributions to the war effort as well as to defense, energy, and technology through the 1990s in this online compendium. k-25virtualmuseum.org. y In the Oak Ridge Public Library’s Oak Ridge Room, learn about life in the Secret City during the Manhattan Project through the oral histories and personal accounts of the people who were there. The library also has a collection of early Oak Ridge photographs taken by Ed Westcott, the Atomic Energy Commission’s official photographer. oakridgetn.gov/depart ment/library/reference/ oak-ridge-room.

Discover the history of Oak Ridge and the Manhattan Project at the American Museum of Science and Energy.

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Silent SONG B Y J E R E M Y B . J O N E S Âˇ P H O T O S B Y K AT H R Y N R AY

Jeremy Jones plays his banjo on his familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s land in Henderson County, North Carolina.

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a strange thing, the banjo. Some skin and strings. It looks as if its maker couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t decide between percussion and chordophone, and just threw the two together. WWW.SMLIV.COM

native of Henderson County, North Carolina, Jeremy B. Jones left Southern Appalachia for college, with ambitions to see the world. After time in Central America, he returned to his ancestral land to teach alongside his former teachers at the local elementary school. Jones explores sense of place and identity amid a changing culture in Bearwallow: A Personal History of a Mountain Homeland (John F. Blair Publishing, 2014), a portion of which is excerpted here.

ate in the Civil War, Union scouts donned Confederate uniforms to slide through enemy lines seamlessly, ghosting through the woods, trying to gather information. Most Southern soldiers were dressed raggedly by that point in the war, so the scouts intentionally dirtied the uniforms to make their appearance more believable. I think of them when I pull out the passeddown flannel shirts I’d packed away before leaving the country. I toss on a tattered mesh hat to venture into Edneyville on Saturdays, dressed in the clothes of my grandfathers. For those Union scouts, looking the part was only half the battle. They also worked at perfecting a Southern drawl. It was part espionage—they believed they’d be able to infiltrate enemy camps more easily with the right twang and regional lexicon—but also part self-preservation—they figured a Southern accent would invite sympathy if they were captured creeping through the woods and slipping into Confederate camps.

I imagine the men practicing their new accents, looking into rivers and lakes as their companies rested. I can see them working out the kinks, watching their rippling reﬂections adopt a foreign-sounding tongue, opening their mouths wider to soften their long i’s, slowing the rhythm of their sentences. I wonder if some of them became so invested in this character, so enamored with the sound of their new voices, that they began speaking to Union comrades with a Southern tongue. Since moving back to these mountains—a place where my family has been for two centuries—there are mornings when I wake up and wonder if I’m dressing in these old clothes and this accent to fade easily into the world around me. Even though it at times feels intentional, I’ve started dropping regional words back into my speech, started bending my tongue back toward home. A reckon here and a plumb there. Otherwise, I know the men at the general store or the women in the gas station might look at me, hear my voice, and think, He ain’t from around here. They may see the Union in me, hear the outsider on my tongue, and know.

ast week, I bought a banjo, in part to ﬁnd a way to grab hold of this place. A Saga, it’s called. While I can’t make it run smoothly yet, I thump along slowly in the afternoons after leaving the elementary school, trying to ﬁnd enough notes to build a melody. It’s a strange thing, the banjo. Some skin and strings. It looks as if its maker couldn’t decide between percussion and chordophone, and just threw the two together. And then there’s this string that doesn’t even reach the full length of the neck, stopping short at a peg sticking out halfway up. The whole thing makes me think of an open hand—four tuning pegs at the top and a thumb on the side. My Saga has no back, no resonator to catch the sounds and roll them around. When I decided to buy a banjo, I looked for this prebluegrass breed because it felt distinctly Appalachian, clearly affixed to the region’s history. I bought old CDs of North Carolina banjo players including Fred Cockerham, Clarence Ashley, and Bascom Lamar Lunsford. The recordings were simple and crinkly, but they sounded right. I suppose I’ve been looking for this—a connection to the region—since I returned to the Blue Ridge. The banjo sitting on my lap seems a tangible bit of Appalachia. When I was living in Honduras, I felt at times like I

