SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING
FALL FOLIAGE FORECAST | GEE’S BEND QUILTS | MEDICINAL PLANTS OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2014
Celebrating Southern Appalachians THE
GHOST STORIES • RACING’S DIRT & MOONSHINE PAST • CREATURES OF THE WILD • PORTENTS AND OMENS • MURDER BALLADS
GHOST STORIES
of Haunted Appalachia
Wild Things Are Watching You
smliv.com
OCTOBER/NOVEMBER 2014 • VOL. 14 • NO. 5
Dirt Track Racing’s Storied Past
Very Superstitious: Don’t let bad luck befall Dark Days: A history of persecuted people
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Contents
FEATU RE STO RIES
WILD WOODS Beware the animals and plants that lurk in woods. Some are bad, some are good—and all are to be respected. BY JEREMY MORRISON
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ADRENALINE RUSH
From the days of smuggling moonshine came fast cars and daring drivers who relied on their skills to race the dirt track. BY JO HARRIS
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EXCLUDED & PERSECUTED Difficult history best is learned so as not to repeat itself— Cherokee, Melungeons, Waldenses and others suffered great brutalities devastating to their people and cultures. BY ANNA OAKES
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CROSS YOUR FINGERS Are you superstitious? Learn about omen and portents, Appalachian folklore and our changing beliefs. BY JAKE FLANNICK
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GHOSTLY FIGURES The spirit world seeks to connect with the living, say the region’s paranormal experts who explore reportedly haunted places. PHOTOS BY MARGARET HESTER
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Contents MOUNTAIN VOICES
DEPA RTME N TS
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cherokee author Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle births her fears
MOUNTAIN MUSIC
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Get dirty with Shovels and Rope’s dirge songs and murder ballads
OUT & ABOUT
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Learn about the Appalachians’ rich heritage of edible and medicinal plants
ON THE COVER The Caldwell House, which Hiram Caldwell built 1898-1903, is located in Big Cataloochee within the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Caldwell’s father, Levi, was one of the valley’s first settlers. PHOTO BY KEVIN ADAMS KADAMSPHOTO.COM FACEBOOK.COM/KADAMSPHOTO
Good Living 4
MOUNTAIN LETTERS
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A Smoky Mountain novel looks to overcome a fear of committment
CUISINE
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cades Cove—the Great Smoky Mountains National Park’s most visited spot
OUTDOORS
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Fried bologna sandwiches and French toast bread pudding with a side of ‘shine
ARTS
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Bob Timberlake’s conservation commitment
MOUNTAIN VIEWS
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Knowledge is not always power, says storyteller Gary Carden
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Southern Appalachian Mountains Gallery Guide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 East Tennessee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Crossword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Select Lodging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
p e rs p e ct i ve s :
FROM THE MANAGING EDITOR I do not approve of things with more than four legs. Whether inside or out, spiders, crickets, millipedes, centipedes and all other multi-pedes are my mortal enemies. Generally speaking, I do allow such creatures to live. It is not their fault that they are so terrifying and disgusting. But unless upon accident or while armed with gloves, shoes and a long stick, I will not touch them. That is why I have a husband. Though nylon bristle brushes give him the heebie jeebies—I may or may not threaten to rub my hairbrush against his skin when he makes me mad—he will calmly cup his hands around a renegade kitchen spider and walk to the front door in order to set the creepy monster free. I then demand to know just how far Sarah E. Kucharski outside the door he went with it so I can evaluate my chances of a second run-in with its beady eyes and eight ghastly legs. Earlier this summer one spider got too close for comfort. I announced the issue via an instant message to my husband— while I was home and he was at work. “We have a spider problem,” I said. “Ha! YOU have a spider problem,” he replied. “No. It is now YOUR problem because he is somewhere I don’t want him to live,” I said. “He is outside the bedroom window.” “I will handle him,” he said. “Are you sure it’s a dude?” “No. It could therefore be worse. It could be full of babies.” “Give him a name,” he said. “Maybe Stanley or Ferdinand.” “DIE SPIDER DIE.” “Something German?” “DIESOONENFREUD.” I particularly hate crickets because they tend to look like spiders but can jump—and in truly horrible situations even fly. Nothing should have that many personal modes of transportation. Our kitten, Mars, is a classic hunter of household wildlife, which I appreciate; however, he also loves to pick things up in his mouth and run away with them. As summer turned to fall,
Crossword answers Puzzle is on page 77.
black, evil crickets began appearing out of nowhere, giving Mars hours of entertainment and me a constant source of panic. I’d taken Bruce, our hound, outside to dispatch of his undercoat with the FURminator (no really, they’re amazing), and when we came back in, Mars was in the bathroom, hunched over and secretive. Figuring he had yet another cricket soon to meet its demise, I avoided the bathroom. As I walked by again a few moments later, Mars had moved his catch to the hallway carpet—and Bruce had become interested too. And that’s when I saw that it wasn’t a cricket. Whatever it was, it was long, and it was pointed, and it did not appear to have legs. My internal monologue at that moment is not fit to print. However, I knew that I had no choice but to deal with … it. So I did the only thing I could do. I made the universal, buzzer-like sound at the quadrupeds then ran to the dining room where my lunch lingered. And I grabbed a spoon. Defensively armed, I rushed back to the hallway and again scolded Bruce and Mars. Mars dropped the thing. It was still and white. I poked it with the spoon. It rolled over. I screamed. And a tiny five-lined skink with a bright blue, and slightly chewed, tail looked up at me. I’ve always loved skinks. We had a family of skinks that lived on my parents’ back porch, often sunning themselves on the cedar planks and concrete walkway. Thus the skink had to be saved. Bruce and Mars, who my antics had whipped into excitement, again began to investigate the little lizard. I fussed at them again and ran to the kitchen where I grabbed a paper towel. I loosely wadded up the towel, cupped it around the skink, and ran squealing for the front door. But on the porch there were bird feeders. I couldn’t let the skink be eaten just after nearly being eaten. “So if you find a skink with the tip of its tail missing living on our trio of orchid cactus, that’s why,” I told my husband. Whatever our fears may be, encountering them provides an adrenaline rush like no other. Though we once relied on adrenaline to save us from saber-tooth cats and bear-size hyenas, we now tend to fear much more esoteric threats like failure, public speaking or economic decline—modern manifestations of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. This issue of Smoky Mountain Living is dedicated to fear. Here’s hoping you overcome your own.
Whether inside or out, spiders,
crickets, millipedes, centipedes and all other multi-pedes are my mortal enemies. I will not touch them. That is why I have a husband.
— Sarah E. Kucharski, managing editor
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p e rs p e ct ive s :
FROM OUR READERS
Tense and wild-eyed I stared at the gloomy confines of the cave. Lying flat on my back with cold stone for a mattress, I prayed for daylight, but knew that when the sun did rise in the morning it would not reach me. Breathing in the dank air was like setting fire to my lungs, and I had to live with the knowledge that I had done this to myself. The earth had opened its mouth and I had willingly jumped in. Here I was at the Lost Sea Adventure in Sweetwater, Tenn., with my 10-year-old daughter on a science-club field trip. To be fair, it is an awe-inspiring place with its massive caverns and incredible geological formations. And the lost sea—at some 140 feet below ground level—is a grand mystery. At first, I was glad I had come, but the next few hours had me spiraling through the abyss of memory; back to my childhood when, turned akimbo in my sleeping bag, I had flailed about in panic looking hopelessly for the opening. That was the first of many experiences with claustrophobia. Whoever said we should face our fears, or that what doesn’t kill us makes stronger, had surely never descended more than 100 steps into the earth’s core lugging enough overnight gear to supply a small army; or crawled through spaces so tight they were known as “meat grinder,” “crusher” and “misery.” Surely they had never subjected their bodies to dirt and mud and rocks on bone, while battling the humiliation of panic. Deep in the belly of the beast, the gaggle of children snuggled into their sleeping bags and let the hard earth cradle them. I lay awake frazzled from the simple effort of breathing. There was no coming out until morning. I was trapped. When the urge to scream and plead for release started to take hold, I would look over at my child— contented, sleeping—on the adventure of a lifetime. Then I knew I would survive.
For this issue dedicated to exploring fear, we asked our readers to share with us some of their own stories about overcoming what scares them.
— Beth Henderson
I have always been afraid of heights. All the way back to my childhood, I remember being afraid of heights. I could never climb a tree, go very high up on a ladder, cross a swinging bridge or even get on an airplane. I would say that I missed out on SHERRY SHOOK PHOTO some things due to this fear. I developed a love for photography and wanted to get out and explore these beautiful mountains that we call home. I think that my love of photography and my desire to shoot these mountains was a great incentive for me to try and overcome my fear. Some of the most beautiful places in this area are high up on the Blue Ridge Parkway or up at the top of a tall mountain. You can find the most beautiful waterfalls, but most are found after a hike up a steep mountain trail. I wanted to see and photograph all of these things. It was not an easy task, but I would attempt a place a little higher with each new venture. What awaited me at the end of my journey prompted me on and past my fear. I soon learned that if you are careful and watch your steps, the heights are not that bad. I do not take chances nor do I walk too close to the edge of any place where I am taking photographs, especially around a waterfall where the ground and rocks are wet and slick. I took this shot of a sunrise from the top of Chimney Rock—high above Lake Lure. — Sherry Shook 8
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
VOL. 14 • NUMBER 5 Publisher/Editor . . . . . . . . . . . Scott McLeod editor@smliv.com General Manager . . . . . . . . . Greg Boothroyd ads@smliv.com Sales Manager . . . . . . . . . . . Hylah Birenbaum hylah@smliv.com Managing Editor . . . . . . . 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 Editorial Assistant . . . . . . Glenda Kucharski Contributing Writers . . . . . . . . Gary Carden, Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle, Paul Clark, Jake Flannick, Jo Harris, Joe Hooten, Holly Kays, Jeff Minick, Jeremy Morrison, Bill Studenc, Contributing Photographers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Terry Barnes, Robert W. Belew, Paul Clark, Matt Crowell, Mary Grace, Margaret Hester, Heather Hyatt, Holly Kays, Jim Lenox, Elizabeth Majcher Contributing Illustrator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mandy Newham-Cobb Smoky Mountain Living is published bi-monthly by SM Living LLC. Smoky Mountain Living has made every effort to insure listings and information are accurate and assumes no liability for errors or omissions. For advertising information, contact Hylah Smalley at 866.452.2251 or hylah@smliv.com. For editorial inquiries, contact Sarah E. Kucharski at sarah@smliv.com. Smoky Mountain Living assumes no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or photographs. Queries should be sent to Sarah E. Kucharski at sarah@smliv.com. ©2014. All rights reserved. No portion of this magazine may be reprinted without the express, written consent of the publisher. Smoky Mountain Living is published bi-monthly (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.
p e rs p e ct i ve s :
ABOUT OUR WRITERS Bill Studenc
is senior director of news services at Western Carolina University in Cullowhee, N.C. Studenc, who grew up in Black Mountain, has worked as a reporter and editor at The Mountaineer in Waynesville, editor of The News Record in Marshall and sports reporter for the Asheville Citizen-Times. He lives near Lake Junaluska with wife Margaret, daughter Neva, son Will. An unrepentant headbanger, he still listens to 1980s heavy metal bands.
Holly Kays
is a forester's daughter who came to the Appalachian South by way of the West via the mid-Atlantic. She’s produced award-winning work at newspapers in Idaho and Wyoming and now writes for The Smoky Mountain News in Waynesville, N.C. Happy to have returned to the land of many trees, she’s even happier to write about them. When, of course, she’s not hiking.
Jeff Minick
lives in Asheville, N.C., where he tutors home-educated students and writes for various publications. He is the author of two books, both self-published: “Amanda Bell,” a novel, and “Learning As I Go,” a collection of essays and reviews.
Joe Hooten was born in Macon,
Ga., but spent his formative years surfing the beaches near his home in Mt. Pleasant, S.C. He eventually found his way to Western North Carolina. Hooten taught public middle and high school history in Hendersonville, Cary and then Raleigh for 10 years before moving back to Asheville with his wife and three young kids in 2008. Hooten writes about his all-time favorite hobby—music—for The Smoky Mountain News and Smoky Mountain Living. A second-rate guitarist, he can be found most evenings pickin’ some tunes on the back porch while enjoying the beauty of the Appalachian Mountains.
Jo Harris
is a Pigeon Forge, Tenn., native. Her ancestors were among the earliest to settle the wilderness we call the Great Smokies. She began writing in 2011 when her other hobby—collecting American and post-WWII Japanese china—was abandoned for lack of cabinet space. She found freelance writing more fun than ad copy, press releases, and stockholder reports she’d written during her 20-year banking career. She lives in Kodak, Tenn., within sight of her daily inspiration— the Great Smoky Mountains.
Paul Clark is a resident of
Jeremy Morrison
is news editor of The Smoky Mountain News. Born and raised in the Southeast, Morrison headed west — to California — upon graduating from the University of Florida. After stints at a number of newspapers, Morrison is settling into Western North Carolina, where he and his family enjoy soaking up the region’s beauty and culture.
Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle resides in Qualla
with her husband and two sons. She holds degrees from Yale and the College of William and Mary. She is a recipient of the Morning Star Award and finalist for the Pen Bellwether Prize. Annette is the Executive Director of the Cherokee Preservation Foundation.
Gary Carden
Weaverville, N.C., and has worked as a journalist for more than three decades. He is currently studying photography and videography.
is a playwright, storyteller and dramatist who has been recognized by the North Carolina Folklore Society for his contributions to folklore. Presently, he resides in his grandparents’ old farm house with his dog, Jack, his kitty, Booger and a rooster named Chauncey. He refused to give names to the groundhogs that live in his garden.
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p e rs p e ct i ve s :
MOUNTAIN MUSINGS
It’s a big, bad, changing world Somebody famous once said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” I think it may have been a member of the Kardashian family. OK, not really—the only thing the Kardashians have to fear is the fact that fame is fleeting, and their 15 minutes should have passed by now, to borrow a sentiment from another famous person, Andy Warhol. But I digress. The celebrated individual behind the notion that fear is all we have to fear is the 32nd president of the United States, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. FDR, as historians fond of sending their dissertations via text or Twitter referred to him, uttered those words during his first inauguration address in 1933, as the nation writhed in the Great Depression’s grips. Despite the enduring power of Bill Studenc Roosevelt’s rhetoric, there’s just one thing wrong with his sentiment. It’s inherently incorrect. In reality, there’s a whole lot in this big bad world to fear. The older I get, the more I understand that the things we fear— rightfully so—change with the passing of the decades. During our earliest years, we are beset with a fear of estrangement from our mother, the giver of life and supplier of sustenance. Psychologists have a fancy phrase for this—separation anxiety. Later, as toddlers we begin to develop a sense of awareness of our surroundings, leading to fears of the beast under our bed, in our closet, in our head, to steal a phrase from Metallica. (Suddenly, this writer has a fear of receiving a letter from the rock group’s attorneys, but I digress…again). The arrival of the school years does not dissipate our collective fear of the dark. (Digressing yet again, “Fear of the Dark” is the name of an Iron Maiden song I did not like very much “back in the day” but have grown to appreciate over the years as I have discovered I am afraid most of today’s music does, indeed, suck). Throw in the additional phobias that come with elementary and middle school—fear of failure, of ridicule from teachers who don’t understand our differences and from classmates who simply don’t care, of what kind of meat really is floating in the cafeteria’s vegetable “beef” soup—and it’s a wonder the majority of us are able to make it through the wonder years. As we enter adulthood and join the workforce, we are faced with fears of finding Mister or Miss Right and of landing a job in which we will earn enough to keep a roof over our heads,
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clothes on our backs and food on the table. Parenthood revives many of those long-dormant childhood fears, not so much because parents suffer directly once again, but because we desperately want our kids to avoid the bullies, wedgies, wet willies and anxieties that made parts of our own youth miserable. Fear also is generational. For those who came of age during the Cold War practicing the useless concept of “duck and cover” hoping flimsy wooden desks would miraculously shield schoolchildren from megaton mayhem, images of nuclear annihilation still visit dreams on occasion. Those who grew up after the horrors that unfolded in living color on TV screens Sept. 11, 2001, suffer from a fear of being blown out of the skies by terrorists hell-bent on making them atone for sins they were unaware their parents had committed. Today, in the wake of the deaths of Trayvon Martin in Sanford, Florida, and of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, there is fear on the part of young black men of being killed by vigilantes or police for the offense of being black and wearing a hoodie. On the other side of the equation, as NBA team owner Mark Cuban reminded us, is the fact we all have fears about people we do not understand and with whom we do not relate, whether those people wear hoodies or pocket protectors. On a personal note, I am now of an age where I receive regular invitations to join AARP, and I fear growing old, just as I fear the alternative. I fear serious illness and the high cost of health care, and I fear that Social Security won’t be there when I need it. And, with one child just starting college this fall and another a couple years away, I find myself afraid of how I’m going to pay for it all. As I told my daughter, I’m afraid they don’t award scholarships for texting skills. Hmmm. Now that I have written about paying for college in a column, I wonder if I could declare the cost of tuition, fees, room and board a business expense? Probably not. I’m afraid that would lead to the unpleasant experience most Americans fear more than public speaking and undergoing a root canal— an audit.
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
“Despite the enduring power of
Roosevelt’s rhetoric, there’s just one thing wrong with his sentiment. It’s inherently incorrect. In reality, there’s a whole lot in this big bad world to fear.”
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TRADITION. VISION. INNOVATION.
