About a month ago, my neighbor sent a text asking if I wanted some of her fresh basil which was growing in abundance. Together, we clipped a bagful of the herb, then she loaned me her “Moosewood Cookbook” so I could use the basil to follow the book’s pesto recipe. That afternoon, I made the most delicious homemade pesto pasta that even the pickiest eater in the house loved. 

I’ll never get that smell out of my memory. The stench of mud and rotting debris. Most of you reading this will immediately know what I’m referring to — the aftermath of Hurricane Helene in the fall of 2024. And yet, that stench was already in my stored subconscious, seeing as I first encountered it with the aftermath of Tropical Storm Fred in 2021. 

It was a time and a place, and now that place is gone.

Or is it?

I came across some version of that idiom about time and place a few months ago, just as we at The Smoky Mountain News were beginning to discuss how to cover the one-year anniversary of Helene’s historic and deadly impact on this place we call home.

Last September, my family was gearing up for our first “leaf season” (and apple season, and hayride season, and football season) in Haywood County. As recent transplants from another state, we had heard about how beautiful the mountains are in early fall, and we were looking forward to experiencing it.

It was nearing lunchtime. In the midst of putting out the newspaper last Tuesday, I was getting hungry when I realized it was almost noon. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and was still craving eggs, sausage, toast, hashbrowns (with onions) and strong coffee (at least two cups worth).  

I was at least an hour and a half into my conversation with June Goforth when I joked that she hadn’t given me a chance to ask any questions. She paused a moment before laughing and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you had questions.”
I had sat down with Goforth to talk about Camp Margaret Townsend, a Girl Scout camp that was a summer home away from home for hundreds of girls between 1925 and 1959.

Can you feel it? Can you see it? 

The slightest bit of crispness has crept into the air. A tiny hint of color teases the trees. On the ground, small pumpkins appear in the patch. Autumn is quietly arriving, gently moving into our days and nights, simmering down the fever pitch of summer. 

Iconic guitar riffs eternally burned into the walls of our memory. Songs that have remained the soundtrack to our lives for over a half-century. The sonic grace and stage swagger, the legend and lore of one of rock-n-roll’s greatest six-string aces — Mike Campbell. 

As I age and evolve, I realize more and more why it’s so important to be fully authentic, not only because it feels lighter but because it allows us to develop deep and true relationships, which ultimately is the most beautiful part of being human.

Search online, or in a library or bookshop, and you’ll find how-to books about parenting. Recent popular titles include “Simplicity Parenting,” “The Five Principles of Parenting” and “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk.” There are even books about how not to parent, like Leonard Sax’s “The Collapse of Parenting.”