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

was slowly and steadily being pulled back to my place. And here I am, nearly re-placed in the body of my boyhood. I’ve taken a job at my elementary school. I’m teaching beside my former teachers, living just up the creek from family land. It’s as though I’m searching for a taut line leading to Southern Appalachian identity because I’m not sure what it is that makes me from here—what connects me to these mountains.

n elementary school, we had folk teachers. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Whitfield came to our class monthly to teach us about our region’s traditions. We learned to make candles and candy. We learned oldtimey games and ghost stories. The women sometimes wore long dresses and played music or churned butter. I don’t remember either of them playing a banjo. Actually, I don’t remember anything specific about their lessons, except for a day when we made some chocolate desserts called Martha Washington Jets. But the classes intrigue me now. They existed to teach us of our place, of the world around and behind us. They said, This is important; be proud. Appalachia is supposed to be a region of backwardness. We’re toothless, gun-toting, moonshine-drinking hillbillies. We’re Ernest T. Bass, Hatfields and McCoys, inbred, banjo-wielding figures lurking in the woods. It seems the question in education ought not be where we come from but rather how we can get away. In many ways, that question of escape and change did shape pieces of the curriculum of my boyhood. Most of the teachers at Edneyville then were from the area and had last names drifting back hundreds of years in the county. But they were taught in college how to clean up their accents—“Ain’t ain’t a word, so I ain’t a-gonna say it”—because those were the sounds of ignorance, the sounds of benightedness. My accent thinned through elementary and middle school, but in high school, I took control of it because I didn’t want to sound like the good ol’ boys who wore camouflage and drove big trucks and carried Mountain Dew bottles in the back pockets of their jeans, spitting tobacco into the empty plastic when the soda was gone. Boys like Willie Griffin, who spent their days in auto mechanic and carpentry classes. I didn’t think specifically about how to make my tongue sound different from theirs, but it happened. It happened because I knew that, in many ways, the thickness of an accent could

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determine one’s hall. Accent was predestination. Z-Hall meant Willie and other boys in shop classes, nearly all of them from Edneyville. Y-Hall meant girls with equally thick accents in vocational classes, preparing for nursing and hospitality careers. Lesser accents placed students on the science-and-math hall. Those of us in English and art and foreign language classes built an academic voice. We had college plans, and we talked like it. Late in my high-school career, an older friend who had moved away for college returned home. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked me. “I’ve got a soccer match at Poke.” “Polk?” he asked, emphasizing the l I’d disregarded. Polk, I repeated softly inside my mouth. I’d

never thought of the l before; I’d always said what everyone else said, what seemed right. Even though I’d thinned my accent for classes, I realized that afternoon with the help of my college-going friend that my mouth was

But the classes intrigue me now. They existed to teach us of our place, of the world around and behind us. They said, This is important; be proud.

still full of words tinged with Appalachia. After that, I made a conscious choice to pronounce words phonetically. I slipped the l in and felt I had inside information. The Polk incident started me questioning the pronunciation of other words that came instinctually from my mouth: arrenge for orange and dawg for dog. The small, private university to which I eventually moved was full of Northern students from New Jersey and D.C., most from private and prestigious high schools. My freshman year, a girl from Philadelphia living across the hall asked me why I said mash when I meant press. “Mash the button?” she echoed as we played Nintendo. “And why do you keep saying ‘used to could’? That sounds funny.” What she meant was that it sounded stupid. I agreed. I stepped outside myself and

Jeremy Jones with his banjo.