Michael Hatch, glass
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p e rs p e ct ive s :
MOUNTAIN VOICES
Hold on
BY ANNETTE SAUNOOKE CLAPSADDLE
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
ere we go again. With two curious boys (ages five and 16 months) I can plan to spend at least one day of my life, every year, wrapped in a down comforter, huddled in the fetal position on my bed, lights off, sweat-dampened hair pulled into a messy mop. Naturally, the stomach bug will hit them first, running rampant through their tiny digestive systems, ultimately infecting every corner of our toy-laden home. And then, after several days of nursing them back to health, I will get that ache in my own gut. My mouth will water, and I’ll know it’s time to call in Dad for back up. Last week, I found myself in this familiar station. As I sipped Gatorade and licked the salt from crackers, reluctant to actually consume solid food, I marveled at the magic of “fetal position.” If I could twist my body just right, perfectly hug elbows to knees, and lay very still, the waves of nausea would calm and the clench of cramps would ease. My hunkered crouch was no different than my sixteen-month-old’s was in his crib, though he prefers the rump-up version and that just wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone if I attempted it. Regardless, I felt safe. He felt safe. As human beings, we all recognize this position as the soundest retreat we can find with only our vulnerable bodies to protect us. It is momentary relief, of course. It does not cure or prevent. Merely, it provides space to breathe. One of my dearest college friends is a member of the Rosebud Sioux of South Dakota. One afternoon, years ago, we were discussing the difficulty of translating between native languages and English and that some meanings may never translate. He told me about the Lakota word, “ach-ni-a,” which has two meanings. It means to both hold something in the fetal position, as if you are clutching it tightly to keep it safe, but it also means that there is potential that something is being clutched too tightly and, thus, it is in danger of strangulation. (Think Sméagol from Lord of the Rings and his “Precious.”) This word made an impression on me. What a clear way to describe the dichotomy of retreat from fear, that hope comes from drawing inward, clutching something, even if it is only yourself. Ach-ni-a. It wouldn’t be long before I needed this wellspring of hope in my own life. By my senior year of college, my mother had been diagnosed with carcinoid cancer and within five years, every middleof-the-night phone call, every routine visit to MD Anderson Hospital, saturated my thoughts with fear. Cancer is not contagious, so one would think it was not protection that I needed, that I was not the person under attack, that I needed no refuge from sickness. But my body felt otherwise. As a grown woman, I would curl myself into my mother’s bed just to be close to her when she was too weak to join the family in the living room. Breathing was all I could manage. My throat was too clenched to speak, but she knew what I was thinking. “I wish I could have seen your children,” she whispered one day. I was startled that she had so accurately named my fear. I drew my body in closer, secretly hoping I could disappear within myself rather than confront the implications of her desire.
For perhaps six months, I hugged my empty womb. I hoped for my mother’s recovery, unsure that I could ever give her the grandchild she desired. And then the news came. My own body was growing into a vessel of hope, the kind of hope that can only come into one’s life swaddled and cooing. A whole new fear of motherhood took hold of my mind and body, and when life was delivered, a grandson, my mother witness to it. She held her grandchild and breathed in the new life. And just as quickly as the fear eased its grasp, it came again on a clear winter morning as my father, my brother, and myself stood around my mother’s bed as she drew in her own last breath. My brother held her left hand. My father, her right. And I placed my hand on her leg. We held on to her, too fearful to release our touch even for a moment. We watched the slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest. I knew that I could no longer crawl into her space and find respite. That the more I sought her protection, the tighter my heart felt. My father and my brother must have felt this same sensation. After several hours … or rather several years perhaps, my father rubbed her hand and released his hold. He sat back. I inhaled and did the same. Without a word between us, my brother was the last to release her hand from his own. We looked at her face; we looked at one another. And then we knew. She was gone. She was no longer holding on to this world so tightly because we no longer needed to hold her so tightly. All those years, I had assumed I was holding on to her, or memories of her in good health. I think now that my fetal position was more about finding shelter from the fear of a world without her, without the creation of new memories. Ach-ni-a. In our attempt to find safety in the midst of fear, we often are only clutching the fear to our own bodies—holding it close because its path is too unpredictable to release. My boys, shrouded in their youthful innocence, must know this. They heal much more quickly than I. And while they linger a little longer on their mother’s lap when sick, they do not curl within themselves alone in their rooms, as I do. They are well and playing within 24 hours of diagnosis, while it takes me three days to face the world again. Ach-ni-a. Fear is natural to this world and is far too great to try to internalize. A moment of comfort only serves to grow the hold fear can take on our spirits. Amy J.C. Cuddy, assistant professor at Harvard Business School even lectures on the effects of sleeping in the fetal position. She says that it can directly impact success; just as smiling encourages happiness, the fetal position encourages failure. It’s cyclical. We are cyclical, too.
“Ach-ni-a. In our
attempt to find safety in the midst of fear, we often are only clutching the fear to our own bodies—holding it close because its path is too unpredictable to release.”
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Jim Lenox Elk in Cataloochee Valley, N.C.
As the light changes in the fall and the landscape takes on a golden hue, the mountains burn with umber colors in a photographer’s view. Here, our readers share their captured images with you.
Matt Crowell Blue Ridge Parkway near Graveyard Fields, N.C.
Robert W. Belew Steele’s Creek Park, Bristol, Tenn.
Terry Barnes Graveyard Fields, N.C.
“After the keen still days of September,
the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth ... The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her.” —Elizabeth George Speare, The Witch of Blackbird Pond
Terry Barnes Near Highlands, N.C.
“And then there is that day when all around, all around you hear the dropping of the apples, one by one, from the trees. At first it is one here and one there, and then it is three and then it is four and then nine and twenty, until the apples plummet like rain, fall like horse hoofs in the soft, darkening grass, and you are the last apple on the tree; and you wait for the wind to work you slowly free from your hold upon the sky, and drop you down and down.” —Ray Bradbury
Terry Barnes Chimney Tops, Great Smoky Mountains National Park
Elizabeth Majcher Apple Valley Country Store, Townsend, Tenn.
Matt Crowell Baby Falls, Tellico Plains, Tenn.
Heather Hyatt Cullowhee, N.C.
Send us your images of the cold, ice and snow for Smoky Mountain Living’s upcoming December/January edition! Email your submissions to photos@smliv.com by October 15, 2014. Reader submitted photos are unpaid, but those selected are rewarded with publication in our nationally distributed magazine.
Elizabeth Majcher Ginkgo tree, Haywood County, N.C.
Don’t forget to connect with Smoky Mountain Living at facebook.com/smliv and twitter.com/SmokyMtnLiving.
d e p a r t m e n t :
MOUNTAIN MUSIC
Bound together
LESLIE RYAN MCKELLAR PHOTO
BY JOE HOOTEN
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
urder ballads have long been a part of American folklore, many of which have been handed down from one generation to the next while others have existed for centuries in other cultures across the ocean. Although this sub-genre of ballads originated around the 17th century in Europe, the Appalachian style of murder ballads blends the stark fiddle and banjo arrangements that preceded the full string band songs in recent history. Songs like “Tom Dooley” and “Frankie and Johnny” are excellent examples of ballads that have evolved from the European style and persevered over time. Unfortunately, many such songs have been lost over time, as many were only known to the local communities that celebrated them. With darkness prevailing, murder ballads constitute an effort by the singer to narrate the particulars of a crime that may or may not have taken place, while sometimes endearing himself to the listener for a plea of mercy as the song nears the end. While the singer typically explains the reasoning behind the dastardly deed and the repercussions of the event, frequently ending with the singer’s main character meeting their own maker, it’s not uncommon for murder ballads to be played slowly and in minor chord fashion. Regardless of the musical arrangement or tone, a good one will send shivers down listeners’ spines when done right. Way down in the Lowcountry of South Carolina, a wife and husband duo from Charleston have been making such a ruckus lately, playing their unique style of rock n’ roll with hints of country and folk and a whole lot of energy and excitement, not to mention a knack for writing exceptional murder ballads. Their strippeddown simplistic approach to making music, along with their dedication to earning fans one show at a time, is paying off big time and slowly making Shovels and Rope a household name. Cary Ann Hearst and Michael Trent, both hailing from other parts of the country (Mississippi and Texas, respectively), found themselves in love with one another and each other’s music and were married
in 2009. Even as the two musicians continued to follow their own solo careers, Hearst and Trent decided to record an album together. “O’ Be Joyful” was released in 2012 under the moniker Shovels and Rope. The album, full of enchanting harmonies and captivating songwriting, gained national attention and landed them a spot on the David Letterman Show in 2013 and earned the group two awards later that same year at the Americana Music Honors & Awards, including “Emerging Artists of the Year” and “Song of the Year” for the opening track, “Birmingham.” Prestigious festival appearances followed and a time-honored, highly coveted spot on the television series Austin City Limits continued to propel the duo to the next level in their musical careers. While most of “O’ Be Joyful” was recorded on the road, their latest album, “Swimmin’ Time,” was recorded in their newly constructed home studio. The songwriting is sharper on their sophomore effort, there’s a few additional instruments involved, a piano and organ, but the swagger and wit that both songwriters are known for are still there. When performing live the married couple keeps it interesting as they switch between instruments, utilizing a minimalist setup—rarely more than two guitars, a beat up drum kit, and an infrequent harmonica. Their new album opens with the captivating track, “The Devil Is All Around,” which begins like the opening of a Southern church service and then rolls along with a confession and plea for forgiveness and salvation as the folk duo sing in earnest: “Nobody knows it like you do babe/At least we will go too.” Cary Ann’s voice is reminiscent of a vivacious Loretta Lynn as Trent’s baritone completes the harmony quite effectively. The
aquatic theme, including the title track, prevails throughout the entire album, whether it’s a bluesy trip up one of Charleston’s prominent fishing channels on “Stono River Blues” or the fun romp of “Fish Assassin,” it’s hard to escape the pull of the ocean and the rivers that surround this historic city and Shovels and Rope have found it natural to write about their surroundings. Michael Trent’s proclivity for writing murder ballads stretches back way before Shovels and Rope were together. Whether it’s the story telling or the hauntingly good music that comes from these dark tales, the narrative is the meat of each song, and it’s always fun to hear a good tale told right. There’s still some darkness on this record, much like what might be deep beneath the surface of the water. “Swimmin’ Time’s” standout murder ballad is the New Orleans dirge “Ohio” is an entrancing and hauntingly fuzzed-out waltz in which the duo dreadfully lament: “Oh me Oh my Oh/Robbed at gun point in Ohio/Now I’ve gone to Louisiana/With a bullet proof bandana.” As the album bounces along like a fishing lure being reeled back in to shore, an-
With darkness prevailing, murder ballads
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This beautifully designed custom-log home has high-end quality & amenities throughout. The beautiful views into Walland Gap and the surrounding mountains will take your breath away! Guest house 68'x40' has two separate apartments (1 unfinished) with an enclosed 6-car garage that hosts an auto lift & auto bay area. This area also has an unattached two-bay garage. Behind the guest house is a grove of Native Dogwoods.
constitute an effort by the singer to narrate the particulars of a crime that may or may not have taken place, while sometimes endearing himself to the listener for a plea of mercy as the song nears the end. other dark romp filled with abysmal imagery, “Evil,” returns the darkness as the electric stomp tells a tale of someone facing hard times and self-conscious of the desperate measures that she’s had to take: “But every now and then I get evil/I’m ashamed in the shadow of a steeple.” It’s tales like this that may resonate with many. The rest of the album rarely deviates from the tried and true Shovels and Rope formula: less is more in the arrangements but not in the energy. The pair are so entwined with not only their marriage but their music as well. Thankfully, it’s paying off. WWW.SMLIV.COM
Property has an additional (48x60) 4-door climate controlled garage that can host up to 14 cars. There is also a separate 3BR/2BA guest cabin containing 1400 SF. Wonderful views of Ellejoy Valley. A 2-bay garage/shop w/half bath & 2nd floor finished usable space is also climate controlled. Below the shop is a private pasture area that horses would love. Once you enter the property you are on scenic paved roads. Grounds are beautifully landscaped with a pond and ATV trails throughout. #878965 $2,200,000
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d e p a r t m e n t :
OUT & ABOUT
Deer grazing in Cades Cove. PHOTO COURTESY OF MARY GRACE MARYGRACEPHOTOSTOWNSEND.COM
Explore by foot, bike or automobile
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tunnel of foliage hugs the roadway as it winds its way up to Cades Cove, the most visited spot in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Often described as an open-air museum, Cades Cove is 1,800 acres of wide-open space nestled along the base of the Appalachian Mountains in East Tennessee. The cove’s rolling hills, meandering streams and generous selection of plants and wildlife, as well as a handful of structures remaining from its first settlers in 1819, let visitors see what life was like in the Smokies during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Cades Cove was actually part of the Cherokee nation from early history until approximately 1819. When the white settlers started moving to the fertile land, the Cherokee found ways to adapt to their new neighbors and the two groups even lived in harmony for a brief time. While the historic sites in Cades Cove are preserved for visitors to
FOOTHILLS PARKWAY AN UNFINISHED MASTERPIECE The Foothills Parkway in East Tennessee offers an opportunity to experience unparalleled views and picturesque vistas into the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. The two-lane parkway was intended to serve as the Tennessee version of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which runs from Virginia to North Carolina. When complete, the Foothills Parkway will run
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enjoy, one thing that attracts visitors year after year is the changes the park goes through each season, making it appealing throughout the year. Approximately 1,500 black bears live in the national park. White-tailed deer also frequent the area, as do raccoons and wild turkeys. Autumn is a popular time to visit the Cove, with its starburst of color in October. Cades Cove Heritage Tours provides an 11-mile, three-and-a-halfhour guided tour for visitors to relax and enjoy the natural scenery and wildlife while listening to stories of Appalachian life in the cove. The heritage tours operates year round but offer regularly scheduled trips at 1 p.m. on Friday, Saturday and Sundays until Nov. 15. The Cades Cove Loop Road is closed to motorized traffic on Wednesday and Saturday mornings until 10 a.m. to give bicyclists a car-free opportunity to enjoy the Cove. Visit nps.gov/grsm for more information.
from Interstate 40 in Cosby, to highway 129 near Chilhowee Lake. The parkway extends 18 miles up Chilhowee Mountain. Pull-offs along the way to the mountain’s crest give a glimpse of the panoramic view from the top. The high point of the mountain is Look Rock, a natural observation ledge. To the east of the rock are the Smoky Mountains, and to the west are smooth flatlands. The observation trail is a one-half mile trail that is located 9.6 miles from the beginning of the parkway. It takes hikers on a tour of the mountains’ picturesque
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
magnificence. The trail is rated as easy hiking so most travelers can experience the scenery while taking in the fresh mountain air. The Foothills Parkway is the state’s oldest unfinished highway project. Congress authorized the project in 1944, and construction began in the 1960s. But, the project has been slow going due to lack of physical and monetary support. Several events, including rockslides and the Vietnam War, have kept this piece of the parkway from ever being completed. Only sections of the 72-mile route are finished.
A new wine country A region of North Georgia and Western North Carolina has been named an American Viticultural Area—making the Upper Hiwassee Highlands appellation the first in Georgia and the fourth in North Carolina. Appellations are defined either by political boundaries, such as the name of a county or state, or by federally-recognized growing regions called American Viticultural Areas (AVAs). Notable AVAs include Napa and Sonoma Valleys. The Upper Hiawassee Highlands AVA is a 690square-mile area producing wine from more than 50 vineyard acres. Georgia is home to more than 30 wineries focusing on A new app leads wine native muscadine grapes and lovers on a guided journey European-style vinifera and to wineries and tasting rooms, special events and French hybrid grapes. Bunch new releases in Georgia. Grapes, Norton, Lenoir and With an interactive map, Blanc Du are producing high the app explores White quality wine from grapes that County’s Unicoi Wine can handle the South’s Trail. The trail explores climate. Planted vinifera grape the region around Helen, varieties include Cabernet Ga. and features wineries, Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, taverns and lodging. To Merlot, Syrah, Chardonnay download the app, visit and Viognier. whitecountychamber.org.
An app for wine lovers
PHOTO COURTESY OF ODOM SPRINGS VINEYARD
Georgia leads the nation in the production of muscadine table grapes developed primarily at the University of Georgia. Scuppernongs and other native muscadine grapes are relatively pest resistant and thrive in the hot southern region of Georgia. Muscadines contain high levels of resveratrol and other healthenhancing antioxidants. Some wineries even sell grape skins to nutraceutical companies. Wineries in the new Upper Hiawassee Highlands AVA are: Towns County, Ga. – Crane Creek Vineyards, Hightower Creek Vineyards; Union County, Ga. – Paradise Hills Vineyards, Odom Springs Vineyards; Clay County, N.C. – Eagle Fork Vineyards; Cherokee County, N.C. – Callaboose Cellars, Valley River Vineyards, Nottely River Valley Vineyards. For more information, visit exploregeorgia.org.
MountainEats.com Let your smartphone be your guide! • Find restaurants nearby • Read descriptions and explore menus • View photos and interactive maps It’s that simple! An online dining directory for Western North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee ADVERTISING INQUIRIES: 866.452.2251
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d e p a r t m e n t :
OUTDOORS
Fall foliage forecast As the weather cools and the mountainsides prepare to discard their summer green, Western Carolina University foliage forecaster Kathy Mathews is predicting a long season of autumn hues with colors somewhat muted from what they’d be in a standout year. That’s due to rainy weather April through June, a pattern that tends to mute fall color in most tree species. Overall, sunny, dry days throughout September will do the most to brighten up the show. But the colors will likely last longer than in an average year. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s prediction of a warm fall in the Southeast portends a color season lasting well into November. And because the tulip-poplars that make up a significant portion of Smokies forests do better in wet conditions, the wet spring and summer mean their bright yellow leaves will likely stick around longer than in a drier year. Color display also varies by elevation, with higher elevations peaking first. In the Smokies, areas 4,000 to 5,000 feet above sea level typically peak during the first and second week of October, while elevations between 2,000 and 3,500 feet usually wait until the third week in October.
Daniel Martin, a student at University of North Carolina Asheville, checks a rain gauge. DONATED PHOTO
A BETTER WEATHER MAP It’s no secret that an accurate weather forecast is hard to come by in the Smokies. But after two months of intense measurements at more than 100 stations around the region, scientists working with the National Aeronautics and Space Administration are crunching data that could change that. Ana Barros, professor of earth and ocean science at Duke University and principal investigator on the Smokies project, has been recording weather data
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with her lab since October 2013, with collection ending this fall. It will take a couple years to fully analyze the information, which will also be used to better forecasts worldwide, but the lab has already made some interesting findings. Foremost is the importance of lowhanging clouds to Smokies hydrology. Because radars at the nearest National Weather Service Station—Greenville, S.C.— have to be pointed high up to keep the mountains from blocking them, the radars often miss much of the weather originating from lower-hanging clouds. But when rain falls from high clouds and passes through lower ones, its intensity increases, accounting for many of those unforeseen downpours many a hiker has suffered. The project could also illuminate how weather impacts where plant and animal communities form—and visa versa. Aerosols, tiny particles suspended in the air that moisture congregates around, are vital for rainfall to occur. But Barros wants to know where the aerosols in Smokies air come from. They could be pollutants, dust or possibly, volatile chemicals produced by the trees themselves. If tests show that’s the source, it would be a case of self-fulfilling prophecy: the trees need
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
moisture, and moisture needs aerosols to turn into rain. “We’re going to really try to put all of this information together,” Barros said, “and come up with a big picture.”
