'Round These Mountains

Chasing Flakes

Our winter snow events this season have been frequent—a relief after the weirdly warm last months of 2021. At our house, a forecast snowy night calls for “flake checks.” That means leaving a spotlight on outside to watch for fat feathery flakes tumbling by.

Flurries no longer keep me up to watch, after many adventurous winters as a mountain dweller. When one particularly disappointing year offered zero accumulation, I found lots of folks who are just fine with a dud year. They remember well the awful frozen hurricane of 1993.

These days we aspire to comfort as we hibernate. Ideally, a powerful standby generator; maybe a mini-snowplow for the trusty Mule; and ample firewood at the door, for the heavier snowfalls that linger a while. Note: concrete driveways—especially on the north side of a home—hold ice magnificently. Many days after the roads are clear, there is still an ice field between you and lane to the highway.

No doubt all this is as amusing to those from truly snowy regions, as whacky as the Atlanta newsrooms dispatching crews to Blue Ridge or Dahlonega to kick roadside grass for evidence of a dusting, or to point out accumulations on deck rails and cars. But in all the southernmost states, and certainly here in the Far North of the Deep South, the sight of falling snow can be a mystical delight, no matter your age or journalistic gravitas.

Mountain Mornings

Red Sky at Morning

Oh com’on, 2022, let’s get this show on the road! By sheer force of will, this weary world would readily dissolve the afflictions, delays, and shortages that have slopped over into this new year. That’s evident in our can-do-itivity, continually generating fixes and workarounds to move us ahead.

On a similar thread, haven’t we almost all had enough bickering and blame to gladly ban both forever? Maybe redirect that energy and go all supportive/helpful on one another for a change as we create a sturdier “normal” and get back to the business of living?

As for getting along, here in the North Georgia Mountains, the enormous influx of people popping in to work “from here” in 2020 grew into a surprisingly large number of new residents by the end of 2021. Seemed like anything that warranted a certificate of occupancy was sold to the highest bidder—an HGTV fixer-series waiting to happen.

Almost a decade and a half after the last one, another building boom is budding, both residentially and commercially. It’s exciting and a smidge scary. Fortunately, many of our communities have enacted safeguards to guide how we grow, and to defend our cherished mountain aesthetic.

That’s reassuring to new neighbors, old timers, and those of us long-residing but forever-from-elsewhere folk. We all share a deep appreciation for the splendor of the southern Blue Ridge range. And so many other things! As we lay that universal cornerstone, common ground, we find ways to agreements, and build on them. It’s worked for 245 years, so . . .

So, are we finally, really rounding that pandemic corner? Well, aren’t we always rounding some corner or another? Together we’ll get there. We always do.

Mountain Mornings

How Many Days Til Christmas?

“Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, I’ll get to you eventually!” Probably not the first one to ever chant that refrain the week before Christmas, but I do have the lights strung. For those of us late-tinselers, there is comfort in the history of these sparkling conifers being Christmas Eve surprises for the kiddies. All the best old holiday movies are proof, although the sleight-of-handiwork by Mary Bailey, the Bishop’s Matilda, and her rescuer, Dudley, are high bars.

Every year my intention is to simply dress the house with sprigs of greenery and loops of ribbon, but the absence of snowpeeps, beckoning stars, and silver bells becomes intolerable. No sooner have the snowfolk shuffled in, than stars, and stringsandstringsoflights begin appearing on the mantel, and windows, and far more surfaces than less enthusiastic household members can abide.

Not that this all happens Christmas week. On the first weekend in December, I did crank up the mule to mosey around snipping from the beautiful native hollies, pines, and cedar in the woods, as well as the assorted magnolias, hemlocks, hollies, and cypress planted here years ago with this in mind. Added to branches trimmed from Fraser firs, this becomes the yuletide blend that disguises the fake garland around the front door, covers the mailbox with a festive “Merry, Merry” to passersby, and bombs everywhere indoors that it doesn’t slide off.

For the next week or two it was a scramble to bag, wrap, and drop off here, there, and everywhere—while the tree languishes, still in a bucket of water on the deck. And like everyone else with loved ones needing extra protection, our family’s plans for big gatherings have given way to another year of stay-at-home festivities. Happily, that seems to be driving even more interest in doing as much as possible for others.

Isn’t that the true miracle of Christmas? Stoking our year-round love and compassion to do just a little more for just a few more? Doesn’t that light up this old world like nothing else ever could? Happiest wishes to those whose holidays coincide, and a very Merry Christmas to all this week, trusting that you know you are always, always loved beyond measure.

'Round These Mountains

Color Georgia’s Mountains Brilliant

Native pagoda dogwoods are our Chattahoochee Forest’s fashion icons. Trust them to lead the season with radiant white blooms heralding spring in the woodland understory, then offering choice nesting sites beneath their fluttering tiers of summer foliage. Too soon these graceful trees are whispering of the mountain autumn to come as leaves begin bronzing in late August, distinguishing themselves in regal burgundy at the peak of fall color, and twinkling through winter as birds feast on red berries at the tips of sculpted branches.

