This must be the place: ‘Oh, that we could always see, such spirit through the year’
Trail running in Balsam.
Garret K. Woodward photo
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.
My bedroom is silent, save for the smart phone on the nightstand dinging every so often with messages and well wishes from those near to my heart yet far away on the map. Emerging from my slumber, I push up the window shades and look out onto Waynesville, slowly gazing up at the mountains.
I’ve got three things on the “to do” list today. One, sign a real deal agreement with a literary agency. Two, wander into the hills and go for a trail run somewhere. Three, track down a plate of food at the humble abode of some dear friends. Well, four things if you include writing this column.
It’s around 1:30 p.m. when I head to the office. The newsroom is empty. Everyone at this publication is home with family for the holidays. With my family over 1,000 miles away up near the Canadian Border, the holidays are always kind of awkward, loose and somewhat lonely. I don’t aim to be a loner, and I’m not in essence, I just have always gone at my own pace and rhythm.
Luckily, I’ve been able to befriend such kind and generous folks here in Western North Carolina, who usually will set me a plate at their table when the weather gets cold and the Christmas tree is already up. Normally, I’d just spent today wandering around the woods solo and pondering life, but I do have an open invitation for a friend’s Thanksgiving dinner over in Sylva.
Open my laptop in the newsroom and print out a copy of a proposed literary agreement sent to me last week by a real deal agency based in Manhattan. To note, I’ve been working towards this day for the last 20 years, ever since the summer of 2005, when I was 20 years old and decided to dedicate my life to the written word. This moment is happily surreal and emotional, one where I find myself in deep reflection at the road to the here and now.
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Earlier this fall, the agent approached me about possibly doing a book, or a series of books, through their agency. The company has been following my work for a little while and felt maybe we could collaborate. The recent Zoom meeting went incredibly well, one where I walked away feeling truly seen and feeling very inspired.
I know this is the first step into a whole new realm of my life, both personally and professionally. And I’m ready. I’m excited to see where this continued journey will take me. To that, none of this would be possible without the love and support of all of you out there. It’s not lost on me. The gratitude remains.
Convert the agreement into a PDF and email it to the agent. Signed, sealed and delivered. Once I clicked “send,” I sat there at the conference room table by myself as a whirlwind of memories flew by my field-of-vision. The endless miles traveled. The countless words written. The journey, both geographically and spiritually, to this juncture of my existence. Onward into the next scene.
Hit the road for Sylva, but not before disappearing into the woods in Balsam on the Jackson/Haywood county line. It’s an old logging road that I’ve been jogging down regularly since I moved to WNC in 2012. It’s high up on the ridge and remains an anchor point of tranquility and solitude amid a modern world seemingly gone mad. I seek it out often when I need to escape life.
When I reached the old abandoned cabin way back in the woods on the dirt road, it appeared it was finally taken down. After decades of neglect and winters of heavy snows collapsing the roof, the property owners tore it down. All that remains is the small foundation and some scrap metal. I think fondly on the innumerable jogs by that cabin and how it always made me smile.
Over to Sylva. Putting the truck in park at my friends’ farmhouse, I was 15 minutes beyond my 3 p.m. invitation time. And yet, they were still putting the finishing touches on a few dishes before you could grab your plate and start your feast. Big bear hugs and ear-to-ear smiles. Rekindling old, cherished friendships. Pour a beverage and go enjoy some football until dinner is ready.
Gather ‘round the long antique dining room table. Plates overflowing with smoked turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans and flakey buns, all covered in a more than generous helping of brown gravy. As someone like myself from the North Country, a person who covers his pancakes and waffles with an ungodly amount of maple syrup, my tendencies remain similar with gravy.
Conversation hovers over jovial memories from past holiday meals or the impressive nature by which one of the table guests is going for a third helping of stuffing and so forth. Raise the wine glasses high and into the moment at-hand. Salute each other present at the table. Cheers to those long gone, but not forgotten. The laughter of frolicking children in the background. The laughter of adults in the foreground. The circle of life. The splendor of time and place.
By sunset, it’s time to motor back to Waynesville. Heading out the front door of the farmhouse, the air temperature had dropped considerably compared to my afternoon trek in the woods. The air reminds me of home, and how I hope everyone back in the North Country is also having an enjoyable holiday. On the way back over Balsam Gap, thoughts of those raucous Thanksgiving feasts at my parents’ farmhouse before it was sold when I was in college.
Those childhood and adolescent holiday memories are dusty in hindsight. The visions are a tad fuzzy on the edges, but still held tightly to my chest. Carefully placed moments on the shelves of my memory. Dusted off from time to time, usually around this time of year, and sometimes when I find myself lost in thought, either on some backcountry road in Southern Appalachia or lonely highway in Wyoming or Montana when I wander through there each summer.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
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Always love reading your article. Gives me thoughts of my youth and my family home way out in the country in eastern NC. I still go back about 6-7 times a year as I have renovated it. All of the renovations were simple but it allows me to return to the home I grew up in and relive the memories of meals, tobacco farming, Christmas but mostly just growing up on a farm. A hard life but a great life. Keep sharing your trips and memories
Tuesday, 12/09/2025
