Several weeks ago, I read an article listing a number of holiday traditions that are disappearing, such as caroling, writing Christmas cards, setting the table for a formal dinner and shopping for gifts in person as opposed to online. At the time, I’d just written a column about shopping locally, which is something I believe strongly in and put into practice as much as possible.

Like everything in life, the holiday season is about perception. On one hand, you can view it as a commercialized frenzy or you can see it as a time to slow down and reflect, or maybe a little of both. I tend to fall in the combined category, but it hasn’t always been that way. 

(I started writing a Thanksgiving column, paused a moment, did a Google search and realized that I had shared this memory 10 years ago. It was published in this newspaper on Dec. 3, 2014. Hope it’s still worth a read.)

Moments, mostly the ones unplanned, are the stuff of important and lasting life memories. 

Shadows and seasons are the main markers of time in Cataloochee Valley, a remote corner of Great Smoky Mountains National Park located more than 20 miles from the closest town and reachable only by a windy, narrow gravel road. 

One of the greatest advantages of traveling the world is being reminded how similar we all are, regardless of culture, race, language or religion.

Hello from the writing desk in my humble abode apartment in downtown Waynesville. It’s warm and sunny outside on this Monday afternoon amid Memorial Day Weekend. I’ve just returned from a 2,678-mile out and back trip to the North Country.  

Donna Milsaps, of Jackson County, has encountered struggles that are hard to comprehend for some, but all too familiar for many in the mountains. 

Once upon a Christmas, our children came creeping down the stairs before dawn like little burglars.

Almost exactly a year after a hiker vanished in the backcountry of British Columbia the night before a trip home to Haywood County for Christmas, her remains have been located. 

Every-so-often, my girlfriend, Sarah, and I will find ourselves with an open Monday evening. A wild, rollickin’ weekend in the rearview mirror. The first day of the work week now completed. How ‘bout we motor over to Asheville for some fine Italian food at Vinnie’s on Merrimon Avenue, eh? Sold.