By Nicole Esplin, 2013
Day 1:
Like most journeys, the beginning of our three-day jaunt to the western-most part of North Carolina started with a trip to the ATM and a later-than-expected departure time. Eventually, we were on the road and heading to Murphy, N.C. to work our way back towards our final destination, Brevard, N.C. The trip rolled smoothly on the four-lane U.S. 40, and we quickly reached a smaller highway 64 leading into Murphy. About an hour outside of Murphy, we were listening to music and talking about our lives, catching up with each other in the car. We were gossiping about boys and TV stars when we suddenly skidded to a halt with the rest of the traffic. Ahead, there were two ambulances, a police car, and a fire truck. Immediately, we all sighed. We were hungry, tired, and ready for our real adventure to start in Murphy. Eventually, we became worried as the helicopter hovered above and we heard EMS people talking down the road. Thankfully, there was a curve in the road, and we weren’t able to see any of the live action of EMS workers helping injured people, but the car went silent and I think we all said our own prayer of hope to the people involved in the crash. The traffic started moving again, and Taylor Swift sang “Long Live” on the iPod plugged in. Even Taylor Swift, who had been singing about boys throwing rocks at her window only moments before, was solemn in the sight of the accident. We passed a completely flipped over motorcycle and I gave homage to our fellow traveler. While I believe motorcycles are dangerous and terrifying, as a road cyclist, I understand the feeling you get rushing down a beautiful road with the wind in your face. Long live, the mountains we moved. Long live, to all our fellow travelers out there.
6:32 p.m.
We finally arrived in Murphy and after grabbing a free cookie from the concierge (thank God for Hampton Inns), we asked for the clerk’s favorite local restaurant and headed out to the local restaurant and tiki bar, Doyle’s. Because of the mild temperature, we decided to sit outside and take in the personality of the bar. A sign on the side of the bar read, “protect the manatees” and paddleboats hung in the rafters. Around the room, large bamboo candles and fish bowl flower terrariums were marked “for sale.” When I opened the menu and spotted the key lime pie margaritas, I couldn’t stop thinking how this local bar believes it is 950 miles southwest in the southernmost part of the U.S. I decided against a “marg” and chose the Green Man Brewing Company IPA, which was surprisingly easy to drink, despite its dark appearance (which was intimidating for a pale-ale loving girl). The waitress suggested we try the fried green tomatoes, made with fresh tomatoes and basil from the Doyle’s garden. I love caprese, but I’ve always been wary of fried tomatoes. Fortunately, I was impressed by the texture and taste of the tomatoes. Balsamic vinegar was drizzled over the tomatoes, which helped balance the thin layer of fried batter. For the main course, I ordered “N.C. style” barbeque sliders. Like every other North Carolina native, I feel I am a BBQ connoisseur. So as I waited for my meal, I played a little game with myself, betting whether they would serve a more eastern-style vinegary sauce or a BBQ sandwich with western-style ketchup based sauce. To my surprise, the sliders were like nothing I had ever tasted before. The sliders tasted very heavily of vinegar, which yielded an incredibly strong aftertaste. I’ve been all over North Carolina and tried all types of barbecue, but nothing compares to these sliders. Thankfully, I had a nice brew to wash them down with, and the sweet potato fries that came with them made the dish even better (once you go sweet potato, you can’t go back).
Day 2
6:30 a.m.
After waking up early to check out the town on foot, I was slightly disappointed that the sun still hadn’t come up. I waited until 7 a.m. to head out, and started down the long, downhill road into town. Immediately, I realized I would have to try twice as hard on the way home to run up the gradual climb that I was descending from the hotel. As I followed the road, an all-encompassing fog surrounded my arms and legs. There’s something about running in fog that is different than anything else. Fog is kind of like a blanket, and I’ll search out fog, just to have that feeling that you’re touching a cloud that had decided to come down from the sky and give Earth a try. Maybe it was the altitude, or maybe I had been slipped some mountain moonshine in my sleep, but my run down the road in the fog was one of the most blissful runs of my life. I came across a nice park where I took a detour for two miles along a river path. We found out later it was a project put in action by the Mayor’s wife, Barbara. The River Walk wound down the river, stopping at historic points along the way. The town of Murphy was once filled with Native Americans, and it was great learning about the history while enjoying a run along a beautiful mountain stream. When I returned to the main road, I continued in to town and did a quick block around town before heading back. I returned to the hotel with 10 new sunrise pictures on my phone and a quickly beating heart. I experienced an Indian summer in the middle of Cherokee country, and while I would’ve probably preferred a nice cool, fall mountain morning, the weather seemed more than appropriate.
9:00 a.m.
After showering, we drove through Murphy and headed towards the Tennessee border. After checking out Murphy, I decided that the town was on the rise. I would probably prefer to live in Murphy than one of the more touristy mountain towns, but Murphy definitely could use a little bit of a cleanup on the Eastern side.
11:30 a.m.
After stepping into Tennessee, we drove back and met with the Mayor of Murphy, who has been living there his entire life. He came to Murphy with his mom and grandfather, who worked on the L&N Railroad. The passion that the mayor had for the railroad was igniting. I found myself wanting to ask more and more questions about the railroad, just to soak up some of his excitement and passion for the history of American transportation. We had him spell out “ELON” in Morse Code, and enjoyed listening to his stories as a mayor, teacher, principal and railroad worker. “The spirits seem happy here,” the Mayor said.