VIRGINIA HIGHLANDS CELEBRATES MOLASSESMAKING TRADITION An old-fashioned autumn celebration will punctuate October in Whitetop, Va. As Virginia’s highest mountains explode with fall color, the Whitetop Mountain Sorghum Molasses Festival, held from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Sunday, Oct. 12, will treat visitors to a demonstration of traditional molasses- and apple butter-making techniques, complete with taste tests. There will be old-time mountain and bluegrass music from some of the region’s best, arts and crafts available for sale, and a barbecue chicken dinner with a full entourage of southern sides—though it’s advised to save room for the homemade desserts. The festival is a fixture in the region, always livening up the fall on the second Sunday in October at the Mount Rogers Volunteer Fire Hall.
d e p a r t m e n t :
OUTDOORS
Eating through the mountainside B Y H O L LY K AY S
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spent a significant part of my childhood wanting to be Sam Gribley, the boy in Jean Craighead George’s “My Side of the Mountain” who runs away from the city to live in a hollowed-out hemlock tree. I thought seriously about seeking out a hemlock of my own, eating cattail tips and wild apples, reading by a turtle-oil lamp. Only two things stopped me: I liked my friends, and I liked my mom’s cooking. I’m pretty sure the latter wouldn’t have stopped Ila Hatter, a Smokies naturalist who’s one of the best around when it comes to knowing how to find a snack in the woods. It was several months ago that I first heard Hatter’s name pop up in an announcement about an edible plants tour, and I’d been waiting for my opportunity to have this fellow plant-lover introduce me to our botanical neighbors. “Whatever new place you go to, it seems like in about three years, you begin to understand the land and the land begins to understand you,” Hatter said as she began a — Ila Hatter tour of the edibles on Western Carolina University’s campus. Hatter, 72, has dedicated decades to learning the leafy landscape of the Smokies. She knows what’s safe to eat, what’s good as medicine and how to prepare it. But she doesn’t know it from books so much as from story and experience. “I think that the stories make learning more interesting, whether you’re learning about plants or anything else,” Hatter said. “It also makes a walk in the woods like a visit with our friends.” At her home in Bryson City, N.C., Hatter makes elderberry syrup and saves spicebush berries in addition to stocking food from the grocery store. She picks lamb’s quarter for salad greens and gathers wild blackberries. She understands the land, but she’s quick to point out that she’s not a trained botanist—she’s still gathering knowledge as well as plants. That’s knowledge I’ve been hunting for since returning to the Appalachians from a jaunt out West. For me, knowing the plants around me is key to feeling at home, so I listened closely as Hatter pointed out the black walnut tree, a stalwart of Eastern forests, infamous for the permanent inky stain surrounding the edible nut. For the Cherokee, Hatter said, a warm dish of corn, hominy and black walnuts is a staple, with cushaw pumpkin chunks thrown in on special occasions. “It’s a really good combination,” she said, adding that she doesn’t much care for the pumpkin kind. There’s the elderberry, whose dried flowers make delicious fritters when fried in pancake batter and whose berries yield powerful antiviral syrup, and dandelion’s host of uses include salad green, wart remover and caffeine-free coffee. Dogwood berries often were used during the Civil War to break soldiers’ fevers, Hatter said, and a cut grapevine can
Ila Hatter explains the mysteries of the walnut to her audience. HOLLY KAYS PHOTO
“I think that the
stories make learning more interesting, whether you’re learning about plants or anything else.”
release a gush of fresh water, welcome to a thirsty hiker. Then there are the non-food uses, just as vital for survival-oriented ventures. Hatter pointed out the sycamore tree, which disburses its seeds in tight, round balls. “One of the things we tell children is that they’re buttons in the woods,” Hatter said. At the center is a hard little ball attached to the stem holding the seed to the tree. Hunters used to look for sycamores to replace lost buttons during a hunt, Hatter said. Cherokee people used to roast the acorns of white or chestnut oaks— red oak acorns are much more bitter—and grind them into flour, which Hatter recommends mixing half-and-half with regular white flour. Spicebush berries were ground up as allspice flavoring, the outsides of the berries grated off for pepper flavor, and wild game boiled with the twigs. For Hatter, the process of collecting this knowledge and learning the stories behind it has been the work of a lifetime. It takes investment in people to learn their lore. “You have to have a good relationship with folks before they’ll share something like that with you,” she explained. Hatter’s now at home both in the forest and in the houses of the people who have unveiled it for her, a win-win in terms of both food and friendship. I’m still a long way off from creating either elderberry syrup or a mental encyclopedia of botanical lore. But it’s hard to spend a day with Hatter and not have some of it rub off—I went home and promptly found some lamb’s quarter to top my homemade pizza.
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d e p a r t m e n t :
MOUNTAIN LETTERS dubbed the “Crazy Man” by the townspeople, leaves weird notes of warning and advice in various mailboxes, and an older woman claims the gift of prophecy—but most of Stepp’s characters are, like Jack Teague, a blend of the new and old cultures. “Down By The River” is not without flaws. A scene near the end of the book, set in Los Angeles at the home of Jack Teague’s former wife Celine, depicts Celine as being unbelievably irresponsible in BY JEFF MINICK her treatment of her two daughters. Without Jack’s knowledge, she flies them to the West Coast and then virtually abandons them ranklin Roosevelt’s famous remark—“There is nothing to fear while hosting a wild party. but fear itself”—contains both truth and the possibility for Stepp’s depiction of Grace Conley at work also is faulty. When broad application. At one time or another, all of us face the Stepp shows us Jack Teague in his office, we get a sense of his job fear created by an uncertain future. Moving to an unfamiliar city, as a real-estate agent. Stepp shows us how he goes through his day tackling a new job, marriage, children, the death of a spouse or a and even what calculations he makes when selling property. But the loved one: these and other life-changing events rip us out of our rouauthor seems to have little sense of what it means to operate a bedtines, and we find ourselves on unfamiliar pathways, no longer cerand-breakfast. We are told frequently that Grace can get away on a tain of what lies ahead. Very often fear of that future, weekend because no visrather than the future itself, can, as Roosevelt knew, itors are expected, which dominate our quest. simply doesn’t happen In “Down By The River: A Smoky Mountain during tourist season. At Novel,” author Lin Stepp creates Grace Conley, a one point, she drops Nashville widow and mother of grown children, who everything and travels to decides to move to the small town of Townsend to open California. Stepp tells us a bed-and-breakfast. Grace is an intrepid woman a little of Grace cooking whose talents range from cooking to crafts, but her for the guests, but nothadult children cannot see her in this light. It is their ing of the hard work infears and subsequent anger about the move that Grace volved in running such must work to overcome. an enterprise. Grace even Grace’s life is further complicated by Jack Teague, opens a shop for the sale the realtor who sells her the Oakley Bed and Breakfast, of her crafts, but seems to which Grace renames the Mimosa Inn. Though marhave such large blocks of ried once—he has two daughters, abandoned, as was free time that the reader Jack, by their mother—Jack has a reputation as a playcan only conclude that boy in the small town. When Grace first meets him, he she is independently is wrapped in the arms of a woman young enough to wealthy (which she is) be his daughter. Despite this inauspicious beginning, and is merely running the both Grace and Jack feel pulled toward each other. bed and breakfast as an At the same time, Grace’s youngest daughter, Maramusement. garet, comes to live with her while waiting to return to Then there is the college and her musical training. Margaret is moody young minister, Vincent “Down By The River: A Smoky Mountain Novel,” and temperamental, and her repartee with Jack proWestbrooke. He is by Lin Stepp. Kensington Books, 2014. 308 vides some of the book’s comedic highlights. Eventutwenty-five years old, pages, $15. ISBN 978-1-61773-276-8 ally, Margaret finds herself falling in love with the and has spent most of his young minister in town, whom she has mistakenly young adulthood in judged a bumpkin. Stepp deftly juxtaposes the changes in the lives school, but halfway through the book we learn that he has written of mother and daughter, and how both, Margaret in particular, fourteen books of Bible studies and is a well-known lecturer. Again, overcome their fears of commitment and romance. these achievements take away from the realism of the character. Where Stepp excels in “Down By The River” is in her creation Speaking of faith, some readers of “Down By The River” may of her characters. The book is, as the subtitle tells us, a “Smoky also be put off by the intrusion of religious belief into the story. ReMountain novel,” because Stepp stresses both the traditional values jecting the story on this basis would be unfortunate, for Stepp acof our mountains—family, faith, an attachment to the land—while curately depicts the varieties of religious faith in Appalachian at the same time mixing in the realism of the present. Jack Teague culture in the twenty-first century. Nothing is forced here: Grace, is particularly well drawn as a slick real estate agent who, while Jack, his daughters, and others all display varying degrees of faith, seemingly interested in bedding every beautiful woman he meets, as do the people of the Smokies today. is also protective of his daughters and his extended family. Like a If you’re looking for a light, affectionate treatment of life in a small number of Southern novels, the town has its eccentrics—one man, mountain town, “Down By The River” should fit the bill.
Light novel delves into family, faith and love
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
Fall in with 47th Annual Mountain Moonshine Festival October 25 & 26th, 2014 Moonshine Run Friday, 24th—9:00 AM
Parade Saturday—9:00 AM
Car Show Friday, Saturday and Sunday Legendary race car drivers Vintage Race Cars Moonshine Cars Vendors, food, music and more! www.kareforkids.us 706-216-5273
Come explore our lakes, waterfalls & trails WWW.SMLIV.COM
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d e p a r t m e n t :
MOUNTAIN CUISINE
Before “buy local” or “grow your own,” gardens at the home place were a necessary way of life. Folks bent over the earth as beads of sweat dripped from their brow into the dirt. They walked the garden rows, fretting about the harvest. They prayed for rain and worked from sunup till sunset. Farmers didn’t pop over to the retail store to pick up a few packs of seeds, they shared seeds with their family members and neighbors. Seed saving is how Renea Winchester came to grow her great grandfather’s “Winchester corn.” “Winchester corn is perhaps the most special vegetable growing in my garden. I was fortunate enough to know my great-grandfather, Columbus “Lum” Winchester, who lived with my grandparents,” said Renea Winchester, who grew up in Bryson City, N.C. John Parris, a famed columnist who grew up in Western North Carolina and wrote the “Roaming the Mountains” column in the Asheville Citizen-Times, wrote about Columbus Winchester. His mother, Aunt Winchester, is memorialized in a portrait that hangs at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park visitor center at Oconaluftee in Cherokee. “Columbus Winchester was a tall man, so tall he had to stoop when he walked through the door. Winchester corn grows approximately 12 feet tall,” Renea said. “When I stand in the field and listen to the leaves rattle on a breeze, I can almost hear Papaw Great speak.” In “Farming, Friends & Fried Bologna Sandwiches,” Renea shares stories of her family and life the way it used to be when summers waxed long as women packed jars full of vegetables. They canned beans, beets, corn, soup mix, and blackberries picked fresh off the vine. Sundays meant a day of rest and the enjoyment of a fried bologna sandwich served on white bread slathered with mayonnaise with a hunk of wheel cheese on the side. “I began keeping a journal about 15 years ago; doing so helped me through some difficult times,” Renea said. “Journals also allowed me to capture stories of my people. My first published book was written on scraps of paper and napkins I keep tucked in the
CIDER’S TIME TO SHINE The WNC Green Building Council presents the 2nd annual CiderFest NC from 1 to 5 p.m. Nov. 2 at the WNC Farmers Market in Asheville. Cidermakers from N.C., S.C., Va. and Ga., as well as any other cidermakers who wish to celebrate the spirit, will be pouring samples paired with local
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cheeses and artisan hand-crafted breads and crackers. Area apple growers will serve non-alcoholic organic cider and Underground Baking Company will offer apple cider pretzels. A cider evaluation and award presentation will crown a cider champion, while educational opportunities include tastings, an apple press demo, cheese making demo, and a panel discussion with
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
DONATED PHOTO
Saving the seeds of wisdom
glove compartment of my car.” Renea’s first book “In the Garden with Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes” earned a nomination for the prestigious Southern Independent Bookseller Alliance Award. “Farming, Friends & Fried Bologna Sandwiches” captures the small-town community feel that was once prevalent and is rapidly vanishing. “Farming, Friends, and Fried Bologna Sandwiches” contains tips that will benefit both the inexperienced and veteran gardener and easy-to-follow r e c i p e s — e asy, that is, depending one’s cornbread skills. “I am trying, oh how I am trying, to make cornbread like my grandmother, and like my mother,” Renea said. “They each have different methods. Granny’s doesn’t use eggs, or oil. It is a hard-on-theoutside, soft-onthe-inside type of pone. Mother uses oil, and egg. Her cornbread is thicker. The crust is a bit more airy, still as crunchy.” Like saving seeds, saving local heritage is one of Renea’s primary goals. “We are in danger of losing our heritage on so many levels beginning with home places that are sold, divided, subdivided, and developed,” she said. Sharing the heritage now may help others learn to appreciate it before it’s completely gone—and thereby help to preserve what they can. “People send me seeds all the time, and I do plant them just to continue that heritage,” she said. Farming, Friends & Fried Bologna Sandwiches was released this September through Mercer University Press.
cidermakers. There will be free pumpkin painting and other activities for kids. All proceeds will support the WNC Green Building Council’s work promoting sustainable and health conscious building practices through community education and innovative programs. Tickets and more information may be found at ciderfest.wncgbc.org or call 828.254.1995
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MOUNTAIN CUISINE
Chilhowie hospitality
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PHOTO COURTESY OF RIVERSTEAD
ike so many chefs, inspiration for John Shields came early in life; his from from his father. After attending culinary school in St. Louis, John made his way to Chicago. He began work at the famed Charlie Trotters restaurant there, where he would meet Karen, his pastry chef wife. John cooked at Alinea, also in Chicago, where he worked with his mentor, Grant Achatz, who is noted as a leader in progressive cuisine. Then John and Karen left the city for the country, and found a home in western Virginia, running the acclaimed Town House from 2008 to 2012 in the Appalachian hamlet of Chilhowie. Now the couple operate Riverstead, an inn and private dining restaurant set in the same charming Smyth County locale. From a charming renovated Victorian house overlooking the beautiful bucolic countryside, the Shields host a culinary adventure in the intimate 14-seat dining room. Meals are booked in advance on Riverstead’s website. “I’ve been in the highest level kitchens in North America and Europe, but I’ve never experienced the adventure that we will offer in this natural setting,”
hour and 20 minutes. Remove the foil and bake, uncovered, until browned on top and a knife inserted into the center comes out clean, 20 to 30 minutes. Let stand 15 minutes before cutting; spoon a little of the French Toast ‘Shine Sauce over each serving. Makes 12 servings.
Rise‘n shine in the morning
French Toast Bread Pudding 6 large eggs 1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar 3 1⁄2 cups whole milk 1 cup heavy whipping cream or milk 1 ⁄2 cup Old Forge French Toast Moonshine 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1 ⁄2 teaspoon salt 1 pound loaf challah bread, cut into 1 1⁄22 inch cubes (12 packed cups) 3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into very thin slices
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PHOTO COURTESY OF OLD FORGE DISTILLERY
O
ld Forge Distillery, a mountain distillery crafting small batch spirits with local flavors, opened in Pigeon Forge, Tenn., this summer. “We have many innovative products in the works like beer-washed whiskey and our Tennessee Roots line—cocktail culture spirits using locally foraged mountain plants like sassafras and ginger root,” said Head Distiller Keener Shanton. Visitors can stop by the distillery, which is housed in a 100-year-old barn constructed of Tennessee timber and equipped with a small batch copper column still, and enjoy samples of the hand-forged spirits at a tasting bar from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. Monday through Saturday.
French Toast ‘Shine Sauce (recipe follows) Butter a deep 13x9-inch baking dish. Whisk the eggs in a large bowl until frothy. Whisk in the brown sugar until smooth. Whisk in the milk, cream, Old Forge French Toast Moonshine, vanilla, cinnamon, and salt. Stir in the bread cubes and mix well Pour into prepared baking dish; it will fill the dish. Dot with butter. Cover tightly with aluminum foil; refrigerate 2 hours or overnight; occasionally press down on the bread to submerge it. Remove the bread pudding from the refrigerator 1 hour before baking. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Bake until the pudding is just set in the center, about 1 SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
French Toast ‘Shine Sauce 1 1⁄2 sticks (3⁄4 cup) unsalted butter 3 ⁄4 cup firmly packed brown sugar 3 large egg yolks Pinch of salt 1 ⁄4 cup Old Forge French Toast Moonshine 1 teaspoon vanilla extract Combine the butter and brown sugar in a medium saucepan; cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until the butter is melted and the mixture is blended. Remove from the heat. Whisk the egg yolks in a small bowl. Whisk about one-fourth cup of the hot butter mixture quickly into the eggs, mixing well. Scrape the egg mixture into the remaining hot butter mixture, whisking constantly as you pour. Place over low heat; cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture is slightly thickened. Do not boil. Remove the saucepan from the heat and whisk in the Old Forge French Toast Moonshine and vanilla. If the mixture appears curdled, strain through a wire mesh sieve. Makes about 2 cups.
John writes on the site. “I’m pushing my creativity beyond anything I’ve ever done. We have great relationships with the local farmers, but also look for amazing seafood from unique waters and sounds.” Although the menu is constantly changing, look for dishes like duck hearts that are brined and grilled over the yakitori, with licorice-like flavors of dried beets, bronze fennel crowns, tarragon and black olives along with swiss chard leaves, cured egg yolk and a sauce of dried tomatoes, fermented blackberry, duck jus and brown butter.