The dogwoods crescendo in early October, with notes of orange and red appear in the sweetspire, and black walnuts releasing their bright yellow leaves to reveal the green husks of their nuts. Meanwhile, the hickories begin to trend from lemon to gold, as do locust and beeches as those two compete for earliest leaf drop. By mid-October our glorious maples are stealing the spotlight in their glowing transition from green to scarlet by way of brilliant yellows and oranges.   

As peak week approaches our sourwoods are shivering with the scarlet coursing through their green leaves. Chestnut oaks offer muted color but share fat, handsome acorns. The more subtle butternuts, our white walnut trees, are said to end their Appalachian range here. Fickle persimmons vary their seasonal shows, some years bursting into orange that rages to deep red, other years anonymously shedding nondescript leaves as though protesting the autumn pageant.

Magnificent white oaks are often reported to exhibit wine-colored leaves in October. Ours are always the last trees to turn as they deepen, but to a coppery brown. Here, those leaves hold until new growth pushes them off in spring. The leaves of our plantings of Natchez crepe myrtles (unmurdered still, Steve!) usually bronze about now, but this varies from one grouping to the next. Added oakleaf hydrangeas are also happy here, their hues from orange to purple rival the maples’ glory.

Last year it seemed conditions were perfect here for a spectacular fall—little rain in September which some say will muddy the colors, several crisp nights to shift the leaf sugars to “bright,” but then a hard freeze at the peak that perhaps closed the show early. So enjoy every tree’s performance as you pass. Each is its own masterwork.

Mountain Mornings

Rising Waters

Pluvia, pluie, pioggia, and ua are words familiar to me only because they name “rain.” At the first drops, I happily skitter to the porch where the metal roof offers idyllic acoustics for enjoying a summer shower. How I love the patter, splatter, and gutter gurgles of rain!


Yet a few minutes ago as drops began falling and I opened to door to the porch, the intensity quickened and the shower became a downpour that unnerved me for a moment. Four days ago, driving back from Blue Ridge, I watched the light morning rain giving way to the remnants of tropical storm Fred. In Blairsville rain was falling in torrents and continued for several hours.


Water was rising under the bridge as I neared home, and soon, from the deck I could see the creek far out of the banks already. Within the hour it was at least sixty feet across and neighbors at the bridge called to say it was impassable, shuddering and collecting debris from the water crashing over it. I filled the bathtub—if the bridge went, our water and utilities would go, too. Booms were sounding from the creek as trees floating past collided with those standing strong along the banks. Folks in more vulnerable situations were surely fleeing their homes.


We are well above the creek; a winding switchback trail gets us to the firepit and swing set back from the water. White oaks and hickories shelter a hillside of mountain laurel, dogwoods, sourwoods, and rhododendrons. Keeping soil settled—and erosion at bay—are vital in mountain settings. The native plants we’ve added along the creekbank are sometimes relocated downstream in these flash floods, but a few are thriving.


Tomorrow I’ll try to clean up what’s been left behind in Wood Duck Park, as we’ve come to call the flat section by the creek. Clean-up often follows the rising levels, but our bridge has been threatened only twice before in fifteen years—once on a Christmas Eve. And next week as we learn more about how to help people in the area who aren’t as safely situated, I’ll be reminded to appreciate our sturdy little bridge, the sanctuary of our porch, and the sweetness of a gentle rain.

Good to Know

Always Changing

As 2020 ended, I planned to start a blog about the sweetness of life in the North Georgia Mountains. Seemed simple enough, but of course, life can be complicated no matter where we are. And depending on our disposition, we can often make things a little harder than they would have been if we could just stay out of our own way.

Work distractions and other factors soon persuaded me to default to the reporter perspective for the blog, but that required interaction that was more limited than I anticipated. Now it seems we may be distancing again. After some personal chaos over the last few months, I’m pushing area spectating aside and going back to the original concept–knowing now that savoring the sweetness is essential–and this space was always intended for just that. Time to learn WordPress.

And rather than create more clutter in the web-osphere, There will be a page tagged on for a side project, a bit of fiction sharing my appreciation for good people, mixed with a little intrigue and adventure, largely staged amid these glorious North Georgia Mountains. It’s called Always, Always Choose Again.

When and Where

Celebrations Are Returning to the Mountains

and so are the periodical cicadas

Local eateries, venues, and get-aways are loading the calendars of our regional chamber websites with music, entertainment and special events as our mountain communities spring back to life. And just in time for the first unofficial weekend of summer, these mountain events are back for 2021.

