By Emilia Azar – 2014
Nantahala’s direct Cherokee translation is “Land of the Noonday Sun.” What I saw of Nantahala was not the town in the light of noonday sun, but rather in the darkness of a midnight moon. It is a picturesque, Hollywood-worthy version of a small, cozy mountain town. The population is just over 1,700 people and this astounding notion is echoed by the town’s general store, single gas station, and single restaurant. This is no exaggeration. There is one place to get gas, and one place to pay for a meal. Though according to Ronny Sanders, you will not find a tastier home-cooked meal than in Nantahala’s own restaurant.
Ronny is a 24-year old Nantahalan whom we met at Chevelle’s Restaurant and Bar that second night of our trip. He stood out that night with his highlighter yellow shirt. I first noticed him sitting alone near the stage of Chevelle’s, where his friend – Andrew Chastain – was playing a show for a few hours. Andrew had that scruffy, pleasant country voice that makes you want to prop your elbow on a table, cup your chin in your hand, and listen to him sing and play the guitar in almost a lullaby-like trance. Ronny was shouting out his support, cutting into my trance with a “Yeah Andrew!” here and there in-between songs. The few glances I snuck at him proved that he had a kind face, and was a full supporter of the man in front of me singing and strumming along on his guitar. After an hour or so, Katie and I decided to get some fresh air and step out into the cold.
Ronny came out a few minutes later and introduced himself. He then asked us what we were doing in town. This was not an uncommon occurrence; the four of us stood out in Murphy and we had many people curiously ask us who we were and what we were doing in Murphy of all places. Ronny kept up a conversation with us after we told him that we were writers here doing research. What kind of research? What was this website? Why Murphy? As we continued to answer his various questions, Ronny did something funny. As people walked into or out of Chevelle’s, he opened the door for them. Every single one of them: male, female, old, young. He would continue looking at us intently, grab the door handle, and tell whoever was passing through the door “to have a nice night.” I had never seen someone with such honest southern manners, and a keen desire to greet as many people as possible. Most 20-something men just don’t do that.
“Can I show you guys something that might be cool for your writing?” He looked at both Katie and I with a gleam in his eyes, and we were intrigued. He continued on, telling us that he wanted to show us a lookout point in his own town of Nantahala. It would involve driving up a mountain with several twists and turns for awhile. According to Ronny, the whole trip would take close to forty-five minutes. But he guaranteed that when we got to the top, the view would be worth it. The landmark, he said, is called Wayah Bald Lookout Tower and has a vantage point of 5,342 feet in elevation surrounded by the Nantahala National Forest. If we went soon, the full moon would hopefully provide enough light to see north to the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee and south to the rolling hills of Georgia. While going to a faraway lookout point with someone you had met just a few hours before sounds questionable, something about Ronny allowed us to trust him. He was open and kind, and had a child-like sense of humor. The allure of the lookout point was just too tempting… so why not? We went.
After almost an hour of driving, half of which was around bendy twists of mountainous terrain that left me feeling light-headed, we reached Wayan Bald. It was just what Ronny had described it be, and more. We walked a few minutes from his Jeep to the stone structure that was built in 1937 to be Wayah Bald Fire Tower. When we climbed the stairs to the top, I felt my breath catch in my throat. The lights of several cities glittered beneath us, embedded in the dark moonlit shadows of mountains and hills. Ronny pointed out Franklin to our far left, where we would be traveling to the next day. He described the different sections of the beautifully lit dots that were houses and landmarks, but to me it all felt like a sub-reality anyway. The dots were just a part of a dream. As we looked at the mix of man-made beauty and nature below us, I couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet, hard-to-pinpoint emotion. “You really love this place don’t you?” I asked Ronny rather out-of-the-blue. He looked at me and shrugged, with a playful smile. “Don’t you? It’s so hard to think of ever leaving this place. Just look around you.” I continued to, and had to admit that I agreed with part of his sentiment.
This is where the differences between the young man from Nantahala and the young woman from New York City/Durham really set in. He was happy to remain in this mountain paradise that he called home. But I am a world traveler by nature and by heart. The view that surrounded me was so beautiful that it made me want to stay, but simultaneously crave to find new views that would again give me this peaceful feeling. And when you are truly torn like this, that is when you know you are experiencing something worth writing a piece about one day soon.