Visitor Center
You are on the forefront of food, what trends do you see? I think we’ll start to see more chefs banding together to do collaborative dinners and food conferences around the country. You cook for others all the time; what do you cook for yourself? I tend to cook a lot of eggs. I love eating them, but cooking eggs properly, no matter which style you decide, takes a tremendous amount of technical skill and knowledge. What’s a favorite Virginia wine? A favorite Virginia beer? I love Fabbioli Cellars’ Tannant 2011; I also love Foggy Ridge Cider. I enjoy Devil’s Backbone and Blue Mountain breweries. Let’s talk food in Virginia. I think any smart cook embraces the ingredients and product that are close to them. Obviously the product will be fresher, but it also evokes a story. When I’m using sour quince juice from the guy down the road to make curd, it’s special because you can’t taste or experience it anywhere else. Local food benefits the environment and wildlife. Well-managed farms provide ecosystem services: they conserve fertile soil, protect water sources, and sequester carbon from the atmosphere. I love [the ramp]; its versatility … charring, caramelized, fermented in goats milk whey … the list goes on and on. — by Patrick Evans-Hylton, a Johnson & Wales University trained chef and Norfolk, Va.-based food journalist, historian and educator. Courtesy of Virginia Tourism Corporation. WWW.SMLIV.COM
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
d e p a r t m e n t :
MOUNTAIN ARTS
Quilt patterns of Gee’s Bend visit the Smokies
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Above: Louisiana P. Bendolph, Look Underneath, 2014, color aquatint, softground, and spitbite, 37 x 32 inches. Inset: Loretta Pettway, Remember Me, 2009, color softground and spitbite aquatint etching with chine colle, 29 x 29 inches. IMAGES © PAULSON BOTT PRESS, COURTESY OF THE CENTER FOR CRAFT, CREATIVITY & DESIGN
ince their first appearance at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston in 2002, the quilts of Gee’s Bend have been the subject of national critical acclaim and popularity, not least demonstrated by their appearance on the U.S. Postage Stamp. Made by multiple generations of African-American women from the isolated, rural community of Gee’s Bend (now Boykin), Ala., these quilts have been compared to the likes of high modernist paintings as well as improvisational jazz. The Center for Craft, Creativity & Design and Warren Wilson College will bring a selection of these national treasures for the first time in a dual-venue exhibition, “Gee’s Bend: From Quilts to Prints,” through the winter. The show focuses on limited edition prints designed by
four of the Gee’s Bend quiltmakers and produced in collaboration with Paulson Bott Press in Berkeley, Calif. The exhibition includes more than 40 objects, ranging from well-known 1960s workclothes quilts made out of denim and corduroy to more recently made “New Generation” quilts. Additionally, a new set of prints will make their national debut. Visitors will learn about the rich history of the Gee’s Bend community, be able to trace the artists’ process of translating their ideas from fabric into print, and be inspired by the stunning work of four significant American artists: Mary Lee Bendolph, Loretta Pettway, Louisiana P. Bendolph, and Loretta Bennett. The Warren Wilson College show closes on Dec. 20, and the Center for Craft, Creativity & Design closes on Jan. 10. A special event, Gee’s Bend in Translation: A Symposium, will be held Nov. 14-15. For more information, visit craftcreativitydesign.org/gees-bend or warren-wilson.com/HoldenGallery.
CONSERVATION CHAMPIONS COLLABORATE TO COMMEMORATE N.C. WILDLIFE What began as a gift to a friend has evolved into a major art release to benefit wildlife habitat conservation in North Carolina. Renowned artist and designer Bob Timberlake was simply doing something nice when he painted “A Resting Place,” depicting blind #6 at Camp Bryan Farms in Eastern North Carolina, for decorated conservationist Eddie Bridges. Overwhelmed by the painting’s beauty, Bridges suggested that it should be shared with other outdoor enthusiasts and conservationists. Timberlake agreed but stipulated that proceeds from the release benefit the conservation efforts of the North Carolina Wildlife Habitat Foundation, which Bridges founded. Bridges is the only person in America that has received four national conservation awards. He was also the founder of the N.C. Wildlife Endowment Fund and Lifetime License program during his time as a N.C. Wildlife Resource Commissioner. The various programs he has proposed and helped develop have now raised more than $165 million. Additionally, he proposed the N.C. Waterfowl Stamp program and the N.C. Tax Check-off box. These programs have generated over $5 million each for conservation efforts in the state.
DONATED
A “Sportsman’s Series” is Timberlake’s first wildlife themed release. It features three original creations including “A Resting Place,” the first limited edition of a collector’s set that will culminate with the release of a companion print in Fall 2015. This project will be the single largest habitat project to date for the foundation and will involve multiple conservation organizations across the state. Timberlake’s work has been exhibited around the world and the artist has exhibited four times with his mentor, Andrew Wyeth. His gallery is in Lexington, N.C. For more information, contact the Bob Timberlake Gallery at 800.244.0095 or the North Carolina Wildlife Habitat Foundation at 336.375.4994.
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d i re cto r y :
MOUNTAIN GALLERIES SOUTHERN APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS 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
GUIDE The Southern Appalachians have a rich artistic history. As long as folks have lived in these majestic landscapes, they’ve been molding, shaping and putting together items that serve not only practical purposes but also aesthetic ones, too. From weavers to potters, painters to metalsmiths, glassblowers to woodcrafters, these artisans reflect generations of heritage and innovation. Promoting and perpetuating this beauty are the galleries that are as unique and varied as the artists themselves.
DOGWOOD CRAFTERS Arts and crafts co-op featuring local artisans. Stained glass, gourd art, handmade soaps, photography, painting, canned goods, metal work and more. Established 1976. 90 Webster St. • Dillsboro, N.C. 828.586.2248 • dogwoodcrafters.com EARTHWORKS ENVIRONMENTAL GALLERY Since opening in 1992, Earthworks has focused on artists who display stewardship of the Earth, whether through design or crafting techniques. Artisans from a variety of mediums grace the gallery’s collections. Artists, both regional and from around the world, fit together at Earthworks. 21 N. Main St. • Waynesville, N.C. 828.452.9500 • earthworksgalleries.com FOXFIRE Foxfire’s Appalachian Museum, a 22-logcabin village with exhibits, artifacts and a gift shop featuring The Foxfire Book series and traditional crafts and gifts, provides heritage programs for all ages. The museum sponsors The Foxfire Magazine class at Rabun County High School, and provides scholarships to local students. 98 Foxfire Ln. • Mountain City, Ga. 706.746.5828 • foxfire.org GOLDEN CARP, THE Specializing in local and American watercolorists, exhibits of local and global artisans in basketry, pottery and fiber arts, and unique home accessories and fine gifts. 107 Webster St. • Dillsboro, N.C. 828.586.5477 • thegoldencarp.com
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EXPLORE
Southern Appalachian Galleries
artisans gallery 100% AMERICAN CRAFT FOR 29 YEARS Harvest Festival October 17-19
Lamp by WNC ceramic artists Jim and Shirl Parmentier
The Stecoah Artisans Gallery showcases the work of more than 150 area artisans. There is a wide variety of traditional and contemporary works: paintings, pottery, weaving, wood-turned items, glass works, photography, note cards, jewelry, soaps, quilts, books and much more. You can also shop online at StecoahGallery.com Open Weekdays 10 am – 5 pm Monday thru Friday March – December
And Saturdays 10 am – 5 pm April thru October
Stecoah Valley Cultural Arts Center 121 Schoolhouse Road Stecoah (Robbinsville), NC 28771
21 EAST MAIN STREET • SALUDA, NC
EXPLORE
HeartwoodSaluda.com
Southern Appalachian Galleries
828-479-3098
StecoahValleyCenter.com/gallery
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HEARTWOOD GALLERY Heartwood Gallery, located in the heart of historic downtown Saluda, is a beautiful and unique collection of American Craft, featuring one of the area’s finest pottery collections, and an array of jewelry, glass, wood, fiber, metal, and garden art. Offering 100% American Craft since 1985, Heartwood displays work designed for function as well as beauty, reflecting the quality craftsmanship of the mountain region and beyond. 21 E. Main St. • Saluda, N.C. heartwoodsaluda.com
THE
Ultimate
84-13
THE BEST SELECTION by artist “Cornbread” in the Universe!
Folk Art Gallery in the South!
3631 HWY. 53 E.
AT ETOWAH RIVER RD.
DAWSONVILLE, GA 706-265-6030 aroundbackatrockysplace.com HOURS: SATURDAY 11 TO 5 & SUNDAY 1 TO 5
MAHOGANY HOUSE ART GALLERY AND STUDIOS, THE The Mahogany House Art Gallery is located in the historic area of Frog Level in downtown Waynesville, N.C. Its brick plaster walls, dark plank wood flooring and embossed tin ceiling tiles lend a timeless appeal and complement the treasures of art displayed within. At present, the artist studios feature an encaustic artist, acylic and oil artist, a cold wax and assemblage artist and two woodturners. 240 Depot St. • Waynesville, NC themahoganyhouse.com MUD DABBERS POTTERY Handmade stoneware pottery from a family of potters producing functional and contemporary designs including bowls, mugs, pitchers, dinnerware cassorole dishes, sculptures, masks, raku and Brandon Mountain Gnomes. 20767 Great Smoky Mountain Expressway (U.S. 23-74 in Balsam) 828.456.1916 • muddabbers.com QUALLA ARTS & CRAFTS MUTUAL Qualla Arts & Crafts Mutual, Inc. is the nation’s oldest and foremost Native American cooperative. Since 1946, visionary Cherokee craftspeople and leaders have been preserving and promoting Cherokee crafts while strengthening tribal values and providing livelihoods by offering unique beauty to the wider world at Qualla. Craftsmanship is evident throughout Qualla’s beautifully redesigned artists’ gallery store, which features basketry, pottery, weaving, carving, sculpture and other works of art. 645 Tsali Blvd. • Cherokee, N.C. 828.497.3103 • quallaartsandcrafts.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 USA, and much of it is local. 117 Cherry St. • Black Mtn, NC 28711 828.669.5107 • 7sistersgallery.com Mon.-Sat. 10-6; Sun. 12-5
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EXPLORE
Southern Appalachian Galleries
We see the Earth through Our
Artists’ Eyes!
A Local Pottery Studio & Gallery
Featuring Local & Regional Handcrafts & Art
Open 7 Days a Week!
Custom Museum Quality Framing
20767 Great Smoky Mtn. Expy. (Hwy. 23/74) • Waynesville
More than 2,000 sq. ft. of fine American crafts.
Between the Rest Area and the Blue Ridge Parkway entrance at Balsam Gap
828.456.1916
828.452.9500 | 21 North Main Street, Waynesville | earthworksgalleries.com
Mud Dabbers Pottery & Crafts II
84-07
A Gallery
Art
Dances WITH WHERE
A destination in Black Mountain for over 33 years.
Nature
“Lake Santeetlah” by Jack Stern
117 CHERRY ST BLACK MOUNTAIN, NC
828.669.5107 s e v e n s i s t e r s g a l l e r y. c o m
“WHERE ART DANCES WITH NATURE” 98 NORTH MAIN ST. • WAYNESVILLE, NC • 828.456.1940 MON.-SAT.10-5:30 • SUN.1-4 • WWW.TWIGSANDLEAVES.COM
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Southern Appalachian Galleries
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Fine. Art.
Pottery Sculpture Jewelry Paintings
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3KLO &RJKLOO
Many unique, handmade gifts for $30 or less! 'HEELH 6NHOO\
250 DEPOT ST. WAYNESVILLE IN HISTORIC FROG LEVEL
828.246.0218
ARTONDEPOT.COM
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STECOAH VALLEY CULTURAL ARTS CENTER Traditional and contemporary works including paintings, pottery, weaving, wood-turned items, glass works, photography, note cards, jewelry, soaps, quilts, books and more. 121 Schoolhouse Rd. • Robbinsville, N.C. 828.479.3364 • stecoahvalleycenter.com SUSAN MARIE DESIGNS With visionary talent and skills acquired in thirty-three years as an award-winning goldsmith, Susan Marie transforms nature’s most exceptional gemstones, diamonds and pearls into wearable contemporary elegance. As a G.I.A. Graduate Gemologist, she selects the most vibrant and highest quality cut stones to create fine jewelry. Four Biltmore Ave. • Asheville, N.C. 828.277.1272 TWIGS AND LEAVES GALLERY Stroll down Main Street in Waynesville to find a unique gallery where art dances with nature. Browse through an unforgettable collection of nature-inspired works by 140 primarily regional artists and crafts persons. Take home a piece of art that echoes the wonder of nature. 98 N. Main St. • Waynesville, N.C. 828.456.1940 • twigsandleaves.com UPTOWN GALLERY (MACON COUNTY ART ASSOCIATION) Uptown Gallery showcases the work of local artists and presents Village Square Arts and Crafts shows in Highlands. Featuring an open studio and monthly presentations. Workshops and classes for adults are available, as well as children’s activities in cooperation with The Bascom, a center for the visual arts. 30 E. Main St. • Franklin, N.C. 828.349.4607 uptowngalleryoffranklin.com WAYNESVILLE GALLERY ASSOCIATION The Waynesville Gallery Association is represented by 11 unique galleries: Art on Depot, Burr Studio, Cedar Hill Studio, Earthworks Gallery, Gallery 86, Grace Cathey Sculpture, The Jeweler’s Workbench, the mahogany house art gallery and studios, TPennington Art Gallery, Twigs and Leaves Gallery, and Village Framer. The group promotes and participates in Art After Dark which happens the first Friday evening May through December. waynesvillegalleryassociation.com
240 Depot St. Waynesville, NC 28786 (828) 246-0818 themahoganyhouse.com 38
EXPLORE
Southern Appalachian Galleries
Original Art Local Artists FROM
Presentations Monthly Shows in Highlands, NC & much more
VISIT US:
“Grandfather’s Profile”
30 E. Main St. Franklin, NC or call 828.349.4607
COLORED PENCIL
15 N. Main St. • Waynesville, NC
(828) 452-9284 tpennington.com
84-75
BLUE RIDGE
UptownGalleryOfFranklin.com
84--06
ARTIST OF THE
84-08
December 12,13,14 at HandMade In America
Over 40 Local Craft Food, & Natural Product Vendors!
Downtown Asheville
Buy Handmade for the Holidays
125 S. Lexington Ave. Suite 101 Asheville, NC 28801
828.252.0121 Doors on Hilliard between South Lexington & Church Street.
First Friday of each Month Second Friday in July 6-9 p.m.
May through December
WAYNESVILLEGALLERYASSOCIATION.COM
More info at handmadeinamerica.org
Funded in part by Haywood County Tourism Development Authority • 1.800.334.9036 • visitNCsmokies.com
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Southern Appalachian Galleries
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Who’s afraid of a walk
in the woods? BY JEREMY MORRISON
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
MARGARET HESTER PHOTO
The unknown long has spooked man’s mind, and the woods, whether unexplored or shrouded in darkness, invite one to ponder just what awaits in the wilderness and how many ways a person can die. Such fear is not unfounded. Dangers do lurk in the forest thick. In the Smoky Mountain region, people have feared the wampus cat. The wildcat-like creature roams the woods, letting loose its heart-rattling screams and walking on two legs. The animal hails from legend, with strains of the story found in Appalachian folklore and Cherokee mythology. In one version of the tale a Cherokee woman is punished for spying on a hunting party as they sit around the campfire. She is transformed into a half woman-half cat creature, the wampus cat. In another version, a brave Native American woman dons a wildcat mask and defends her tribe against an evil spirit in the woods that has the power to cause a person to lose their mind. Either way, the wampus cat has been scaring the beejezus out of people for generations. While the creature is firmly rooted in folklore, sightings have been reported throughout the region. And while the wampus cat probably doesn’t merit such fear, there are other reasons to be wary of the woods, as without question there are times people walk into the woods and do not walk back out. Perhaps it is evolutionarily ingrained to have a healthy respect for the woods, to allow the phantoms of fear to circle one’s subconscious anytime he enters the forest. After all, there are wild animals and waterfall missteps, snakes strategizing their next strike, dangerous weather and poisonous vegetation. And then, of course, there’s us—perhaps the scariest thing in the woods.
Justin McVeigh, District 9 biologist with the N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission, agreed. “You just back up slowly and go the other way,” he said. If a black bear is encountered in the woods, and simply backing out of the situation won’t suffice, it’s advisable to make yourself seem as big and off-putting as possible. “Look big. Make a big noise,” Soehn said. “If you have a stick or a rock throw it at them.” “Kind of scream and yell at the bear,” agreed McVeigh. If the unlikely and the unfortunate does occur, don’t play dead. Attacks should be met head on.
NOT (USUALLY) ON THE MENU
“If you are attacked, absolutely fight back,” McVeigh said. “Punch, kick, everything you can.” In 2006, a young girl was killed after fleeing from a black bear near Benton Falls in the Cherokee National Forest. The bear also mauled the girl’s mother and 2-year-old brother—reportedly picking the boy up in its mouth—as visitors to the Chilhowee campground fended the animal off with sticks and rocks. A few years earlier, in May of 2000, a black bear killed an elementary school teacher from Tennessee while she was hiking in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park’s backcountry. However, black bears are not considered aggressive animals, and attacks on people are an extremely rare affair. “We haven’t had any real attacks in North Carolina,” McVeigh said. “It would have to be something where the bear was cornered and there was no other escape.” One reason humans may encounter a black bear— particularly an aggressive black bear—is food. The bears can become accustomed to food found at campgrounds and in backpacks or tents. “We do everything we can to make sure we don’t have foodhabituated bears,” said Soehn. “They can be very, very aggressive
If not fear, at least respect for the local wildlife is appropriate. Most wild animals prefer to avoid a confrontation; however, most will also defend themselves or their territory when they feel the need to do so. Such scenes can prove dangerous and potentially fatal for humans. The most obvious and formidable wildlife risk to leap into the mind of many outdoorsmen is a bear attack. While other areas carry the chances of a grizzly bear encounter—a considerably more serious risk—the Appalachian region is home to the smaller, less aggressive black bear. Still, a bear’s a bear. “They’re unpredictable wild animals,” said Dana Soehn, for the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. The sheer size of a bear makes it dangerous. A chipmunk would be scary at that size as well. But bears typically prefer to avoid people. Even when encountered, bears are likely to flee toward the most convenient exit route. “We advise people to back up and provide space because often the bear just wants to cross from point A to point B,” Soehn said.