May 19
Pickin’ in the Park McCaysville
Pickin’ in Horseshoe Bend Park every Thursday, 6 til dusk, May – Sept. Live music jams and pickin’ on the banks of the Toccoa River at the Horseshoe Bend Park in McCaysville.
Pickin’ In the Park (fannincountyrecdept.org)

May 22
Spring Tree ID Hike  Join Tony Ward, MountainTrue’s Western Region Program Coordinator, on Saturday, at 10am for a 1.2-mile loop trail hike through an upland forest area of Meeks Park in Union County, Georgiahttps://mountaintrue.org/event/spring-tree-id-hike/

May 28 & 29
Hiawassee Pro Rodeo returns to the Georgia Mountain Fairgrounds Start time: 8 p.m. https://georgiamountainfairgrounds.com/localevents/id/128

May 29 & 30
45th Annual Spring Arts in the Park  10 – 5 at City Park of Blue Ridge. Sponsored by the Blue Ridge Mountains Art Association
Arts in the Park – Home (blueridgeartsinthepark.com)

June 4 – 6
North Georgia Highlands Seafood Festival Friday Saturday and Sunday http://www.northgeorgiahighlandsseafoodfestival.com/

And Now, for the Cicadas

Yep, we’ve all heard that Brood XIX could deposit 1.5 million cicadas per acre in our mountain hardwood forests; and with a mating call reaching 120dB heralding their arrival, these critters will be hard to ignore.

On the upside, these little invaders will do minimal damage to plants and trees as the adults sip sap–their only sustenance–and the nymphs nibble plant roots. Cicadas also provide high protein snacks to our bug-loving birds from woodpeckers to songbirds and big ol’ turkeys. Even squirrels, turtles, and fish join in the feast, according to a fantastic article by Terry Johnson on his Out My Backdoor page. He has every intriguing detail here: https://georgiawildlife.com/out-my-backdoor-periodical-cicadas-make-loud-entrance

'Round These Mountains

We Have Leaves!

So far, this has been a year of high expectations and false starts. Spring 2021 is on that wobbling track—following those tantalizingly warm weeks in early March with a few frosty nips and then the crisping of tender new growth as temps plummeted to mid-20s in the days before May arrived.

Cool air always settles along our creek banks when a ridge to the east corrals chilled winds.  That may lead to our trees’ leaves always appearing later than those we see in Hiawassee and Blairsville. And here, too, among the freshly filling treetops are my greige crepe myrtle casualties. We’re not seeing the brittle ruins of 2012’s late freeze, but rough enough.

For all its setbacks, 2021 is coming through with an extra burst of vitality, like the rhodos, wild azaleas, and determined peonies. Most of us are steadily recovering as are our landscapes—and hopefully, the pinched apple, blueberry, and strawberry crops. Many growers are still awaiting a verdict on the vineyards. Despite our frustrations and apprehensions, everyone seems eager to see life surge into our communities again.

Weeks ago, once I had bumbled through my minimalist WordPress launch, the latest round of national stepping-back was settling in. Enthusiasm for re-openings had been tamped again. And I was also learning that writing the last lines of a book was by no means the end of the process. Not even close.

This week, as the radiance of spring races up the mountains surrounding the rising lakes that reflect brilliant blue skies, our new growing season is finally underway. Excitement is also blooming in our mountain towns as stories of economic growth and revived events are filling my notepads. We, too, are finally underway at the Georgia Mountains Journal.

In the Works

Of Flurries and Groundhogs

News clips of snowy landscapes on Groundhog Day mean little to residents of the Gulf Coast. As an expat, I can attest to having never seen a coastal groundhog—roadkill or otherwise—and to having witnessed just two revered occasions of snow flurries in my time there.

Awakening to snowy ground this morning, knowing myriad groundhogs in the neighborhood doing the same will be heralding an early spring, reflects the enchantment of living in the Far North of the Deep South.  

As kids, summer excursions from the coast to Clingman’s Dome, the Mount Pisgah Inn, or the canyon at DeSoto Falls were preferred to dutiful family visits to East Texas, West Tennessee, or nearby New Orleans. Mountain vistas and crisp, refreshing air felt new and exhilarating. For us, this was the great, far north. Well, for the least adventurous one of us, anyway.

Slaloming down the pristine slopes of Dauphin Island’s once-enormous sand dunes was as close as our tribe came to ski trips. Towering pines along the downhill limited traverse and certainly jump turns. [Still your eco-heart. The trek up combined with the kid-to-waterski ratio lessened repeat runs. Frederick and Katrina took those dunes.] Playing in the waves on the island’s Gulf side had far more appeal at that age, as did the après-ski snow cones from the island’s west end.

For those of us who grew up where most of the foliage is evergreen and season changes are almost imperceptible, where the insect population is constant and humidity levels are palpable, the notion of frosty mornings and autumn leaves would be realized only in our travels.

Having been a Georgian longer than I’ve lived anywhere else, and more than half of that time here in the North Georgia Mountains, I would like to share some of this glorious experience through posts to the Georgia Mountain Journal. Over time, the blog should fill with insights on these lovely communities, some special events, local adventures, and history, while featuring the fascinating people who brighten these mountains and valleys. Until then, may your groundhogs be few—as they tend to plunder gardens, even those with wire fencing buried at the perimeter—and your winter mornings sunny.