This must be the place: ‘One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple’
A frozen pond in the Adirondack Mountains.
Garret K. Woodward photo
At 9 a.m. Wednesday, the alarm went off from the smart phone on my nightstand. Reaching for the contraption and reading the morning text messages, it appeared our weekly editorial meeting set for 10 a.m. would shift to Friday. And yet, before I could roll back over to sleep a little more, another message pinged on the phone.
It was from the head of our advertising department. He needed an extra set of hands to help deliver this week’s newspapers to a slew of spots around Waynesville, Clyde and Lake Junaluska. One specific route of around 800 newspapers to boxes and wire racks around the community. No problem. Roll out of bed. Splash some water on the face. Lace up the boots. Grab the car keys. Head out the door.
To note, we have an underlying ethos within the workforce of The Smoky Mountain News: “duties as assigned.” This means nobody is above or below any position in the company. If you’re a reporter and the delivery drivers need help? Guess what, you’re a temporary delivery driver. Doesn’t bother me. I take great pride amongst my colleagues in ensuring the survival of this business.
Pulling up to the company’s storage facility, I stacked the hot-off-the-press newspapers (50 per bundle) into the back of my rusty, musty, trusty pickup truck. The sun was shining and starting to warm up in the late morning. Roll down the windows. Let the cool breeze swirl into the vehicle. Crank up the stereo. Foot on the accelerator towards the first news rack on the list.
Mercy Urgent Care next to Publix in Waynesville, 10 papers in the outside plastic blue box. It was empty of last week’s issue, which is always a good sign for us. Head across Russ Avenue to Ingles, both the gas station (50 copies) and the grocery store (100 copies). Again, empty boxes from last week. Onward to the Waynesville Rec Center (75 copies) and Howell Mill Exxon (15 copies).
And it was right around this time I started to let my mind drift. With downtown Waynesville in the rearview mirror, I cruised along Old Asheville Highway towards the hospital (125 copies), not to mention Coffee Cup Cafe (50 copies) and nearby Haywood Community College (20 copies). Gently let go of the accelerator while admiring the tree canopy you drive under on campus.
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Headed underneath the Great Smoky Mountains Expressway towards Meals on Wheels behind the shopping complex on Paragon Parkway. MOW gets delivered 100 copies, which are placed with the dishes served to those in need in our community. What an incredible organization, am I right? Handing over the bundles to one of the organizers, a volunteer stopped me and asked for a copy from the stack: “I always look forward to reading this,” he smiled.
Over to the Blue Rooster restaurant (seven copies) then bustling with the lunchtime crowd. Over to the Lake Junaluska Post Office (100 copies) and the Lake Junaluska Conference & Retreat Center (30 copies). Gaze across the water. The lake sparkled like a million diamonds underneath the early afternoon sunshine. Maybe I’d circle back later today and go for a jog there.
The final drop offs were a retirement home (15 copies) and the local senior center (50 copies). With the truck idling in front of the home, I sauntered in and place the issues in the wire rack, but not before a couple of the inhabitants sitting on the lobby couch requested a copy hand delivered. But, of course, it’d be my pleasure. I thanked them for supporting the newspaper and headed for the door, my thoughts wondering if they’re expecting any visitors today. I hope so.
Rolling back to the news office in downtown Waynesville, I checked my desk for any mail or messages. It was at that moment I noticed how blackened my fingertips had become from handling so many papers. Fresh ink from the printing press. The ink residue put a grin on my face, this actual evidence of the enduring power and presence of the free press in this county, this country.
Leaving the office, I hopped into the truck and went home to my quaint apartment nearby. The same humble abode I’ve lived in since the first week I arrived in Waynesville some 14 years ago. Time flies when you’re having fun, especially when it comes to the unrelenting wandering and pondering of people, places and things here in Western North Carolina.
This year marks 18 years that I’ve been a professional journalist. I entered this industry because I wanted a vehicle, literally and figuratively, to have adventures, to learn the craft of writing and to have daily interactions with incredible folks from all walks of life. I parachute into their lives and passions to learn more about why people do what they do, to share their stories with you (and you, too). In truth, I love this gig more today than ever before.
And as it stands, newspapers, especially those independently run in our communities, remain the vital, more so crucial, lifeline between what is being decided in your backyard and how it affects you (and you, too). To note, although I do not take myself seriously, I do take this work very seriously. It’s not lost on me what we journalists do when we walk out the front door each morning — this effort to connect important questions with real answers.
This isn’t a pat on the back for the newspaper. It’s simply a moment to reflect on the widespread spiderweb of connectivity this company has spun since its inception in June 1999. Twenty-seven years of attending town meetings, of marking local accomplishments, of breaking news coverage in times of dire need or natural disasters, this effort to make sense and offer solutions to the chaos and confusion in uncertain times.
We aren’t the enemy. We’re your neighbors, your friends and, in many cases, your family. I choose to call these mountains home. I’ll always possess a level of respect, admiration and love for this place of unknown depth within my heart and soul. And I think fondly of my trek delivering papers.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