PHOTO COURTESY OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK
WWW.SMLIV.COM
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The Forbidden Salad Bar
S
ome plants are edible, but others are poisonous. Sometimes, they’re both. In general it’s a good idea to abstain from eating plants in the woods unless you know exactly what it is you are ingesting. In the Smoky Mountain region, there are a number of species that could be dangerous if eaten. Among them are the pokeweed, mayapple, false hellebore and jack-in-the-pulpit. “These could all result in illness and, in severe cases, death,” said Katherine Mathews, associate professor of botany and director of the Herbarium at Western Carolina University. Pokeweed — This plant features a white taproot and broad leaves. It produces dark berries. “They have a juice that’s purplish that stains your hand,” Mathews said. “They sort of look like blueberries.” The root, stem, leaves and berries are all considered toxic. “If somebody ate a huge serving of that, they could die,” Mathews said. Death from pokeweed is rare. A person who eats too much will more likely experience symptoms such as cramps, vomiting and diarrhea. Although this plant is toxic, people do eat it. The first leaves of spring are eaten, but only after being boiled and washed twice. People around here call it poke salad,” Mathews said. “Native Americans thought of it as a spring tonic. They are highly nutritious, there’s a lot of nutrients and vitamins in them.” Mayapple — Growing just over a foot high, with large umbrella-like leaves, this plant produces a fruit in summer that is edible in small amounts. “It’s highly toxic, but it does have an edible berry,” Mathews said. “People actually make jam and pie out of it.” The plant also is used medicinally. Native Americans traditionally used the root as an antiviral or to treat stomach aches.“ It’s so toxic that if you tried to make your own concoction of it, you could actually Jack-in-the-pulpit. poison yourself,” Mathews cautioned. SARAH E. KUCHARSKI PHOTO
False hellebore — This plant grows between two and six feet high and features ribbed leaves that end in a sharp point. It is common in mountainous areas and all parts of the plant are toxic. Fortunately, this plant does not look inviting. People are unlikely to eat the false hellebore. “It looks sort of like a lilly, or an orchid maybe,” Mathews said. “I really don’t know why anyone would eat that. That’s probably the least likely to poison people.” Jack-in-the-pulpit — This plant is another one that is both toxic, yet edible. The roots of the plant can be eaten if prepared correctly but are dangerous if proper precautions are not taken. “It’s also called Indian turnip,” Mathews noted. “Native Americans cooked or roasted it. It has to be prepared just right for the toxins to be destroyed.” This plant’s root should never be eaten raw. The root is covered in tiny crystals—calcium oxalate crystals—that can cause severe pain in the mouth if ingested. Symptoms include irritation and swelling of the lips, tongue and throat. “They’re microscopic, you can’t see them. If you just ate it raw, then little crystals would get lodged in your mouth and throat,” Mathews said. “They will inflame your throat and cause this burning pain in your throat.”
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
in their search for food and loose their fear of humans. Once they lose their fear of humans they do everything they can to get that granola bar or whatever.” While the Appalachian region is rich with wildlife, it also bears a wealth of natural habitat for such animals to roam as well. People have little legitimate reason to fear an encounter while in the woods. “You know, we have coyotes, deer, bobcats. We have snakes. But as far as being dangerous, they’re not really dangerous,” McVeigh said. “The likelihood you’re going to have a close encounter with any of those is very low.” District 9 covers the western portion of North Carolina. McVeigh seldom deals with incidents involving animals attacking people. “Generally, wildlife doesn’t really pose a threat to humans,” the biologist said. “They’re going to go the other way when we come stumbling through.” Snakes score pretty high on the williesscale for most folks. In the woods they blend in to the scenery, camouflaged alongside rocks and trees, logs and leaves. Snakes found in the Smokies include the venomous Timber rattlesnake and Northern copperhead. “We did have a copperhead bite at our campground about a month ago,” said Soehn. “They sought treatment and they were fine.” Soehn describes the rattlesnake and copperhead as “not aggressive by nature.” They will attempt to flee, but these snakes can also be deadly. “Depending on their age, depending on where the bite is, it’s hard to say,” Soehn said. “For some people it can be very serious, it can be fatal.” Bats and raccoons generally are not feared but do pose a potential threat to people, as they are among the top common carriers of rabies. “If they see a bat laying on the ground they shouldn’t touch it,” Soehn said, explaining that a sick bat could bite and transmit the disease. “They have razor sharp teeth and they’re very small, and so if you pick one up you may not even know you have a puncture.” Rabies doesn’t mean death. But it’s no fun either. “It’s serious,” Soehn said. “A series of shots you have to go through.” Insect stings represent a similar problem, as to most these creatures are an annoyance—but to others they are a matter of life and death. “Probably the biggest threat is an allergic
PHOTO COURTESY OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK
“Probably the biggest
threat is an allergic reaction to yellow jackets.� — Dana Soehn, Great Smoky Mountains National Park
reaction to yellow jackets,� Soehn said. “And bald-faced hornets, too.� There also are elk, whose racks alone are reason to keep a safe distance. “If you’ve ever seen a video of them sparring—the males try to win the affection of the female in the herd—it’s ferocious,� said Soehn. There’s no record of an elk attacking a person in the region, but they have been known to become too comfortable around people for the National Park Service’s liking. Recently, one elk in particular crossed that line. “It had become food conditioned and had begun challenging people for food,� Soehn explained. “Eventually we had to put the elk down.� The region also is home to bobcats. They are quite secretive and rarely seen. This relatively small feline is not considered particularly dangerous—“the bobcat is about the size of a house cat�—and is not to be confused with the much more concerning varieties such as a cougar, panther or mountain lion. Long ago the Appalachian region was home to mountain lions. The large cat certainly
posed a great danger to inhabitants of the time, but nearly a century has passed since then. “People might think they have seen one, but we haven’t had any sightings in the park that have been conďŹ rmed,â€? Soehn said.
WATCH YOUR STEP AND THE WEATHER While wildlife encounters may present the most dramatic source of fear during forays into the woods, they are an outside risk at best. The natural environment and elements themselves present a more clear and present danger. “We certainly have a lot of steep, rocky trails and we have swift, rushing streams,� Soehn said. Rather than worry about wildlife, people should be more afraid of the trail they’re hiking or biking. Injury, or even death, may result from a fall off a cliff or collision with a tree. “Obviously it’s mountainous, it’s steep, it’s uneven,� said McVeigh. “Be aware of your surroundings and what you’re walking on.� And statistically speaking, the possibility of sustaining some sort of hobble-back-to-the-
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parking-area caliber injury should be terrifying as we enter the woods. “Things that are most common are sprains and strains,” said Justin Padgett, executive director of Landmark Learning, a school for outdoor professionals in Cullowhee, N.C. Even the weather should give us pause. In the wilderness, dampness is an enemy and the cold can prove deadly. Those looking for something with a bit more flash to fear, lightening should do the job. “Lightening is a problem here,” Padgett said. “Lightening kills. It kills people who work and play outdoors, hikers and bikers.” Getting hit with a jolt of lightening anywhere can be fatal, but when in the wilderness and far from immediate medical care the scenario can prove significantly worse. Padgett describes treating a lightening victim in the woods as “almost philosophical and fairytale-ish.” Resulting injuries can range from minor to fatal and survival is likely determined by the severity of the strike.
Snakes found in the Smokies include the venomous Timber rattlesnake and Northern copperhead. The reptiles will generally avoid confrontation, but can be deadly. PHOTO COURTESY OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK
slim and such fears should be minimal. “It would be people who were interested in edible wild plants intentionally going out and trying these things— having a little bit of information, but not — Justin Padgett, executive director of Landmark Learning enough,” said Mathews. “It would have to be “That’s the problem with lightening,” somebody that really intends to experiment Padgett said. “Lightening’s anywhere from with edible wild plants.” they-felt-a-jolt, no-other symptoms, you While few people eat plants in the forest, know, their hair stands on end, to they’re in significantly more light campfires. This can cardiac arrest.” also be a scary endeavor—Mathews suggests Look out as well for the growing danger. steering clear of the mountain laurel and “If you’re going to be outside you should rhododendron. probably learn what poison ivy looks like — “I don’t know if it’d kill you, but it’d make you know, ‘leaves of three, let it be,’” you really sick to inhale the smoke,” the McVeigh said. biologist said. Plant life can present particular danger if ingested. A blue berry isn’t necessarily a blueberry. And some plants may be medicinal, SCARING OURSELVES but at the same time poisonous. The Smoky Mountain region is home to a Some fears associated with the woods number of such species. There’s the always will haunt us. Thoughts of the wampus pokeweed, mayapple, false hellebore and jack- cat creeping up along some moonlit mountain in-the-pulpit. trail, for example, may forever send a chill up “They’re all native species, very common one’s spine. species that people might encounter when But other fears can be belayed, can be they’re hiking,” said Katherine Mathews, minimized. Simple communication can associate professor of botany and director of the alleviate the fear of being isolated and Herbarium at Western Carolina University. abandoned in the wilderness. Generally speaking, people don’t go into “Make sure people know where you’re the woods planning on grazing. For most, the going to be,” McVeigh stressed. chances of ingesting a poisonous plant are And make sure you don’t unwittingly bring
“The number one problem
for humans is humans. It starts with ‘don’t be a victim.’” Know how to take care of yourself in these conditions.”
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
your fears to fruition. Be smart. Don’t try to pet an elk. Don’t leave out food that will attract bears and snakes. “You know, you don’t want to be hiking alone on one of our ridgetops during one of our lighting storms,” McVeigh said. “That’s not a good idea.” In the modern age, some people may be tempted to calm fears and find comfort in the arms of technology, even deep the in natural environment of a state park or national forest. Blind reliance on cell phones or helicopter rescues is not a good idea. “That big misconception is out there,” Padgett said, explaining that rescuers often are unable to reach victims requiring medical aid in the wilderness and that cell phone reception isn’t always available. “They say ‘I don’t have to be prepared or know medical skills, I’ll just use my cell phone.’” Being prepared may prove the best protection. “Just purchase a field guide and put it in your first aid kit—good idea. Making sure your first aid kit is stocked—good idea. Making sure you know if you’ll have cell reception—good idea,” said Padgett. In that respect, a lot of the fears awaiting us in the woods are rooted in ourselves. Should we be scared of the wilderness and the dark, or should we fear losing our way because our map app evaporated and left us lost in a lightening storm? “The number one problem for humans is humans. It starts with ‘don’t be a victim,’” said Padgett. “Know how to take care of yourself in these conditions.”
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SPEED, SPIRITS, & SPUNK: A RIDE ON THE WILD SIDE
“I will show you fear in a
handful of dust.” – T.S. Eliot
46
y the age of ten, the boy had learned to drive and was delivering cars around Atlanta for his father’s paint and body shop. The tips he stuffed in his pocket— sometimes as much as a whole dollar—added up to good money in 1941, but he fancied more than tips and what little his father paid him for helping out. A few years later he had his own delivery business. But it wasn’t cars with fresh coats of paint and shiny new bumpers he was delivering. Fourteen-year-old Charlie Mincey was hauling moonshine. SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
1947: Bob Richey out in front in #3 car at Alton Park Raceway, Chattanooga, Tenn. PHOTO COURTESY OF THE RICHEY FAMILY
BY JO HARRIS
Gutsy drivers like Charlie knew the hazards involved in getting moonshine to clandestine distribution points, usually urban centers with nip joints, shot houses or speakeasies, but their perceived invincibility—reinforced by youthful ambitions, devil-may-care attitudes, or even desperation—plus the lure of big money, were compelling incentives. In cars they’d modified for speed, handling and maximum cargo space, these drivers experienced more than the heady taste of distilled spirits; they got drunk on fear, on lightning-fast speeds and outrunning the law. It was running ’shine, tripping, or hauling—transporting bootleg whiskey over twisty mountain roads and along dark stretches of blacktop, often while playing cat and mouse with revenuers—where mettle was tested, skills were honed, and the zeal to
outrun federal agents led some drivers off the whiskey roads and onto dusty race tracks. Seven nights a week, young Charlie drove from Atlanta to Dawson County, Ga.—a mecca for moonshine production—where he would load his hopped-up 1939 Ford with more than 100 gallons of moonshine then rush back to Atlanta, hopefully unnoticed. After tacking $1 per gallon to the price he’d paid just hours before, he sold his liquid cargo. The math was simple and the income mindboggling for a teenager in the 1940s. It was lucrative, but risky. “I never got caught, but got jumped on a few times by the revenoors and was tangled up in some pretty good chases,” Charlie said. “It got scary when bullets started whizzing around.” The quick-witted, soft-spoken octogenarian now lives in Dallas, Ga. with Carolyn, his wife of 63 years. Charlie tripped moonshine, as he calls it, until his new bride finally put her foot down when he was 19. She didn’t mind his racing, which he did for more
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than three decades—breaking a few ribs and a lot more records—but disdained his illicit midnight runs. When a couple of Charlie’s friends built him a race car to get him off the road before he got caught or killed, he hit the dirt ovals and never looked back. He won his first two races in the jalopy class and immediately moved up to the sportsman class. Beating veteran racer Jack Smith in that first race proved just how much he’d learned on the whiskey roads. Charlie often would race in Chattanooga on Fridays, Cleveland on Saturdays then back across the Tennessee state line at Georgia’s Peach Bowl track on Sundays. He seemed unbeatable with as many as 22 wins out of 24 starts. Moonshine and dirt created a powerful combination for Charlie who retired in 1980. He was inducted into the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame in 2004, six decades after that first load of moonshine. Reputedly, NASCAR great Junior Johnson of Wilkes County, N.C., was the most
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legendary moonshine runner. Like Charlie, Junior started hauling when he was 14. And also like Charlie, he never was caught behind the wheel. He was too fast, elusive and fearless. His pursuers, in their slower government-issue sedans—unless they happened to be driving a confiscated moonshine car—were hoodwinked by addons like under-dash toggle switches that shut off tail and brake lights, and maneuvers like the bootlegger’s turn—a sliding, high-speed, 180—that Junior could execute so skillfully he’d be heading in one direction, then thundering straight toward and past the Feds before they realized they’d left more skid marks in their BVDs than on the road. When haulers like Charlie and Junior started congregating for impromptu races in corn fields and cow pastures across the south, wagering on who had the fastest machine and was the best driver, a lot of dust was stirred up. Before long, others in more respectable pursuits joined in. When word spread, spectators started showing up, promoters saw dollar signs and car racing accelerated into a national pastime. Charlie insists stock car racing started in the dusty fields of Dawsonville, Ga., and many historians agree. Many also agree that illegal liquor gave rise to stock car racing, and NASCAR, which Bill France organized in Daytona Beach, Fla. in the late 1940s. Neal Thompson in “Driving with the Devil” said, “The sport’s distant, whiskey-fueled origins are usually wrapped into a neat, vague little 48
Above: Charlie Mincey and his moonshine haulin’ car. Below: having turned to more legal pursuits, Mincey takes a victory lap in a 1952 race. PHOTOS COURTESY OF GEORGIA AUTOMOBILE RACING HALL OF FAME ASSOCIATION AND THE MINCEY FAMILY.