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quickly decided I still sounded like a hillbilly, a long, buck-toothed dunce from a movie. I blushed but was secretly glad for her pointing out my language’s quirks. I searched out any other words that might cast me as ignorant and tried to remove them. I took extra moments before speaking to review and dust off the words on their way to my tongue. I made sure I didn’t say innerstin for interesting. I made sure to use those when I might have said them. Them Those books are heavy. I’d always been a good student, so I knew the parts of speech and their roles, but I had mostly applied that knowledge to writing and academic work. Spoken language was something else, something overheard and taken on. In college, I began to think through my daily and colloquial speech as well, always using an adverb to modify an adjective: “really cold in here” instead of “real.” My speech became upright, more grammatically correct than that of many of the privately schooled Northerners around me, and I liked it. Once I moved to Honduras, I became English in the ﬂesh. Daily, I represented an

entire language for the students sitting in front of me. I had to decide what English I would be. What words and sounds would I give my students? Should I leave a room of

Honduran nine-year-olds saying y’all or you’uns? Outside the school’s walls, my tongue was unwieldy. While my English was bookish and “standard,” I strived to make my Spanish regional and colloquial. My tongue shortened words—va for verdad. I started ending sentences with the quick rise of va, as people did when talking about weather or pigs or money in the cobblestone streets of western Honduras—the quick sound of a question softening a statement. “¿Ayer me vio, va?” (“Yesterday you saw me, right?”) Verdad literally means truth, but my tongue freely chopped it up. I dropped letters from common words, más (more) becoming má, usted (you) becoming uste. This Central American accent and rhetoric obviously didn’t ﬁnd their way into my mouth from my genes. My tongue created them from the world around me. I passed through my days tapering words, speaking in a voice recently invented. When I traveled to other countries, my tongue again reacted. In Costa Rica, I stopped rolling my r’s and spoke more clearly

MARGARET HESTER PHOTO

I had to decide what English I would be. What words and sounds would I give my students? Should I leave a room of Honduran nine-year-olds saying y’all or you’uns?

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

because that was the world around me. In Ecuador and Mexico, I found new words and tempered the formality of Honduran Spanish, freely using the informal second-person tú. These shiftings mostly happened of my tongue’s volition. It wanted to fit in—an aural chameleon. But while it spent the evenings and weekends pulling in bits of Honduran slang and dropping letters, from eight to three Monday through Friday, it shaped up. It hit every diphthong and smattering of consonants clearly. Then the bell would ring again, and I’d walk into the street to buy homemade bread, my tongue again loosening. And here I am, back on the land of my boyhood, walking the halls of the elementary school where my tongue first began to shed its Appalachian tics, and my voice is now wholly confused, my tongue often stilled. More and more, I don’t know how the words coming from my mouth ought to sound. After traveling among myriad accents and grammars, I’m charmed by the ring of my mother tongue, allured by my grandma calling a fight a racket or Mom saying last night’s rain was a gully-washer. The sounds

around me are mine; they’re from my place. But I don’t know that I can take them on entirely. I can certainly create the accent and find regional words to line my sentences, but that would feel constructed and modeled. It might feel like a British accent taken on at a party—an affectation. Chopping up words and blurring sounds to create a Honduran voice felt fair. I had no connection to the language, so inventing an accent for its words seemed necessary. But the language of home shouldn’t be something to take on like an enemy’s uniform. Rather, it should be something to remember, something to slide back inside. The weight of this feels stronger some days. Days when I picture the students at Edneyville in five years, beginning high school. I hear their voices now and know their futures. I wonder about my responsibility to them, to their accents and vocations. I find myself thinking about my hypothetical children. How I want them to have natural access to the sound of the mountains, but how I know that such a sound has to be tempered or buried or lost to escape stereotypes.

Plus, I’m not sure I could provide the voice box of Appalachia to these ghost sons and daughters, since I can’t ﬁnd my own.

oday, I’m lugging the Saga to school. It’s Heritage Week, and I’m glad. A month has passed since Mexican Independence Day, and I notice that I enjoy changes in my daily schedule; elementary school is nothing if not monotonous. My immigrant students will learn about their adopted homeland at every turn this week. Yesterday, a man played the bagpipes below the basketball goal outside. Fred Pittillo lined the blacktop with antique tractors from the sod farm and former dairy. Students are learning to clog. A storyteller came to tell Jack Tales, a genre of stories (Jack and the Beanstalk, etc.) that likely began in Britain in the ﬁfteenth or sixteenth century and has managed to persist and grow in Appalachia for over three hundred years. I’m supposed to play my banjo in the cafeteria while the students eat pizza and broccoli (I translate the menu into Spanish every month, so I’m intimate with the daily

