It was 40 years ago this month that I first heard the name of the small creek in Jackson County that would eventually become our home, Moses Creek. Becky and I had been renting a house in Cullowhee in 1984 from a landlady who kept threatening to up the rent on us, even though we’d told her at the get-go that we, newlyweds from eastern North Carolina, had no more ”up” to give. But a year in, after still another monthly phone call from her, I turned to Becky and said, “Let’s see if there’s something we can afford to buy.” 

It finally happened. Exactly 10 years in the making, my daily running streak officially celebrated one decade of continuation on Dec. 31, 2025. End-to-end, that span of time is 3,654 straight days. The mile I’ve run? Countless. I can’t even fathom the total distance jogged throughout that time period, although I have kept a running log since “The Streak” started. Someday I’ll calculate it. 

I think a lot about native plants. In fact, it is the subject of most everything I do, from the weekly wildflower walks I lead during the growing season, to the many classes, workshops and presentations I offer throughout the year. And I write about native plants in these columns that I produce twice a month. My focus is on plants that are native to the southern Appalachian Mountains and Western North Carolina. 

The Folkmoot Friendship Center in Waynesville will use its cafeteria to host a two-day show featuring the work of local painter Richard Baker.

Featuring over 200 works from Baker, the exhibition will take place from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Aug. 8-9. In addition, there will be a reception from 5-7 p.m. Saturday, Aug. 9. 

It started as a ripple softly lapping against my back as I pulled into the driveway of our quiet mountain cove. The roar of the interstates and swarms of fellow travelers behind me after the 1,300-mile sojourn to Lake Erie and back. I made it. Breathe. 

The full light of the summer solstice arrives and aligns with the vegetative growth period of mid-summer. Spring wildflowers have passed at all but the highest elevations, and only the earliest summer flowers have started to bloom.

I was walking back into the house when Becky met me at the door, excited: “I think we just had an earthquake! Did you feel it?” She’d heard a low roar, she said, and then a closet door beside her rattled, as if something inside wanted out. “It went on for maybe 20 seconds.” This was on May 10, at 9:04 a.m., to be exact. And all I could say was “What?” 

To the Editor:

On Memorial Day — a holiday that originally honored Union soldiers who died defending the principles enshrined in our Constitution and Declaration of Independence, and now encompasses all who have served these United States — my wife and I revisited my childhood haunts in Western North Carolina.

It’s 12:23 a.m. and I can hear the tires from sporadic cars splashing through small puddles on nearby Walnut Street in downtown Waynesville. They say a big rainstorm is coming later today. For now, it’s another pull from the lukewarm Coors Light can.

When April rains fall on Moses Creek and wake the dormant winter roots, and when the warm sun, following, fills the woods with wildflowers, bird songs and budding leaves, and suddenly the whole valley is on its way to spring’s green apogee, then travelers from North Carolina and other states fly to Kathmandu, Nepal, where, breathing oxygen from tanks on their backs, and with their minds partly crazed with cold, they try to climb Mount Everest, the world’s tallest peak, “Because it’s there.” For mountain climbers, our spring coincides with the best of Everest’s bad seasons to attempt its frozen summit.