clause—whose early racers were bootleggers.” Daniel Pierce, professor and chair, Department of History at the University of North Carolina-Asheville, grew up within earshot of the track in West Asheville, but was 40 years old before he attended his first car race. When he started researching his book, “Real NASCAR: White Lightning, Red Clay and Big Bill France,” he didn’t want preconceptions coloring things, but did admit, “I thought I’d prove the whole moonshine connection was overblown and exaggerated, but the deeper I looked, the more liquor I found. All the top racers hauled liquor. I was fascinated to learn it wasn’t just the drivers involved in the moonshining business, but also the mechanics, the promoters and track owners.” Exploring NASCAR’s roots led Pierce into a deeper study of moonshining. The result was “Corn from a Jar: Moonshining in the
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
Great Smoky Mountains,” a book that separates fact from fiction as it delves into the history of moonshining in the Smokies. Moonshiners may have been considered merchants of iniquity, but making moonshine was so deeply rooted in family tradition many felt it a God-given right. Every aspect of the business has been glamorized and sensationalized, with the participants being unjustly stereotyped as ne’er-do-wells when most were simply trying to survive in a region where poverty’s grip was especially tenacious. Pierce’s book humanizes the people for whom moonshining was a way of life. Years before moonshine was hauled over Appalachian back roads in hopped-up vehicles, as soon as there were two cars, two drivers and a trunk-load of ego, car owners must have enjoyed flaunting their ride and their driving prowess. Some sources indicate the sport goes back to pre-World War I, gained popularity in the ’20s and ’30s, and really took off after WWII when returning GIs were craving the adrenaline rush they’d experienced in battle. That popularity led automobile manufacturers—who soon realized horsepower and stock car races sold vehicles—to battle it out on showroom floors as they made cars with more powerful engines available to the public, including an everincreasing number of race fans. One of those fans is Debbie Bethune who grew up around the tracks in Chattanooga and Cleveland, Tenn. While her parents focused on
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the races, Debbie napped in the stands, somehow lulled to sleep by the rumble of engines and din of fender-benders. “My mom and dad were at Boyd’s Speedway in Chattanooga on a Saturday night in May, 1957, and I was born a little after midnight on Monday,” Debbie said. “I was swaddled and ready to make my debut at the track the following weekend. Dad always said that’s why I love fast cars.” She recalls her dad winning the chance to enter the pits where a wheelbarrow containing pennies had been set up. There he was allowed to grab as many coins as he could, stuff them in a cloth bag, and rush them back to the announcer to claim his prize. Folks loved the heart-pounding, rough and tumble action, but contests like the penny grab, and the circus-like atmosphere track owners created as a way to keep the grandstands filled were fan magnets. Track owners often booked Joie Chitwood’s Thrill Show featuring daredevil stunt driving and paid for antics like purposely flipping a car, as Paul Doss, the Flying Hill Billy of Calhoun,
Tenn., did in the 1950s for $50. The stunts and gimmicks paid off, but the wrecks, spinouts, fires, and fights—either staged or real— brought fans to their feet and kept them coming back to the tracks. In the early days of dusty, red dirt tracks when fans like Debbie’s parents flocked to the races, it was hazardous for drivers and fans. There were few protective barriers for spectators so many track owners began posting warnings. “Stock car races are thrilling, dangerous and spectacular,” they might say but were quick to add that management assumed no liability for injuries to person or property. In the 1950s, drivers wore hard-shell helmets, but there were no fire suits, and in the 1960s some drivers resorted to dipping their clothes in baking soda hoping to make them fire retardant. Generally, early racers wore whatever was most comfortable. A 1955 photo of racing legend Fonty Flock shows him strapping on his helmet before a race wearing a short-sleeved shirt, Bermuda-length shorts, knee socks, and what appeared to be a
Paul Doss of Calhoun, Tenn., would intentionally flip his car for $50. PAUL DOSS FAMILY PHOTO
Track owners fostered a circus-like atmosphere to keep the grandstands filled. The stunts and gimmicks paid off, but the wrecks, spinouts, fires, and fights— either staged or real—brought fans to their feet and kept them coming back to the tracks. 50
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
perfectly-polished pair of black wingtips. Dirt tracks are still part of the racing scene. Tracks may be flat or steeply banked and are usually short—one half mile or less. The dirt can be any soil, but the favorite is clay, which generally is watered down pre-race, and sometimes mid-race, to keep the surface tacky. “Good dirt plays a key role in providing the best racing surface, along with the know-how in grooming the clay to offer drivers multigrooves to maneuver their high-powered machines around the high banks,” said Phyllis Loven, co-owner with her husband, Joe, of Volunteer Speedway in Bulls Gap, Tenn. Some refer to The Gap, known as Volunteer Speedway, as the world’s fastest dirt track. The 4/10-mile oval is banked at 32 degrees, and according to Phyllis, brings the “cream of the crop dirt racing world to East Tennessee.” Local and regional talent share Volunteer’s track with some of the nation’s biggest names and touring divisions on dirt. In 2010, during time trials for “Kasey’s King of Bulls Gap” World of Outlaws Sprint Car Series, NASCAR superstar Kasey Kahne thrilled the crowd by shooting around the track in a little more than 10 seconds—a speed of 140.378 mph. The Gap’s season revs up every year in March with the Spring Thaw and ends in the fall with a real Scorcher. Racing on dirt is, well, a dirty business. Joe Loven has to dodge the mud balls when he’s out on his Cat road grader preparing the track. And over the many years he’s been involved in racing—as a spectator, race car owner and now track owner—he’s seen a lot of dirt. The racing bug bit him 65 years ago at the dusty, 3/4-mile track in Charlotte, N.C. where he, his father and brothers attended NASCAR’s first Strictly Stock car event with more than 20,000 other spectators. Shortly after the green flag fluttered in the hot Carolina wind, wheels snapped off, radiators became clogged with dust and engines stalled. The chaos included one driver running off the track to face the sting of defeat—he’d driven into a swarm of bees— and Lee Petty (Richard’s father) rolling a borrowed 1946 Buick four times. Glenn Dunnaway was declared the winner but was disqualified when it was discovered he’d raced a moonshine-hauling car. Second place driver, Jim Roper, moved into victory lane taking home the $2,000 purse. Joe remembers that 1949 June race like it was yesterday. It had been particularly hot and dry in Charlotte, and the dust was so bad during qualifying that town officials threatened to shut the race down if promoters didn’t do something about it. “Everyone came out to see what stock car racing was all about,”
SPEED, SPIRITS, & SPUNK: MORE ON DIRT AND MOONSHINE
y
y A vintage racing program from the 1960s shows Walter Ball in his #7 Chevy at the Sportsman Speedway in Johnson City, TN. Top: A big crowd at Volunteer Speedway in Bulls Gap, Tenn.
y
COURTESY OF THE BALL FAMILY RANDALL PERRY MOTORSPORTS PHOTOGRAPHY
The ’39 and ’40 Fords were popular moonshine cars valued for ample trunk space and understated style. y A load of moonshine could weigh more than 800 pounds; stiffened suspensions made the weight undetectable to revenuers. y Legendary moonshine runner, Junior Johnson was “nabbed at his daddy’s still” in 1956 and served time; decades later President Reagan granted him a full and unconditional pardon. He y
y
y
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had 50 NASCAR wins in his 11-year career, and now has a signature, legal liquor, Midnight Moon. Dawsonville, Ga., holds a Mountain Moonshine Festival annually, is home to the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame Museum, and home to five Daytona winners A few of the largest producers of moonshine were Dawson County, Ga., Cocke County, Tenn., Franklin County, Va., and Wilkes County, N.C. Alex Gabbard’s, “Return to Thunder Road: The Story Behind the Legend” explores real life connections to Robert Mitchem’s 1958 cult classic movie, “Thunder Road.” Early female racers included Sara Christian, wife of a bootlegger; Ethel Flock Mobley (named after the fuel her father used in his taxi cab) who beat two of her three brothers on the beach in Daytona in 1949; and Louise Smith, known as the first lady of racing Dirt track legend Charlie Mincey was a stunt driver in the ’70s movie “Corky” starring Robert Blake. The National Speedway Directory is a WWW.SMLIV.COM
comprehensive listing of track information y Scott Bloomquist, National Dirt Late Model Hall of Famer, is sponsored in part by Ole Smoky Moonshine—one example of how the racing and moonshine connection has come full circle (ab0ve). y NASCAR’s last race on dirt was Sept. 30, 1970 in Raleigh, N.C.; Richard Petty took the checkered flag. y The 80-minute DVD “It’s a Dirt Track Life: Memories of Dirt Track Racing from Dawsonville to Gatlinburg” is available from oldtowncleveland.com 51
Dale Ball was racing when his wife was in labor with their twin daughters, Dotty and Dolly, 28 years ago. PHOTO COURTESY OF THE BALL FAMILY
“I’ll admit I get a major case of butterflies on race day. I can’t eat. Don’t want anyone to talk to me. But, I’ve won around 150 races and once I’m out there, I’ve got nerves of steel. The kicker is it’s hard to get me on a stepladder over four feet high.” — Dale Ball
Joe said. “And let me tell you, boy it sure was a dusty deal. The dust was so thick the flagman would periodically throw the caution flag to give the dust time to settle so both drivers and fans could see what was going on.” Dusty race tracks always have been part of Dale Ball’s life. “My first race was when I was 13 in a class called Six Cylinder 40 years ago. I didn’t have enough sense to be scared back then. These days, the only thing that scares me is fire. I’ve had a car to burn and it’s terrifying. I’ll admit I get a major case of butterflies on race day. I can’t eat. Don’t want anyone to talk to me. But, I’ve won around 150 races and once I’m out there, I’ve got nerves of steel. The kicker is it’s hard to get me on a stepladder over four feet high.” In his office at Twin D Auto Sales in Johnson City, Tenn., Dale and his sister, Linda, reminisced about their family’s racing history. They talked about their father, Walter, who started racing in the mid-50s, enjoyed a distinguished career and is remembered with the annual Walter Ball Memorial race at Volunteer Speedway. “Dad won over 400 races and captured championships at several 52
local and regional tracks, including Volunteer where one year he had 19 wins out of 21 starts,” Dale said. “But after Mother died in 1978, he didn’t want to take the chance that his children could be without both parents so he hung up his helmet for good. But he loved racing and always stayed involved.” Linda recalled sleeping on an automotive creeper in the garage, working on engines alongside her dad and coming up short when trying her luck in a powder puff derby. “Dad drove number seven and recently I started driving a seven, but number 18 has special significance to me,” Dale said. “Dad was born on March 18. On his 70th birthday, I was at the track racing and he was in the infield pits rooting me on. I’d messed up and qualified 18th. On lap 18, they red-flagged the race, and it wasn’t long before I knew why. Dad had suffered a heart attack and died there at the track. We miss him but know it’s the way he would have wanted to go.” Dale’s countenance changed as quickly as one of Junior Johnson’s U-eys though as he recalled racing while his wife was in labor with their twin girls. “They still love the SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
sport,” Dale said about his daughters, now 28. “Can’t keep ’em away from the track.” But there’s something missing for Dale in dirt track racing these days. “It’s the show! In the old days, it was almost like a carnival with the publicity stunts, fan involvement, but especially the fights. Those clashes between drivers seemed to break out at every race and sure did keep the grandstands filled.” There was a time when $250 and a trip to the junkyard was about all it took to race. Today, racers dig deep in their pockets to come up with the thousands of dollars it costs to field a car. For a racer with few or no sponsors, it hits the pocketbook even harder. “The economy affects everything, and if fan base falls off because only a few cars are racing, the track eventually will be forced to shut down,” Dale said. In Cleveland, Tenn., Debbie and Ron Moore had grown accustomed to hearing the rumble and roar of engines at Cleveland Speedway from their home. The track, which legendary NASCAR driver Joe Lee Johnson once owned, shut down in 2013 after 59 years. “The silence was deafening,” Debbie said. Their love of history and desire to preserve it, along with the love of the sport, prompted Ron and Debbie to write and produce “It’s a Dirt Track Life: Memories of Dirt Track Racing from Dawsonville to Gatlinburg.” The 80minute documentary is jam-packed with vintage photographs, old home movies from tracks in Tennessee and Georgia, interviews with moonshine runners turned dirt track racers and conversations with several racing pioneers. Appalachian State University also is preserving racing history with a comprehensive collection of stock car racing materials. “Everything we have in the Stock Car Racing Collection evokes memories, but one of my favorites is the G. Wayne Miller Collection of audio tapes. Miller’s book, ‘Men and Speed: A Wild Ride through NASCAR’s Breakout Season,’ follows the fortunes of Roush Racing. The collection consists of the many taped interviews he did with Jack Roush, his four drivers, and others in the industry. It is so revealing to hear these folks talk about their lives and work,” said Suzanne Wise, collection curator. In the “Men and Speed” documentary, Norm Benning, NASCAR Camping World Truck Series driver says, “…on dirt, horsepower means nothing, ergonomics means nothing; it’s all about what’s between the seat and the steering wheel.” But perhaps the most illustrative description of the sport is often screen-printed on fans’ T-shirts: asphalt’s for gettin’ there, dirt’s for racin’.
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DARKER DAYS The grim histories of peoples persecuted and pursued BY ANNA OAKES
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SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
A number of pen and ink drawings created in the late 1600s and 1700s depict the attacks and massacres of the Waldenses in Italy. Some settled in the small North Carolina foothills town of Valdese.
“‘We’re only doing this for your own good’—words that hide a multitude of sins,” surmised Samuel Carter III in his historical account of the crimes committed against the Cherokee. Many shameful atrocities against fellow man have been rationalized, in one way or another, throughout millennia. Persecutions of the Cherokee, Melungeons, Waldenses, and others who originated in or came to the Southern mountain region are among the ugly, disappointing moments in human history, and be forewarned that some of these accounts are disturbing, abhorrent, and graphic. Whether through physical violence or emotional manipulation, oppression casts a lasting, devastating shadow on individuals, communities, and entire populations. But as the old adage insists these histories are worth recording—lest we repeat them.
became a threat to the Catholic Church. If you got started converting people to your religion, then you were going to have problems with the Catholic Church.” In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, popes ordered expeditions of inquisitors to seek out these heretics and exterminate them. Stories of these attacks and massacres are recounted in graphic detail. The seventeenth century scholar J.A. Wylie documented the history of the Waldenses in great detail in The History of the Waldenses, with citations throughout. “They were ever and anon fulminating their persecuting edicts, and their inquisitors were scouring the valleys in pursuit of victims. An inquisitor of the name of Borelli had 150 Vaudois men, besides a great number of women, girls, and even young children, brought to Grenoble and burned alive,” wrote Wylie. When under siege, the pious villagers would flee their settlements in the Alpine valleys and head for the mountains to cloak themselves in caverns and caves—some large enough to hold 3,000 people. But on one such occasion, they were detected by their assailants and smoked out of the cave by fire, a slaughter awaiting them as they emerged. They adapted to a life of exile and persecution in other ways. “They kept raw dough on the table at all times, so if someone did come and try to seize the building while they were studying, they would take all their stuff and wrap it up in the dough and put it on the fire like they were making bread,” Collins said. Some homes had loose stones in the fireplace behind which documents could be hidden.
BLOOD-STAINED ROOTS Valdese is a small North Carolina town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, an area settled in 1893 by Waldenses (from the French Vaudois and Italian Valdesi) seeking religious freedom and opportunity. They came from Italy, where for centuries they endured gruesome acts of brutality and forced exile because their beliefs diverged from those of the Catholic Church. Some believe the Waldenses actually predated a leader named Peter Waldo—a merchant in France who relinquished his wealth to take up the cause of evangelism—while others document him as the movement’s founder. At the core of the Waldensian Christian doctrine, like that of Martin Luther, was the strong conviction that the Bible was open to interpretation by everyone, not only priests; they believed in individual freedom of conscience. Spreading the gospel was an essential part of their religious practice. For this, the Catholic leadership in France sentenced the followers to excommunication and exile, and they fled in the late twelfth century to the Alpine valleys of the Piedmont region in Italy. The movement continued to grow, with the School of the Barbas established to train their spiritual leaders. “Waldensians were unbelievably organized in their mission work,” explained Anthony Collins, director of the Waldensian Trail of Faith museum in Valdese. “They were sending out young men two by two across Eastern Europe, and they were converting folks to Christianity in a huge kind of way—so much so that they
“If you got started converting people to your religion, then you were going to have problems with the Catholic Church.” — Anthony Collins, director of the Waldensian Trail of Faith Museum
Waldensian Trail of Faith Director Anthony Collins explains that Waldenses, in fear that Catholic Church authorities could arrive at any moment, would keep a lump of bread dough on the table at all times. If soldiers came, they would hide their scriptures and other spiritual documents within the dough and put it in the oven. ANNA OAKES PHOTO
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Many more wars and attacks followed as decades and centuries went by, but none so horrific and ghastly as the infamous massacre of 1655, the “Great Massacre.” Wylie drew from the account of the Waldensian pastor and historian Leger, which was held at the University of Cambridge, which described terrible scenes: children’s heads dashed against rocks, the sick and aged burned, limbs cut off, some buried alive, some dragged behind plows. “My hand trembles,” wrote Leger, “so that I scarce can hold the pen, and my tears mingle in torrents with my ink, while I write the deeds of these children of darkness.” Concluded Wylie: “These cruelties form a scene that is unparalleled and unique in the history of at least civilized countries. There have been tragedies in which more blood was spilt and more life sacrificed, but none in which the actors were so completely dehumanized, and the forms of suffering so monstrously disgusting, so unutterably cruel and revolting.” Some challenged the accuracy of Leger’s accounts, but the horrifying tales of the massacre were memorialized by others, including the great poet John Milton. He wrote this sonnet about the massacre: “Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Forget not: in Thy book record their groans Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roll’d Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyr’d blood and ashes sow O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who having learned Thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.”
Mahala Mullins was a legendary Melungeon moonshiner who lived in Newman’s Ridge, Tenn. PHOTO COURTESY OF CRAIG DISTL/BURKE COUNTY TDA
“Free Melungeons lived in constant fear of abduction and loss of liberty during the long night of American slavery, when the slightest trace of African blood might lead to abduction.” — Jim Hashaw, Children of Perdition: Melungeons and the Struggle of Mixed America
Despite these trials, a few Waldenses survived. The Reformation transformed Europe, and in the mid-nineteenth century the Waldenses were granted civil rights. Some emigrated to Uruguay and Argentina in South America and to North America. Valdese was the largest American settlement, with 29 arriving in May 1893 and 178 more following in November of that year. Collins estimates that 25 to 30 percent of the Valdese population is of Waldensian descent, and many Waldensian names are common.
