This column was originally published on Dec. 1, 1999, in the Lake City (Fla.) Reporter after I took a vacation in Cherokee County. Nothing has been updated from the original version, so please know that Eric Rudolph is, in fact, still in jail today.
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Up on Beaver Creek in southwestern North Carolina, tourists are called “flatlander Flordonians” (at least by the owner of an automobile repair shop). “R.L. please come home” is spray-painted on the side of a green metal garbage container. And a house with a Confederate flag flying high above, owned by a man with kennels full of German shepherds, has a sign out front that proudly proclaims, “Owner is not responsible for what dogs might eat.”
You gotta love that kind of simple honesty. But that’s the way people are here. They have a sense of humor and style all their own, like the person who took out a classified ad in a local newspaper that read, “Will the person who stole my welcome mat please return it.”
The favorite bumper sticker at the Hillbilly Mall reads, “Eric Rudolph – Hide & Seek Champion 1998-99.” (You may recall that the FBI is still unsuccessfully searching for the bombing suspect hereabouts.) Camouflage hunting gear is available in basic green and black as well as a nice shade of lavender. The barbecue joint boldly tells all who enter, “You can’t beat our butts!” (Naturally, they’re referring to the pork variety.)
It’s a place where people can be just what they want to be. Jeans and a flannel shirt are standard attire, even in business offices. Vehicles with computer chips and without four-wheel drive are frowned upon. And if your trailer springs a leak, build another roof above it on 4-by-4s.
The town’s cable television channel has a mobile van – actually a converted mail Jeep – that travels through the countryside with a camcorder, capturing visual effects that make one feel like a sick hound dog sitting in the back of a pickup driving on an icy mountain road.
The glorious outdoors can cause city slickers to get a bit wacky. When our families decided to hike up the mountain to the town reservoir, my friend and I took the testosterone route – straight up, through land previously unstepped upon by human feet. My sneakers lost ground quicker than Hillary Clinton’s poll numbers in New York. We ended up somewhere between Deliverance and The Blair Witch Project; good thing civilization was downhill.
People take their food seriously in these parts, even though the Mexican restaurants have to sell virgin margaritas because liquor by the drink is still too hot a topic to put before the voters. Mama Sue is the best-kept secret in Murphy; for about a five spot, you can get a slab of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, baked corn casserole, candied carrots and enough sweet tea to float a battleship.
People take their religion seriously around here, too. True story: One guy tried to circumcise himself – with unhappy results – using an Exacto knife and alcohol. He later got the conviction that circumcision wasn’t all that important to Christianity anyway. (Talk about information he needed to know sooner.)
On a really serious note, it is easier to feel closer to the heavens in the Smokies – like at Fields of the Wood, a unique place built more than half a century ago on the side of a mountain in the small community of Hiwassee Dam. The Ten Commandments are posted there in 12-foot letters, and between each side are 314 steps leading to a 24-foot concrete Bible quoting from St. Matthew. From the top of the book is a grand view of thousands of Christmas lights decorating the Gospel Theater, Garden Tomb and cross at Golgotha (the Place of the Skull).
It’s a spiritual thing.
You can get a similar sensation just by looking at the stars light up the clear, dark blue sky with a warm cup of Russian tea in your hands to fight off the nip in the air. Some people look to the nearby lchetucknee River as their quiet place of peace and reflection, and that’s great. But my prayer closet is up on Beaver Creek.
David Brown is publisher of the Cherokee Scout. Cal him at 828-837-5122 or email, dbrown@cherokeescout.com.