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Older slaves often taught young white men to build and play what we call the banjo (or banjer, as most old-timers say).

offerings). From a Doc Watson recording, I’ve managed to piece together the chords and a few moments of melody from “My Home’s Across the Blue Ridge Mountains.” The song seems apt for the week. Its history is unclear; it wasn’t recorded until the early twentieth century, but it seems to reach as far back as the Civil War. It was likely sung by men pulled away from the mountains by war. A song of escape and return all at once. I like that. I did some research into the history of the banjo for today. I ﬁgured I ought to know something to share, since I’m a “Mister” now. I checked out books from the library in town; one was called America’s Instrument. What I quickly found was a history I didn’t expect. While America’s Instrument contended that the banjo was likely one of the few instruments—if not the only instrument—created and shaped in the United States, it admitted that its roots reached into West Africa, likely what is now Nigeria. Slavery brought the lutelike contraptions to America. Africans played them throughout the South, sometimes building them from gourds. Older slaves often taught young white men to build and play what we call the banjo (or banjer, as most old-timers say). What I grabbed hold of as a direct link to my history and region is actually an African instrument transformed by slavery. Something taken and remade. Suddenly, my banjo’s name—Saga—feels loaded. Slaves who played the banjo were worth more money and often were forced to showcase their musical abilities when auctioned off. The banjo’s entrance into Appalachia is vague, since slaves weren’t distributed uniformly throughout the region. Likely, it found its way in through vacationing Southerners’ slaves, minstrel shows, soldiers, and explorers. Its history is a blurry jumble of lives, but once it found a home, it settled in. Like the Jack Tales, it persisted in the isolated mountains while the rest of the world moved on. Eventually, the African lute was stretched out, given an extra string, and played in English and Scots-Irish ballads. A century ago, a ﬁddle and a banjo made a band. Living in Central America, I came across a man on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica playing a banjo to calypso music. At the time, I found the instrument’s presence eccentric, albeit interesting. But blacks living on Costa Rica’s coast were brought from Jamaica to build a railroad in the nineteenth century, their descendants having been transported from Africa to Jamaica as slaves. It makes sense, now, to picture the man wildly strumming the banjo in a town of dreadlocks and displaced history. I try to see my tongue in this banjo I carry to school. In it, I hear bits of a wholly confused SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 ISSUE 3

history. The slave and slave owner. The North and the South, the Rebel and the loyalist, and everything in between. I carry both the shooters and the victims in my family tree in this hybrid of an instrument. And yet it somehow works. The slender neck and lone short string blend sweetly with the faux skin and open back. The near-ďŹ st of my hand manages to carve out notes. My ďŹ ngers slide along and work out the melody. The thing is a mishmash, its form something of Africa, its twang something of the British Isles, its forging something of my mountains. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s an ambivalent instrument in an ambivalent land. I wonder if I can do to my tongue as has been done to the banjo. I wonder if I can take pieces here and thereâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;reclaim echoes of a lost voiceâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and ďŹ&#x201A;esh them out into one smoothly singing instrument. If I can make a home of two minds.

â&#x20AC;&#x2122;m taken aback by the sound of the cafeteria as I lug my banjo inside. Perhaps Heritage Week has everyone excited, but itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s likely always this loud. I suddenly miss my hideout in the teachersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; lounge, where the only sounds are gossip and the whirring of the copier. The lunchroom is a static roar. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no microphone or stage, so I sit near the water fountain thumping the beginning of my song. It takes only a few chords for me to realize no one can hear me here on the outskirts of the room with my old instrument. So I stand to walk up and down the rows of tables ďŹ lled with hungry children. As I pass, they turn with mouths of half-chewed food to reach out and touch the Saga. I tiptoe around spilled milk and strewn lunchboxes while rapping the strings and picking out, My homeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s across the Blue Ridge Mountains My homeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s across the Blue Ridge Mountains My homeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s across the Blue Ridge Mountains And I never expect to see you anymore Excerpted with permission from Bearwallow: A Personal History of a Mountain Homeland, written by Jeremy B. Jones and published by John F. Blair Publishing. Jones is proďŹ led on page 11.