DISTRUST OF THE UNKNOWN Although the arrival of the Waldensians in America around the dawn of the twentieth century was most certainly a welcome change for that population following centuries of suffering in Europe, other groups living in the states at the time were subject to exclusion, injustice, and brutality because of racial discrimination, including a people who settled in the mountains of North Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee known as the Melungeons. “Melungeons have lived in the mountains so long that no one remembers where they came from,” noted Tim Hashaw, author of Children of Perdition: Melungeons and the Struggle of Mixed America. Although recent DNA studies have indicated that Melungeons
descended from northern European and African ancestors, for more than a century their origins were considered a mystery both within and outside of Melungeon circles. Some maintained they were some cross between multiple races and nations of forebears, including Portuguese, Cherokee, Hebrew, Romani gypsies and Turks. This peculiar and ambiguous lineage, Hashaw posited, may have in fact been developed as a defense mechanism for those seeking to avoid the vitriol directed at blacks in the South: “Much of the attention in the past has focused on sensational theories of Melungeon origins, ignoring evidence that the Melungeon ‘mystery’ was a diversion to conceal African ancestry during slavery and Jim Crow,” he wrote. Rumors and fear of the unknown morphed into folklore; some called them “boogeymen.” Hashaw cited one early description of the mountain dwellers as “dark-skinned devils with blue eyes.” Blacks and whites alike shunned them. Unruly boys and girls were sternly reminded by their parents of the tale of the winged, six-fingered Melungeon ogres that would swoop down to carry off disobedient children. Mattie Ruth Johnson grew up in the Melungeon area of Newman’s Ridge in the east Tennessee county of Hancock, where some portrayed them as “a bunch of dirtyfaced, lowdown scoundrels living in shacks with no floors, sitting around spitting tobacco juice, and watching everything with
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The scars of fear and persecution
I
t may go without saying that living under fearful conditions is bad for one’s health, but research indeed bears out that assumption, with evidence that multiple generations may suffer from the impacts of persecution — mental, physical, and emotional. A study published by The British Journal of Psychiatry in 1996 examined the impacts of persecution and exile among 231 refugee patients at the Psychosocial Centre for Refugees in Oslo, Norway. More than 46 percent of patients had a post-traumatic stress disorder, and experience with torture “emerged as an important predictor of emotional withdrawal and retardation. Refugee status also predicted for hostility and aggression, the study found. “The results confirm earlier findings that refugees constitute a population at risk for mental disorder,” it stated. The psychiatrist Hans Keilson in 1979 presented the first systematic analysis of children who had suffered from persecution by the Nazis, examining
Jewish orphans who had been held in concentration camps or who had hidden in Holland and then re-examining 204 of them an average of 25 years later. Keilson found what he referred to a “sequential traumatization,” determining that a sequence of several similar negative psychological experiences may compound each other’s effects over prolonged periods of time. Reinhart Lempp concluded that children persecuted while they were young struggled with social contacts and their sense of independence, while children persecuted in adolescence exhibited depressive personality disorders. “Mental stress caused by Nazi persecution did not cease on May 8, 1945,” wrote Lempp. “Even though they had no longer to fear for their lives, the young in particular felt their uprootedness, became aware of their loneliness, the loss of all their relatives, and an uncertain future. Mental stress in many cases lasted for years.” Some are unable to watch documentaries about their own past. The effects of persecution manifest physically, as well; suppressing troubling memories can lead to psychosomatic symptoms such as gastro-intestinal disorders but also in
hard, keen eyes,” she wrote in her autobiography, published in 1997. But “there has never been a more wonderful bunch of people,” she remarked, “people who have frequently been portrayed inaccurately by writers and by many others.” Melungeons fell victim to the same crimes as were depicted in the recent film 12 Years a Slave, in which free blacks were kidnapped and sold into slavery. An April 10, 1778, ad in the North Carolina Gazette was placed by Johnson Driggers—a Melungeon father, Hashaw says—seeking information about “two men in disguise, with marks on their faces and clubs in their hands, beat and wounded” the free black woman Ann Driggers “and carried away four of her children.” “By 1750, these and other free Melungeons lived in constant fear of abduction and loss of liberty during the long night of American slavery, when the slightest trace of African blood might lead to abduction,” Hashaw told. “After the United States banned the importation of African slaves in 1807, the lucrative domestic slave market tempted manstealers to prey on mixed people regardless of their free status.” And in 1831, the Virginia state legislature was petitioned to send all free Americans of color to Liberia, Africa, for fear their presence “stirred up the slaves”—despite the fact mixed families had lived in America for two centuries and had fought for independence. Before and after the Civil War, Southern states denied many civil rights to those of perceived mixed race. The Tennessee state legislature passed a law in 1834 excluding those with more than 58
cardiovascular symptoms such as high blood pressure. And the negative impacts of persecution may carry on, affecting future generations. Those exposed to extreme stress at an early age frequently have severe problems with their marital partners and children, and they describe
“Mental stress
caused by Nazi persecution did not cease on May 8, 1945.” — Reinhart Lempp themselves as “often impatient, nervous, aggressive and unjust towards their children, which leads in turn to feeling guilty about their children, and interferes with, even destroys, their relationship,” writes Lempp, and “thus the children often grow up with an emotional deficit. “It may even be stated with some certainty that those persecuted in childhood and youth … practically their whole lives are characterized and determined by persecution.”
one-quarter mixed blood from the enjoyment of many rights. “For the Melungeons, there was always the assumption, which was correct, that the Melungeons had African ancestry,” said Wayne Winkler, a former president of the Melungeon Heritage Association and a Melungeon descendent. Winkler has conducted extensive research on Melungeon history, published a book on the topic and frequently gives presentations. “The persecution that African Americans faced was also a plight of the Melungeons. They weren’t enslaved, but they faced legal discrimination,” Winkler said. “They weren’t permitted to vote in Tennessee until after the Civil War. Even then, they were not really encouraged to vote. They were not permitted to go to the public schools. They weren’t permitted by law to marry with white people. Socially, they were just looked down upon.” Some stories assert that Melungeons came to Tennessee after their land in North Carolina and Virginia was seized; because they were not able to testify against white people, they were unable to defend their land titles, Winkler explained. The Melungeon essayist and poet Alice Dunbar-Nelson recalls being ostracized by darker black children, who taunted her in school, calling her “a light n——, with straight hair!” “Bitter recollections of hair ribbons jerked off and trampled in the mud. Painful memories of curls yanked back into the ink bottle of the desk behind me, and dripping ink down my carefully washed print frocks,” Dunbar-Nelson wrote.
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Sharing Waldensian heritage The North Carolina town of Valdese shares its Waldensian heritage with thousands of visitors each year through a year-round museum, a summer outdoor drama, and an annual festival. The Waldensian Trail of Faith offers guided and self-guided tours of multiple buildings and structures that are accurate representations of the Waldensian story, and many of the buildings on which the replicas are based still exist in Italy today, said Anthony Collins, Trail of Faith director. “We consider it to be absolutely historically accurate,” said Collins. For more information, call 828.874.1893 or visit waldensiantrailoffaith.org. “From This Day Forward” is the fourth oldest outdoor drama in North Carolina; it chronicles the story of the Waldenses from their trials in Europe to their settlement in North Carolina. It is performed from mid-July through mid-August. And on the second Saturday of August, the town of Valdese hosts the Waldensian Festival, with crafts, food, and entertainment. For information about the drama and the festival, visit visitvaldese.com or call 828.879.2126.
The Waldenses were among the first in Europe to diverge from the Roman Catholic form of Christianity, espousing a belief that laymen were capable and entitled to interpret the word of God. The Church at Ciabas, replicated here (right) at the Waldensian Trail of Faith, is one of the oldest structures in the Waldensian Valleys and is considered the oldest Protestant church in the world. ANNA OAKES PHOTO
“Some Melungeons were very dark skinned, and some were not,” said Winkler. Many family names were tied to Melungeons, and those attempting to assimilate married outside of their group and eagerly adopted new names. Parents and grandparents withheld information about Melungeon heritage from their children in efforts to shield them. “ There was a fear that they might be found out,” explained Winkler. “I found out about my own Melungeon ancestry when I was 12 years old. It was one of those things that had been kept from me.” Winkler didn’t grow up in Hancock County, Tenn., but he visited family there when school wasn’t in session. Hancock was one of the poorest counties in the nation, and in an effort to stimulate economic development, an outdoor drama about the Melungeons, “Walk Toward the Sunset,” was presented. It ran from 1969 to 1976. It was an intrepid, precarious undertaking. “Melungeon was considered sort of an epithet—it was certainly not a word that you wanted to insult somebody with. It was the equivalent of the N word,” Winkler said. “But it was at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, and people were starting to take pride in their heritage. The outdoor drama had a real impact on the way people in the county looked at Melungeons and the way Melungeons looked at themselves. “That play was a watershed moment in history for the Melungeons.” Melungeons today enjoy much greater acceptance, though there are lingering pockets and remnants of racism. The Melungeon Heritage Association held its eighteenth annual Union in June, attended by 107 individuals from 14 states. The event culminated with the announcement of a new Center for Melungeon Research at Mountain Empire Community College in Big Stone Gap, Va. 60
THE ‘WHITENING’ OF THE CHEROKEE Decades before more than 15,000 Cherokee were forcibly removed from their homelands and forced to relocate to territory that is now Oklahoma, debilitating actions were exacted upon them that served to undermine Cherokee sovereignty and dignity as a people. Politically, treaty after treaty brokered with Indian nations turned out to be mere lip service as American eyes turned increasingly to tribal lands, and U.S. policies trended ever closer to the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Culturally, white settlers and American leaders pressured the Cherokee to forsake their traditional customs and ways of life in favor of more “civilized” practices. Cherokee men were instructed to give up hunting and instead to take up farming; tending the fields was previously a responsibility that fell to women. In a more literal way, “whitening” of the Cherokee took place as European colonists took Cherokee wives and later during the Revolution, when British officers married into the clans and remained in the nation, raising mixed-blood families, Samuel Carter III wrote. “The mixed-bloods tended to desert the mountains and settle in the flatlands and the valleys, where they could raise crops and engage more readily in frontier trade.” Some Cherokees owned black slaves—a commodity “regarded as one of the ‘civilized’ contributions of the white economy,” said Carter. The Cherokee learned to speak, read, and write the English language, even drafting their own Constitution. Efforts to assimilate the Cherokee continued with the establishment of schools led by missionaries, who in time went about the task of converting their pupils to Christianity. Some resisted, however, including the Indian Tecumseh, who implored the Cherokee to
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abandon the English conventions and to “put on paint and buckskin, and be Indians again.” Carter cites documents of Thomas Jefferson’s remarks to Cherokee chiefs who visited him in Washington in 1806 as an example of the patronizing attitude with which whites treated the Indians: “You are becoming farmers, learning the use of the plough and hoe, enclosing your grounds and employing that labor in their cultivation which you formerly employed in hunting and in war; and I see handsome specimens of cotton cloth raised, spun and wove by yourselves. You are also raising cattle and hogs for your food, and horses to assist your labors. Go on, my children, in the same way and be assured the further you advance in it the happier and more respectable you will be.” This confused the Cherokee, of course, when Jefferson would later suggest that they abandon the very land he had urged them to improve. “There would always be a naïve rationalization in the United States approach to Indian affairs,” noted Carter. “A principle of this approach was the dubious parental edict: ‘We are only doing this for your own good’— words that hide a multitude of sins against humanity. The Indians were exhorted to improve and farm the land and in the same breath told that they would be better off—and happier!— somewhere else.” The Cherokee would come to realize they were gradually being betrayed, however. Between 2,000 and 5,000 Cherokee are estimated to have perished on that long march to Oklahoma.
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SUPERSTITION SOUTHERN IN APPALACHIA BY JAKE FLANNICK
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When she would see a black cat crossing the road in front of her car as a youngster, Kimberly Burnette-Dean would react without hesitation, hurriedly tracing the shape of the letter X with her index finger in front of the windshield. She still makes the same hand motion these days, decades later, with the same urgency as when she learned it during her upbringing in southwestern Virginia. It is believed to ward off any bad luck that some say follows the four-legged creature, long seen as an ominous sign in the Southern Appalachians. And it won’t work unless made three times, before the cat reaches the other side of the road. “You’ve got to do it quick,” said Burnette-Dean, who works as a librarian in Roanoke, Va., about 60 miles north of where she grew up, in Meadows of Dan. “It cancels out bad luck.” The practice is among others passed down from her grandparents that she upholds to this day, even in the company of others. Among them: leaving a building through the same door she entered and making sure to not touch, let alone nudge, an empty rocking chair. “It would make me uncomfortable,” she said. Burnette-Dean acknowledged that the extent to which adheres to these superstitions has somewhat faded over the years—her grandparents’ generation appeared more steadfast in their beliefs. A neighbor during her childhood, an older woman, who some might have considered overly cautious, would turn around and head for her home if she crossed paths with a black cat outside it, staying inside the entire day for fear of encountering trouble. Nonetheless, she errs on the side of caution. “There’s this little bit of doubt,” Burnette-Dean said. “I don’t want to tempt fate.” Across the region, such beliefs linger, fed by oral history and embellished by storytellers. Some who pass a cemetery might hold their breath, for example, to avoid inhaling the soul of someone whose body recently was interred. Others gather acorns amid a thunderstorm, placing them on the windowsills to protect their home from lightning strikes. And those with apple trees may remember to leave a single apple hanging from at the end of the harvest, lest they attract the Devil. Perhaps just as widespread are signs of bad luck. Some are relatively insignificant, like the belief that unhappiness will hang over the day of those who encounter a hare or rabbit before sunrise. But many have long engendered fear. An owl seen during the day or peering into a window is known as a foreboding omen portending early Built in 1833, St. John in the Wilderness, an Episcopal church, is located near the town of Flat Rock, N.C. English settlers who once crossed the oceans to live in Charlestown subsequently flocked to the area in the 1820s, and thus it became known as “Little Charleston of the Mountains.” Many others simply called it “The Wilderness.” As the community grew, so did the church. In 1852 it doubled in size—and simply extended over those already buried in the graveyard. The church's circular, one-lane driveway passes close to many graves, thus signs have been erected to direct drivers not to impede traffic’s flow. SARAH E. KUCHARSKI PHOTO
death; the ringing of an unattended church bell forewarns that someone in the parish will die; and the presence of a bat in a home means its occupants will have no choice but to leave soon, let alone one of them die. These and other beliefs are deeply rooted in Appalachian folklore, said Nancy Richmond, an author and a historian who lives in southern West Virginia and whose many books over the years examine the customary practices of the region through generations. “I’ve heard them from the time I was a little girl,” said Richmond, who also is a genealogist. While some beliefs were rooted in religion, particularly among Irish and Scottish settlers, others were particular to a clan or community, sometimes spreading to others, Richmond said. In one of her books, “Appalachian Folklore Omens, Signs and Superstitions,” Richmond defines superstition as a seemingly “irrational belief, arising from ignorance or fear, that is held by a number of people but is without foundation.” Superstitions are thought to influence coming events, despite any demonstrable correlation. Given the cultural changes, certain long-held practices may raise eyebrows these days. Midwives from Scotland were said to give a newborn a pinch of ash while breastfeeding for the first time to give infants lifelong protection against witchcraft, and Irish immigrants were known to spit on their babies to bring good luck. On the surface, superstitions might seem absurd—one notion was that leaving washed diapers on a clothesline over night could attract “evil forces,” Richmond wrote. But at the time, they were conventional. “Whatever worked,” she said. “You couldn’t convince them otherwise.” In the Southern Appalachians, such beliefs were, and in some ways still are, more entrenched than in other parts of the country. The mountainous terrain fostered isolation from outside influences, including access to education. As a result, traditions were bedrocks of life in those days. As part of an English class at Rabun Gap-Nacooche School in north Georgia, students captured many of region’s superstitions through interviews with locals born in the 1800s and produced a magazine. The magazine led to a series of books known as Foxfire. The series offered a glimpse into the region’s cultural norms at a time when it was starting to draw more attention as a second-home destination and garnered international acclaim, said Barry Stiles, curator of the Foxfire Museum and Heritage
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Barry Stiles, curator of the Foxfire Museum and Heritage Center in Mountain City, Ga., now is the keeper of old records students at the Rabun Gap-Nacoochee School took to preserve regional histories and superstitions. Tipper Pressley, though a blogger, still passes on some of the old superstitions to her daughters as part of their Appalachian culture. JAKE FLANNICK PHOTOS
“We think we know so much more now. You don’t need to keep witches out of your house. It kind of takes the fun out of it.”
— Scott Nicholson, Boone, N.C., novelist
Center, in Mountain City, Ga. Students at the Rabun County High School continue producing the magazine, which is distributed across the world on a biennial basis. Lifestyles have changed markedly over the years, subject to the same homogenization that has swept across other parts of the country. “The traditions aren’t being passed down,” said BurnetteDean, who spent years working at a living history museum on the Blue Ridge Parkway there. That is perhaps the result of shifting perceptions. Supernatural forces once regarded as serious threats now generally are considered harmless—no more a tall-tale. “We think we know so much more now,” said Scott Nicholson, a novelist who lives in Boone, N.C. and whose horror stories and supernatural thrillers are embedded with the folklore of the region. But our knowledge has left less to the imagination. “You don’t need to keep witches out of your house,” he said. “It kind of takes the fun out of it.” Dave Tabler, who lives in Delaware and has spent the past eight years maintaining a blog that focuses on Appalachian folklore, agrees that most superstitions have gone by the wayside. “We’ve kind of defanged them,” Tabler said. For example the act of throwing a pinch of salt over the left shoulder, which is considered good luck these days, was a way to keep away the Devil in the 1800s. Tabler traces his paternal ancestry back generations. His father’s memoir about growing up in West Virginia during the Depression influences his blog, Appalachian History, which covers the foothills of northern Alabama to the Allegheny Mountains in southwestern Pennsylvania and offers a window into the region’s beliefs and customs. “Even when we’re preserving our traditions, we now are aware of what’s going on in our country,” Tabler said.
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But anyone who ever has deemed a pair of socks worn when a football game was won lucky or a certain lipstick the charm for a good date knows that superstition remains a compelling force. “We live in a world where it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” said John Wood, an anthropology professor at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. In a sense, what is considered sensible is relative. “People believe and know different things,” said Wood, who is currently writing a book on the years he has spent observing the customs of camel herders in northeastern Africa. What some might consider superstitious beliefs, he added, are the basis on which others are “trying to make sense of their world.” Some pass down ancestors’ beliefs, even though they are contrary to their own. Tipper Pressley’s blog, the Blind Pig and the Acorn, focuses local history and culture. She too traces her lineage back through Southern Appalachian culture and sees value in preserving some of the old traditions. She recalls telling her daughters, now teenagers, that should anyone sweep with a broom underneath their feet, they would never get married. “I don’t believe it, but I’ve heard that,” she said. She also hangs horseshoes on her porch—a custom believed to bring good luck. “It’s something in the back of your mind,” said Pressley. “You’ve heard it all your life, so you at least think about it.” Whether jumping over a crack so as not to break one’s mother’s back, holding one’s breath while driving over the train tracks or pouring out a drink for spirits past, personal superstitions make for tiny rituals. A sense of mystery, a suspension of disbelief—or perhaps a belief itself—for what remains unproven gives license to our imaginations. “It opens up possibility,” Nicholson, the novelist, said. “It makes for a richer, more interesting world.”
