Hello from St. Augustine, Florida. Specifically, a small bungalow a few blocks from the Spanish ruins and the heart of the city. This place has been rented by my folks for the month of March for the last 13 years, these two snowbirds fleeing the frozen North Country that is our native Upstate New York. 

Hello from Room 216 at the Holiday Inn Express & Suites on the southern edge of Steamboat Springs, Colorado. It’s 9:30 a.m. Gazing out the window of the hotel, I can see the ancient ridges of the snowy Park Range Mountains surrounding the community in this high desert corner of the West. 

Hello from Room 322 at the Fairfield Inn, located in Binghamton, New York. Exactly one year ago, I stayed in this same room. No joke, this is where I was placed. And, oh, how much has changed and, well, come to pass in this last calendar year since I laid down in this bed, since I opened up the drapes and looked out the same window onto the interstate traffic below. 

The Voices in the Laurel choirs have announced that spring registration is now open and the organization invites new/returning singers from Haywood, Buncombe, Jackson and Swain counties to be part of its 30th season. 

Editor’s note: This piece is the first of a two-part series exploring plans to rebuild I-40 through the Pigeon River Gorge and the project’s implication for wildlife populations. Part two will appear in next week’s the Smoky Mountain News.

When I-40 through the Pigeon River Gorge first opened in October 1968, it was hailed as a triumph of human accomplishment, the dawn of a new era for travel, tourism, and economic opportunity in newly linked Haywood County, North Carolina, and Cocke County, Tennessee.

“The bitterness of poor quality remains long after the sweetness of low price is forgotten.”

— Benjamin Franklin (probably)

When Hurricane Helene devastated Western North Carolina, an oft repeated theme among elected and civic leaders was that the area would be built back better.

As author Thomas Rain Crowe discovered during his own long journey from Western North Carolina to California to Europe (and with due respect to another Western North Carolinian, Thomas Wolfe), you can go home again. Crowe did.

While I’m sitting and looking out the window of the local laundromat here in West Waynesville, I notice how dirty my rusty, musty, trusty pickup truck has become since I last washed it, which, I think, may have been last winter or so. One year’s worth of dirt along endless miles of unforgiving roads, both geographically and spiritually. 

In the midst of eating my third hard-boiled egg of the morning, I overheard the young couple at the next breakfast table mention to their server that they’d gotten married this past Saturday. 

Taking a sip of my second cup of coffee, my gaze went from the newlyweds to the nearby roaring fireplace, then out the big glass windows onto the picturesque pond on the side lawn of the majestic property. 

Every fall, Becky and I leave Moses Creek for a week to go to Isle of Palms in South Carolina, and we stay on the beach there in a complex called the Sea Cabins. I make sure that two canoes go with us, a tandem we use to explore the quiet inland waterways together, and, for ocean surfing, a small solo canoe that I paddle here on our mountain rivers. We also rent bikes, and we walk the beach.