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STORIES Community

State-Sponsored Swimming BY MICHAEL RENO HARRELL

n the summer of 1954, I turned six, caught my ﬁrst ﬁsh, and fell out of a tree house. It was also the summer I learned to swim. The last of those milestones came as a result of a strange set of circumstances that still brings a smile to my face.

broken shovel when we heard laughter. We passed a puzzled look among ourselves and then turned our gazes upwards, where we were met with a rather disturbing sight. There on the roadside, 12 or so feet above us, stood a man in a blue uniform, the butt of a twelve-gauge pump shotgun resting on his thigh. Lined up next to him, on the shoulder of the road, stood six men in white North Carolina State Prison uniforms holding sling blades and shovels. They were obviously a work gang in the process of cleaning out the Monte Vista Road ditches. As we three perspiring, sand-encrusted, open-mouthed boys watched in amazement, the guard spit a stream of tobacco juice into the weeds, dragged a shirt sleeve across his mouth, then turned to his charges, and yelped, “Y’all git on down there and build them boys a dam!” Six grinning and sweaty convicts scrambled down that bank and went to work. Within half an hour they were standing waist deep in cool Western North Carolina creek water, stacking the last sand bag in place on the ﬁnest swimming hole dam in all creation. Of course we three took full credit for that bit of civil engineering every time a neighbor kid was invited down for a dip. October ﬁnally brought weather too cool for swimming and enough rain to decimate that wonderful structure, but I will always remember the summer of 1954 as one of the best of my young life. Even today, 61 years later, I still can’t cross that little creek without silently thanking the North Carolina penal system for a crystal-clear memory of three boys, six convicts, and one very cool prison guard.

It all started on one particularly sweltering July afternoon. My cousin Bob, my brother Eddie, and I had dragged a red wagon piled high with empty feed sacks from the barn down to the nearby creek, which ran through the hay field and under the road through a huge metal culvert. This was a really huge culvert: eight feet in diameter. The shallow creek made a sharp left turn just after exiting the culvert, forming a long sand bar along the water’s edge on the apex of that bend. We boys had commandeered a broken-handled shovel from my uncle Clarence’s tool shed. We knew better than to use the good tools without permission, and Uncle Clarence was at work so we couldn’t ask. We three were laboring in the hot July sun filling the first of those feed sacks with sand. We planned to then drag them out into the creek, where we would stack them together to form a dam, thus creating a swimming hole in that little stream. But, just like the best-laid plans of mice and men, ours also went awry. After filling that first sack with gold-flecked mica creek sand and stitching it closed with bailing wire, we immediately discovered that we couldn’t budge the hundred-plus-pound sack of sand. Bob suggested removing a tad of sand in order to make the bag more manageable, which we did. Eddie removed a hefty shovel full, but our combined effort still couldn’t budge the sack. More and more sand was removed, until finally we were able to drag the thing a few feet across the bar to the water’s edge, but one could hardly refer to the now pitiful-looking piece of MANDY NEWHAM-COBB ILLUSTRATION burlap as a sand bag. It looked more like a 50-pound bag of flour down to its last couple of pans of biscuit makings. Even a modest dam would take a thousand such sad sacks to do the job. This was just not working. It looked like the three of us had worked up a steamy summer sweat for naught. There we stood, calf-deep in the water, cussing the heat, the sand, the sacks, the too-shallow-for-swimming creek, and the

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Michael Reno Harrell is a singer, songwriter, and storyteller in Burke County, North Carolina.

Even a modest dam would take a thousand such sad sacks to do the job. This was just not working.

SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 16 • ISSUE 3

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