By E. Lane Gresham, Guest Columnist
I noticed her out of the corner of my eye – a dark-haired woman moving through the late-summer sunlight toward the outdoor tables at the folk school. I was enjoying lunch on a Monday when she paused beside me and asked:
“Where did you get your earrings?”
It is a familiar question. I’ve worn this pair – oversized dogwood blooms – countless times, and they always invite conversation.
I started to tell her about the artist: a woman I’d followed for years, first discovered at a Christmas market in Clarkesville, Ga.
 |
She crafted the earrings by hand while her husband typed a personalized quote on a vintage typewriter with each purchase. Their work carried an element of whimsy and charm, a marriage of art and kindness.
I’d collected her creations over several years:
Dangly poinsettias for winter.
Periwinkle hoops paired with a handmade notecard.
Black teardrops kissed with gold.
And my favorite – delicate ginkgo leaves that looked as though they might flutter to the ground with the autumn wind.
I followed her online, ordered by mail, and spotted her once or twice at local festivals. Then, she disappeared. The account went quiet, and I wondered where her art – and her spirit – had gone. Still, I kept wearing her earrings.
Before I could finish my story, she smiled and said softly: “That was me.”
The artist herself – the creator of the very pieces I’d cherished – had found her way to John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown. She was back, she told me, to reconnect with her craft.
She asked to take a photo to send to her family. Then she asked for a hug.
Of course, I said yes.
On Friday, I gathered my collection of her earrings – still tucked in their original boxes with the typed quotes – and visited her in the jewelry studio. Her hands were once again busy shaping metal into beauty. The spark was back.
We’ve since reconnected in the digital world, but the actual connection happened right there at the folk school – in a place that seems to draw people home to themselves.
Moments like this happen often at the folk school.
There’s a kind of quiet magic in the studios, a gentle stirring that reminds us:
You never know when you’ll re-encounter your own story – or meet yourself exactly where you’re meant to be.
E. Lane Gresham is the advancement director at John C. Campbell Folk School. She can be reached at lane@folkschool.org.