2:00 p.m.
After receiving a tip from the mayor about a fall festival at the John C. Campbell Folk School, we headed over to Brasstown to check out some local music and art. At the school, I walked up to a small group of people standing over a fire and found that they were roasting opossum and I asked if I could take a picture.
“Would you like to try some ‘possum?” a man in overalls asked.
“I’m sorry…what?” I responded.
“Some ‘possum…I’m roasting it,” The man in the overalls looked at me like I was crazy, not knowing what he was talking about.
“Ummm,” I didn’t know how to respond. Yes, I wanted to try some ‘possum, but I wasn’t sure if I’d offend him if I grimaced, and I’m pretty new to this whole ‘possum thing. The man wandered off before I was able to come to a decision, and a second man in jean overalls came up to me and patted me on the back, assuring me that it was ok. He believed that the first man was “cooking ‘coon,” not opossum. I finally found my words and asked to try some, but I think the damage was already done, and I was never re-offered ‘possum or ‘coon (which I found out later were short for opossum and raccoon).
Further down the road, I walked by a man carving a wooden spoon with a little kid helping out, standing on a tall chair.
“How long have you been making spoons?” I asked the older man.
“’bout 26 minutes!” the little boy answered, before letting the older man respond.
Everyone laughed, and my spirits soared as I made my way towards the food tents.
I decided on some roasted corn and a Coke for lunch, and sat back to dream about what the John C. Campbell Folk School looks like at other times of the year. The festival was held on beautiful trails, and resembled a regular town festival with a more hippie feel and part of me wanted to brush all the festival tents away so I could see what daily life was like at the school.
4:00 p.m.
After the festival, we traveled down 64 to the Deal Fruit Stand, which had the biggest sweet potatoes and some of the most unique apples I’ve ever seen. Deal Farm is a small shack on the side of the highway, which you could almost miss, but when you walk in and see the produce, you know you’ve come to the right place for fresh, local food and friendly service. The Grime varieties of apples date all the way back to the colonial period, and I still haven’t found out why the sweet potatoes were so big. Joe Deal, the famer and co-owner of the stand, has grown up there his entire life. His grandfather opened the farm, and he’s enjoyed work on one of four farms in his county. I’ve grown up as a Whole Food grocery store-lover and I’ve been introduced into the organic lifestyle at Rodale, Inc., so I’ve heard the side of the local/organic/GMO story from the organic experts. I decided to find out some more about the other side of the debate; what did local farmers think about the organic movement, and organic obsessed companies such as Rodale? Joe Deal let me pick his brain, and I gained insight on a more moderate view of the debate. “If you go out on the street and ask 10 people what organic means, 9 out of 10 of them are going to say, ‘Oh, it’s not having any pesticides put on the fruit.’ That is completely false. They have this stigma that organic is better for you because it hasn’t been sprayed, but it has. It gives a conventional grower a black eye a lot of times because, if you’re buying from a local grower, a lot of times, you can come out here to the farm. You can see the stuff growing and most of the time you can see my five kids running around out here and eatin’ apples or eatin’ tomatoes. I’m not going to put nothing in them that I feel is going to harm them. You can have a connection with your local grower.”
Joe Deal was one of the friendliest guys I’ve ever met, and if he’s letting his kids run around eating apples on his farm, it guarantees that I’ll buy myself a pack of non-organic apples.
4:00 p.m. on Saturday afternoon: we go from interviewing Joe Deal to having an ordeal about hotel rooms.
7:30 p.m.
After a not-so-impressive dinner at the Boiler Room, we went to the Dave Coulier comedy show and listened to laughs from the “Old Joey from Full House.” I’ve never been a huge comedy fan, but I found myself laughing at all of Coulier’s jokes (which I won’t try to repeat here, since I am the worst at repeating jokes). I wish I had a brother named Dave Coulier.
DAY 3
6:30 a.m.
Got up, went for a run on the treadmill (Franklin felt too sketchy to run outdoors), and listened to the news. We quickly got on the road in the morning and headed down Highway 64 through the Nantahala forest. Waterfalls and tunnels of leaves lined the highway and we immediately turned on North Carolina-themed music: Carolina In My Mind led to Wagon Wheel, which was followed by an entire playlist of the Avett Brothers. I brought my camera out and held my hands out the side of the car (and occasionally my head), and lived life as a travelling dog for the rest of the trip. In Cashiers we stopped at the Farmers Market, which was essentially an upscale roadside market with a very welltrained and friendly golden retriever hanging out and entertaining customers. I bought some pecan-raisin bread and apples, and enjoyed my purchases on the walk to the next stop, Buck’s Coffee Café. Buck’s was a unique coffee shop that was connected to an “odds and ends” store, which had everything from cuff links made out of world-series winning baseballs to bottle openers made from golf clubs used by professional golfers. The novelty shop was neatly cluttered—a description that only makes sense after you’ve stepped foot inside the shop. Other odds and ends include soaps, chairs, tables made from stumps, jewelry, pottery, wine, coffee and tea.