I had just finished a 3.3-mile jog along the backroads of Clinton County. The afternoon sun was quickly falling behind the snowy peaks of the Adirondack Mountains in the distance. The slow shadow of winter night soon enveloping the Champlain Valley, my parents’ Upstate New York farmhouse smack dab in the middle of it. And it was at this moment my mother asked me a question. 

Hello from my folks’ farmhouse out in the countryside of Upstate New York. It’s been mighty frigid here in my native North Country since I arrived home last week. At one point, ‘round midnight on a recent evening, the temperature dropped to around -22 degrees. Daytime temps hovered at zero for several days, with wind chills from the Canadian Arctic making critters outside hide and remain silent and those inside huddled near the fireplace, waiting out the cold.  

An anonymous payment recently applied to decades-old tax bills owed by a sitting Haywood County commissioner presents the appearance of impropriety and may violate campaign finance law and the Board of Commissioners’ ethics policy. 

Substantial questions about the payment remain, but at least one thing is certain — the long drama surrounding Commissioner Terry Ramey’s unpaid taxes is not settled. 

Editor’s Note: This is the transcript of a recent voice memo Garret left for a friend of his on Thursday, Jan. 8, in the aftermath of the incident in Minneapolis, Minnesota, between a protester and an ICE agent. To note, both Garret’s father (U.S. Immigration) and grandfather (U.S. Customs) were career officers for the federal government (now retired). In 2003, Immigration and Customs combined to form ICE due to the Homeland Security Act of 2002.

Good afternoon. You’re probably slaving away at your [office] desk doing your favorite thing, which is working inside under fluorescent lighting, I would assume. [Laughs]. Oh, man, I don’t know where this message is going to go, but I just was wanting to vent about…[well], it’s almost hard to vent anymore, because it’s like every day is just this chaotic frustration of things outside of my [front] door and things across the country and things around the world. 

Thanksgiving morning. I awoke to the sounds of my upstairs neighbor scurrying about, most likely getting things together for whatever he has planned for Turkey Day. Nearby Russ Avenue is oddly quiet. Nobody is heading to work. The incessant construction has ceased for the day, too. 

A packed slate of weekend events is on tap as Western Carolina University rolls out the welcome mat for alumni and friends to return to campus Nov. 7-8 for Homecoming 2025, including a parade and party in the university’s adopted hometown of Sylva. 

The absurdity of life, eh?   

I’m just sitting here right now at the local laundromat in West Waynesville. Simply observing and reflecting on gratitude, for nothing and everything, and everything in-between. Families sit quietly around me awaiting the wash cycle to end. It’s Sunday morning. Back to work by this time tomorrow. Spend your free time cleaning your clothes.   

Dear friend,

We are living in tumultuous times, and I’m writing to say I am sorry. I know I’ve done and said things that hurt you, that made you furrow your brow in confusion, wondering if you ever knew me at all. I know you’ve rolled your eyes at something politically-slanted I’ve posted on social media. To be honest, your words and posts have conjured the same reactions for me. 

It was nearing midnight last Saturday when I found myself in a circle of friends in the small, cozy sitting nook between the front door and the bar counter of The Scotsman in Waynesville. 

Last Thursday, it was decided to go bowling. Galaxy Lanes & Games on the outskirts of downtown Sylva, in a somewhat dormant shopping plaza buffering the Great Smoky Mountains Expressway and greater Jackson County.