Hello from my folks’ farmhouse out in the countryside of Upstate New York. It’s been mighty frigid here in my native North Country since I arrived home last week. At one point, ‘round midnight on a recent evening, the temperature dropped to around -22 degrees. Daytime temps hovered at zero for several days, with wind chills from the Canadian Arctic making critters outside hide and remain silent and those inside huddled near the fireplace, waiting out the cold.  

Ordering some item from a company like Amazon — a smock, a special coffee, cotton swabs, whatever — is quick, simple and easy. You place the order, and two or three days later, the package appears on your front porch. The same ease and speed apply when ordering your groceries from Walmart or the local food mart. You make a list, tap a key, arrive at the delivery time, put the groceries in the car and brush your hands off as a job well done. 

Late Monday morning. While taking a sip of my coffee at the Main Street Diner in Waynesville, I scanned the room at the tables filled with faces enjoying warm meals and hearty conversation. It was at that very moment when I started thinking about this anonymous postcard I received several years ago. 

Fifteen years ago, Main Street in Franklin was a pretty quiet place. It wasn’t hard to find a parking space and most of the things we enjoy downtown today didn’t exist, at least not yet. But, 15 years ago, an anchor business appeared on a hope and a dream — Outdoor 76. 

“There were a lot of empty storefronts and not much energy or activity. Still, we knew we wanted to be on Main Street because, to us, community has to start there,” said Cory McCall, co-owner of Outdoor 76.

Hello from the Cantina Laredo in Terminal T of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It’s Sunday, 8:29 p.m. I’ve just consumed two overpriced Michelob Ultra drafts and one giant chicken quesadilla (hadn’t eaten all day). In this moment, I decided to use my layover time to write this here column for you readers (yes, you).  

It just dawned on me, at this exact moment, that my Western journey is over (at least until next time). Currently, I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Nashville, Tennessee, doing some writing and pondering, as per usual. And I’ll be finally headed back to my humble abode in Western North Carolina tomorrow. To note, I’ve been on the road since July 8.  

There’s a mountain world up Moses Creek, and I don’t love to leave it. Outdoors, steep wild ridgelines form the horizon, with deep forests, clean air and clear streams tumbling down the slopes. Close to the house are Becky’s beds of flowers, all a-flutter with butterflies, birds and bees.

Is it just me or, as we get older, doesn't it seem like time moves at warp speed? When I was a child, minutes felt like hours and days felt like weeks. Maybe it was because getting lost in a moment was effortless or, while my parents and teachers managed the hard stuff, I was left to simply play and explore.

As days grow shorter in the Great Smoky Mountains, the colorful landscape hums with life. Creatures large and small scurry through the blanket of fallen leaves gathering nuts and berries, crafting intricate homes to wait out the winter, and preparing for the stillness of the season ahead. 

In a book written in a first-person, vulnerable and intimately entertaining narrative oral storytelling voice, Ken Smith takes us through his entire life — of youthful globe-trotting adventure and hardship, to an eventual life of self-sufficiency and spiritual awareness in Scotland.