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Who knows what happens when ghosts decide not to move on, Tadd McDivitt of Haunted Asheville tells guests on his tour. PHOTO BY PAUL CLARK
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In search of those on the other side B Y PA U L C L A R K WWW.SMLIV.COM
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Dixie Hall, the site of one of the last formal Confederate surrenders in the Civil War, may no longer exist in Franklin, but a little girl possibly associated with its residents pops up periodically in buildings around town. Below: “If ghosts want you to know they’re there, they will find a way,” Debra Maddox told ghost hunters on Asheville’s Biltmore Avenue, reputedly the site of significant paranormal activity. PHOTO COURTESY MACON COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY • PHOTO BY PAUL CLARK
The air got noticeably colder as Debra Maddox walked into what she called the most haunted place in Asheville. “How odd,” she said, walking down the steps from Asheville, N.C.’s, Church Street to a gravel parking lot. Until recently, there was a building there, which contained a church built around an older church. Decades ago, workers had relocated cemeteries nearby, but they hadn’t gotten all of the bodies, Maddox said as her tour guests started searching the
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parking lot for paranormal activity. The last bits of light were flickering out of the sky as Sarah Loveless aligned two dousing rods to begin an inquisition. “Are you mad that the church got torn down,” the young woman asked. The dozen people on the Ghost Hunters of Asheville tour got quiet as the rods Loveless held crossed themselves—an answer in the affirmative, Maddox whispered. Loveless, visibly excited, righted the rods. “Are you a woman,” she asked. Again, the rods moved toward each other. Everyone was watching Loveless now. “Did you die in the church?” she asked. The rods crossed again. The air seemed to get even chillier. Western North Carolina, so full of history and composed of the oldest mountains in the world, abounds in stories of spirits walking the earth. From the unexplained Brown Mountain Lights near Morganton to the ancient petroglyphs on Judaculla Rock near Cullowhee, mystery fills the hills like mists shroud the mountains. And one of the strangest stories is about Little Alice. Few people outside Franklin, N.C., know that one of the final acts of the Civil War
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occurred here, in what was then a frontier town. In May 1865, weeks after Gen. Robert E. Lee surrendered, Union Col. George Kirk was in the WNC forests and fields, mopping up the last of the Confederate resistance east of the Mississippi. Learning of Lee’s surrender, Confederate Major Stephen Whitaker met Kirk on Main Street on May 12, 1865, to lay down arms. The surrender took place at Dixie Hall, the grand, Lowland-inspired home of Julius Siler, a wealthy Confederate captain. Living under his roof were daughter Alice and her husband, James L. Robinson. He and Alice’s father were not at home during the surrender, however, having been wounded and gone into hiding. Alice reportedly spat on Kirk’s
“With its rich, incredible history, (Western North Carolina) is a haunted land. It’s been mystical since its origin.” — Gregg Clark, who leads ghost tours in Franklin
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Above: Storyteller Donnamarie Emmert, the “haint mistress” of Abingdon, Va., has a few ghost stories of her own to tell to tourists on the spirit tours she leads through town. Left: Sarah Loveless begins her inquisition of what may be a spirit who resides on the site of an old church within a church on Church Street in Asheville. PHOTO COURTESY OF DONNAMARIE EMMERT • PHOTO BY PAUL CLARK
Union flag to express her feelings, but there was little else she could do. Times would improve—her husband went on to become lieutenant governor of North Carolina. He is buried at First United Methodist Church Cemetery in Franklin, beside Alice. But near their headstones is another Alice. “Little Alice,” the stone reads, “Crowned without the Conflict.” Gregg Clark, co-owner of Where Shadows Walk ghost tours in Franklin, has done extensive research into who Little Alice was, but she doesn’t appear to be the Robinsons’ daughter. She may, however, be the little girl who pops up periodically in the old houses in town, something she’s done reportedly since the late 1800s. “People in one house have said the little girl will show up on the balcony upstairs and make faces at their grandsons,” Clark said. “There’s a home near the high school where kids grew up playing with an imaginary friend called Alice.” A house near where Dixie Hall used to stand has been impossible to rent because tenants feel the presence of someone unseen, Clark said. Alice has become something of a celebrity in town. In June, a guest on one of Clark’s tours took a tiny cell phone photo of the Methodist cemetery. In it, you can see the apparition of a little girl with her arms crossed and feet under her dress. 70
The prefix “para” comes from an ancient Greek word meaning something that sits beside something (think “parallel” or “paragraph”). Paranormal is a state of being that exists beside the “normal” state we all set our clocks to. Many people believe that other beings exist around us all the time. The dead stick around for a variety of reasons, local ghost hunters say. A ghost might be stuck in the place he was murdered, still angry at the guy who shot him. Another might linger in her husband’s house, believing he can’t manage without her. Some ghosts are so attached to a place—homes, hospitals, prisons and schools are popular haunts—that they can’t let go. “Whatever binds them to this life, they’re not ready to pass over,” said Stacey Allen McGee, a minister. He owns Appalachian GhostWalks, which offers tours in east Tennessee and southwest Virginia. “It might not be something so terrible. It could be something good,” McGee said. “It could be your spouse, your child who doesn’t want to leave you until they can walk with you, hand in hand, into the light.” Many families have stories about older parents saying in their final hours that they can feel the presence of departed spouses who have come to comfort them. “People have said they’ve seen them standing at the foot of their bed (so they) can have a conversation as they SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
have a peaceful crossing,” McGee said. The words “spirits” and “ghosts” seem interchangeable to the nonprofessional, but many ghost hunters contend that spirits are shapeless entities that surround us all the time and ghosts have shapes and appear only when they want to be seen or heard. The difference is insignificant to most people who have encountered an apparition. For some, it can be a pretty frightening experience. One day several years ago, during Sarah Bumgarner’s first tenure with Barter Theatre in Abingdon, Va., she was in the theater’s balcony above the stage to check the lights for the evening performance. It was a July day and really hot, especially that high up in the theater. But when she reached for the door handle the light booth, it was ice cold. “And when I went inside, you could see your breath,” said Bumgarner, a dancer and actor who now lives in Brooklyn. “I immediately ran out. It scared the pants off me. Strange stuff goes on there.” Donnamarie Emmert, the “haint mistress” of Abingdon, has a similar story. She was a theater student at the local community college when Barter called to ask if she knew how to run theater sound. “I said yes, but I didn’t,” Emmert said recently, a summer cold making her voice sound a bit witchy. She was so bad at running sound, she said, that one
A shrouded figure seems to be floating in the photo that Sarah Harrison of Asheville Paranormal Society took in a bedroom of a house in Weaverville. The owner complained of seeing apparitions and said something kept unlocking the front door. PHOTO COURTESY OF SARAH HARRISON
A malevolent spirit, possibly from the Civil War, is said to inhabit the tunnel that collapsed between Barter Theatre and The Martha Washington Hotel & Spa. PHOTO COURTESY OF BARTER THEATRE
night she suggested she stay late to practice. The stage manager pointed out that that’d mean she’d be alone in the building. Emmert said she didn’t mind. Later that night wrapping up, she stepped out of the sound booth, descended the stairs and walked through the main floor seating. “You know how you get that creepy feeling like someone is looking at you,” Emmert said in a perfect ghost story voice. Feeling “an amazing sense of dread,” she turned to look back at the balcony and saw a swirling mist near where she’d been. The mist moved toward her, gathering in the shape of a man. It was swooping down on her. “I hauled butt, that’s all there was to it,” Emmert said. She tried to pretend the encounter didn’t happen and didn’t mention it to the rest of the crew, theater people being a superstitious lot, she said. But years later when she finally ‘fessed up, others had their own stories to tell. These days, she’ll attend shows at Barter, “but I’ll tell you this, I’m generally the first person out of there when the show is over,” she said. “I will not be caught in the balcony by myself.” J-Adam Smith might call what happened to Emmert the result of “unfinished business.” Smith, who calls himself “The Psychic Examiner,” leads ghost tours of Knoxville, a city rich in history that makes for interesting paranormal activity. He’s a “sensitive,” in that he can feel the presence of things most people can’t see. But he’s also a scientist, he said, in that he’s a certified ghostbuster who uses electronic instruments to register paranormal goings-on. He’s made a business of his abilities; on his website, he offers psychic real estate consultations that will determine if the home a person is considering buying is haunted. Smith also leads Haunted Knoxville Ghost Tours. Knoxville might be one of the most haunted cities in the country, Smith said. The Civil War left scars on the city, as did Prohibition and gangsters. “Lots of unfinished business,” he said. He has never seen a ghost, he said. But his instruments have indicated the presence of the paranormal in several WWW.SMLIV.COM
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thelaurelofasheville.com • june 2014 • 5
places around town, like the buildings erected on top of a city block that went up in ames in 1897, killing ďŹ ve people. Children’s voices have been heard in one of those buildings, he said. In another, items have been inexplicably moved around, leading Smith to believe it may be the work of itinerant salesmen who died in the blaze, upset that their wives and families might have thought they deserted them. “What’s more unďŹ nished business than that,â€? Smith asked. Ghost hunters use tools as simple as dousing rods, compasses and ashlights and as sophisticated as infrared cameras and electromagnetic ďŹ eld detectors. Smith also uses a “ghost box,â€? a device that scans the airwaves for radio frequencies. In the white noise between radio stations, Smith attempts to talk to the unseen,
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asking questions and listening for answers. When he and other hunters want to engage a spirit they believe is nearby, they’ll often use a ashlight, twisting the head so that the beam is just barely off. Placing it so that the head is free of a ledge’s vibration, he’ll ask a yes or no question. A light that comes on and blinks may indicate an answer. Once, to test the theory, Smith sneaked around a corner while someone else was asking the questions and pointed a toy guy at the light. The blinking stopped. “Which is pretty crazy because that would mean that the gun seems to have a psychological impactâ€? on the spirit, Smith said. “One time might have been a uke, but we did it three times in a row.â€? Dan Ward, co-owner of The Inn on Main Street in Weaverville, N.C., has a theory that “ghosts enjoy the status quo. As long as they’re comfortable, you never hear from them,â€? he said. Which may explain why he and wife Nancy Ward don’t hear anymore from Dr. Zebulon Vance Robinson, the doctor who built the inn. The Wards’ ďŹ rst New Year’s Eve there, they heard what sounded like paintings falling off the wall. But when
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her son were thrilled. they investigated, the pictures Eastern Tennessee, the were still hanging. Equally former western frontier of the hard to explain was the sound burgeoning United States, is of someone opening and full of the kind of history that closing a back door. makes for haunts. Appalachian “After that,” Ward said, GhostWalks offers tours “there were several times when throughout the region, as well I would be upstairs cleaning as southwest Virginia. McGee, rooms and hear a female voice the minister and owner of the downstairs, very light, saying business, comes at the tours ‘yoo-hoo,’ like you would if you from a Christian point of view. peeked in the door to see if He hopes to bolster his guests’ anyone was at home. I’d come faith in the afterlife. “What down and there would be Above: The patients lost by Dr. Zebulon Vance Robinson in the clinic inside his family’s we’re really taking about is nobody here. Eventually, we Weaverville, N.C., home may be behind the shakes, rattles and rolls in the house, now what happens when the body had a couple of guests that an inn. Below: Leroy Rose watches for anything unusual while wife Becky Rose takes dies,” he said. Nonetheless, it were very sensitive to these photos of church spires on Asheville’s Church Street. The Roses were hoping to get photos of orbs, which may indicate the presence of spirits looking down upon them. can be pretty spooky. People things who said she saw the PHOTO COURTESY THE INN ON MAIN STREET • PHOTO BY PAUL CLARK on his tours have felt hands on source of the voice in the Lee their backs and fingers in their Room.” They said it was a hair, he said. “We’re talking woman they saw in the mirror, about thoroughly, authentically fixing her hair. haunted places,” he said. Once an African-American One time, McGee guest who said he often saw investigated a visitation in spirits told the Wards at Bluff City, Tenn., a house that breakfast he’d woken up and to once belonged to one of see a little girl with a bicycle in President Andrew Johnson’s his room with a black man. daughters. “When I arrived on They were standing as if they the site and walked onto that were waiting on something; the porch and shook the property guest asked what they were owner’s hand,” he said. “Just waiting for. The male behind her I saw a lovely lady apparition said he was waiting with her back to me standing for the doctor, who treated not reported “playing” with a nice lady in a pink on the porch. And as I described her, the only the white residents of Weaverville but dress. Employees have reportedly described a property owner smiled and said, ‘you just also the black residents who lived on the bone-chilling cold on the way to room 545. described my sister. That was her favorite hillside behind the inn. The little girl was On its website, the inn acknowledges place to stand and look over the property.’ humming to herself and playing with her stories about The Pink Lady, but no records One of the most astounding things that bike, the guest told the Wards. exist to confirm her existence. It’s possible happened was, she (the apparition) pointed to And then there’s the story of the Pink Lady things “may have been hushed up to avoid a corner of the property and said there are at Asheville’s storied hotel, The Grove Park negative publicity,” the website states. “No some graves there. I turned around and Inn, now The Omni Grove Park Inn. The one will probably ever know,” it continues. looked at the sister, and she was nodding yes. story has it that the young woman—no one “But new reports of her sightings still occur. She said they moved the headstones but never seems to know who she was—checked into Some say they just see a pink mist, others a moved the bodies.” room 545 one day in the 1920s and died, either full apparition of a young long-haired beauty McGee said most of the people in the in a fall five stories down to the Palm Court or in a pink gown.” unseen world that he experiences just want on a road heading up to the inn. Asheville On her blog, Kala Ambrose, author of to talk. Like people in the waking world, ghost hunters often repeat the story, and many “Ghosthunting North Carolina,” describes an they want to be heard. And so, McGee have different theories on how—and why— encounter with The Pink Lady. About listens in the hopes of helping them let go of the woman died. Some say it was an accident midnight during the first night of a stay at the their attachment to earth and find a place in or a suicide over a married lover who failed to inn in 1998, she took her son to the Palm Court the hereafter. show for a Valentine’s Day tryst. Others say to get over a coughing fit, she writes. The air They exist in what McGee calls “God’s her lover killed her and pushed her over the suddenly got cold, and Ambrose felt someone waiting room,” a place just outside of time wall to make the death appear accidental. standing nearby. Looking up, she saw a ghostthat he said is explained in the Bible. People There are many stories of The Pink Lady like image of a woman. The woman’s energy there should be treated delicately. “When I appearing as a pink mist, floating around the felt “compassionate and sympathetic,” a go into a person’s house, I tell my students inn. She’s said to be harmless, a prankster at motherly feeling for an ailing child, Ambrose and guests, be very careful how you treat worst who tickles feet, turns off lights and writes. The spirit reached out as if to stroke the them, because the property owner has to live cuts off the air conditioning. She has a boy’s hair and then disappeared. Ambrose and there,” he said. fondness for children, some of whom have 74
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
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Across 1 Smokies hiking trail that gets its name from trapper/hunter Bearskin Joe (2 words) 8 Truck weight measurement 9 Lakota word meaning holding something in the fetal position, clutching it tightly to keep it safe 10 Scary legendary cat in the Smoky Mountain region 13 Kubrick's killer computer from 2001 15 Intense fears 18 Exist 20 Test version 22 White water rapids tool 23 Endangered as having no protection 25 An owl appearing during the day and touching a empty rocking chair are examples 27 Cry of distress 28 Smoky Mountain plant, ginger ____ 29 Scary word from a comic strip 30 Copper symbol 33 If it's black, it's considered a bad omen, by some 34 The Smokies region is the salamander capital of the worldwhat is the largest resident species there? 36 'Life of --' (2012 movie) 37 Halloween mammal 39 Iron Maiden song, "Fear of the ____" 40 A standard practice of the Inquisition
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d e p a r t m e n t :
MOUNTAIN VIEWS
Home is a haven and hideaway BY GARY CARDEN
B
ack in the 60’s when I began teaching in Georgia, I went through a period of misgivings about leaving my grandmother on the front porch of her old house in Rhodes Cove. After all, she had raised me, and I was repaying her by leaving her to fend for herself in her old age. The rest of the family was equally concerned, and my Uncle Asbury began neglecting his own family and spending time in the afternoon “taking care of Momma.” He piddled mostly, working on the antiquated waterline and electrical wiring. He also began bringing her “something to read,” which consisted mostly of an awesome stack of Time magazines. “She sits out there and rocks all day, humming ‘Shall We Gather at the River,”” Asbury said. “She needs some distraction.” Asbury jerry-rigged an old floor lamp and moved the magazines in the living room where my grandmother could reach them. Well, apparently, it worked. A neighbor told me that some nights, she could see the light from Granny’s floor lamp twinkling like a solitary star. When I came home from Georgia, I found a grandmother that I had never seen before. Nervous and fretful, she told me that she couldn’t sleep. I asked her why. “Because this is a terrible world,” she said. She confessed that she sometimes got up at night and checked the door locks. She told me about thousands of children starving to death and about drug addicts who victimized the elderly. Then, when I thought she had worn herself out, she said she wanted to show me the worst crime of all. She went to her stack of Time magazines and extracted a single issue, thrusting it at me with a trembling hand. “Look at this!” she said. It was the infamous cover of Time magazine (April 8, 1966) that asked: “Is God Dead?” My grandmother, shook her frail little fist and said, “He is going to show them! Just you wait.” So there it was. My sweet little grandmother who read Mary Roberts Rhinehart and James Fox and walked out of Rhodes Cove each summer to see “How Green is My Valley” and “Trail of the Lonesome Pine” at the Ritz Theater had been snatched from her front porch haven into the “modern world.” I knew, of course, that she was an anachronism, and I desperately wanted to put her back in a world where God was certain. I used to make an effort to “enlighten” her. I am bitterly ashamed of it now. I once chastised her for using the “n” word. “Gar Nell, that was the only word that we had when I was growing up,” she said.
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Once I told her that my former roommate at WCU had moved out. “Well, I am sorry to hear that. I liked Howard,” she said. “Momma (that is what I called my grandmother), Howard is gay and I am not,” I replied. “Well, of course he is. You could stand to be a bit more goodnatured yourself.” The Time magazines discreetly were withdrawn and The Grit, The Upper Room, and The Gentleman Farmer were substituted. It was akin to an improved diet, I guess, and she regained much of her good will. She began clipping recipes and poems from her magazines and singing “I Come to the Garden Alone,” as she rocked on the front porch.
So there it was. My sweet little grandmother who walked out of Rhodes Cove each summer to see “How Green is My Valley” and “Trail of the Lonesome Pine” at the Ritz Theater had been snatched from her front porch haven into the “modern world.” She sang in a high falsetto, and would occasionally get up and walk to the end of the porch where she could see the big hemlocks below the house and the cloud-wrapped Balsams in the distance. If it was summer and a clear day, she would nod and smile as though she saw evidence that, yes, God was in His heaven and all was right with the world.
SMOKY MOUNTAIN LIVING VOLUME 14 • ISSUE 5
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