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.

Two weeks after an unusual meeting where Commissioner Terry Ramey was told to resign over lies he helped spread about the post-Helene housing situation in Haywood County, the other four commissioners made clear they weren’t in the mood for any more shenanigans — removing one woman from the meeting, refuting more lies and even using a little bit of poetry from a cherished Western North Carolina scribe to keep things on track. 

Wayne Caldwell will present his latest work, “River Road,” at 1 p.m. Saturday, Dec. 7, at Blue Ridge Books in Waynesville. 

The following readings will occur at City Lights Bookstore in Sylva.

• Poets Cecilia Woloch and Louise Morgan Runyon will give readings of their poetry highlighting labor and social justice issues at 6 p.m. Friday, Nov. 22. This reading celebrates the release of Woloch’s new chapbook, “Labor: The Testimony of Ted Gall.” 

Helene tore through many people’s lives in the mountains of Western North Carolina. Some lost homes, as well as the very soil on which their homes were built. Even for those whose homes were spared, the effect of being near such devastation reverberates. 

Award-winning poet Cecilia Woloch will offer a workshop for local writers, “Our Lives Which Can Never Run Dry: Workshop for Writers in Short-Form Prose & Poetry,” which will be held from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Thursday, Nov. 21, at St. David's Episcopal Church, Cullowhee. 

Hello from Room 510 at the Delta Hotel. The nonstop hustle and bustle of Interstate 81 just outside the window in Bristol, Virginia. For the last few days, I’ve been up here covering the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion, one of the largest and most beloved festivals within Americana, bluegrass and country music circles. 

Getting out of bed Sunday morning, I moseyed over to the kitchen and readied the things needed for a delicious breakfast on a lazy, hazy day of midsummer. Coffee (with whip cream). Eggs. Red peppers. Onions. Fresh loaf of bread. Cast iron skillet. Slice. Dice. Crack. Mix accordingly. Two plates for her (Sarah) and I. Eat with gusto. 

Like some mountain man who’s happy in his holler, I’m happy to live up Moses Creek. It’s the right place to read, write and ramble in the woods around our house — the 3Rs of retirement for me. But sometimes, days having passed, and wondering how the water flows, I’ll drive down the creek to the Tuckasegee River, where the valley opens up and traffic rushes past, and looking around, I’ll think, “So, this is the world!” 

Anyone who has ever found themselves looking at a public map — from a trailhead to a mall directory — has seen that little arrow or star or red dot accompanied by the words “you are here.”