Dallas Reese at Whiteside Mountain-Cashiers NC
Some 321 miles from where I sit writing these words, the hills of Carolina are alive with the sights, smells and sounds of early spring. New life abounds everywhere. I can picture in my mind, water trickling down molten rock as old as time, the scent of rhododendron filling up the senses, the cooler temperatures chilling the mountain mornings while the pristine streams of mountain water continue the life-giving flow through one of the oldest mountain regions in the world and one of the most beautiful regions of the Carolinas, the Blue Ridge Mountains. Oh, how I long to be there every day, but alas the work of my life to support my family and keep the ship afloat continues to occupy the majority of my time.
I've never been a fan of the heat in the days to come during summers in the low country of South Carolina and in Florida where I have spent the better part of the last decade. Maybe, it's due to my Nordic and Northern European roots from centuries ago. I sometimes think pieces of "cold tolerant" ancestral DNA have filtered down to me today to give me a total aversion to heat and shape my love of cooler temperatures. I have always been more attracted to cold than heat. Because of my light skin and tendency to sunburn very easily I have never liked the beach or the sun. I prefer the dark, damp and cold. It's much better for my health. I've already battled some second stage skin cancer in my life, and I have to be vigilant for new skin cancers that appear.
I also love snow; I prefer to sleep in an ice cold 63-degree room and if the room temperature reaches above 74 degrees, I cannot get a wink of sleep. Of course, my wife and kids are the exact opposite. Which makes for some interesting almost daily thermostat wars in our home.
Which brings me to my original point. There's no place in the world I would rather be than the mountains of North Carolina and specifically climbing Whiteside Mountain near Cashiers, North Carolina. The shade trees up and down the mountain keep temperatures cool in the summer and beautiful 365 days a year. Springtime in the mountains of North Carolina has a briskness that brings me alive. Something about Whiteside and the entire Blue Ridge Mountain range area has always enthralled me. On a daily basis I dream of being there and not here or anywhere else.
I spent four years at Appalachian State University in Boone, NC and countless summers as a kid in Highlands, NC and other Western North Carolina locales. The mountains feel like home even though I have spent the bulk of my life wandering in locales far different from the place I truly love.
I sometimes wonder why I've let my life be what it is. The song of a gypsy, led by a radio dial and a song that have, through the fates of the music and radio business, required me to live in too many places to count. Instead of making a permanent home in the mountains of North Carolina I have continued to roam like the wind for decades upon decades. For all of the hundreds of thousands of miles I have traveled around the country and the world, none can compare to the mountains of North Carolina.
My Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Barak Norton must have felt the same way. For years in the early 1800s each day he would gaze to the north at Whiteside Mountain from his home in Tamassee near modern day Pickens, South Carolina. Finally in the springtime of 1824 Norton decided to leave SC behind for good.
Norton packed up his family for the move to the valley beneath the great Whiteside Mountain, just across the North Carolina line. Norton could no longer resist the alluring call of the wilderness frontier.
Barak Norton was accompanied to the area by his wife Mary Pickeral Norton and their seven children, four boys and three girls. Ironically the exact number of kids I have. And I also have four boys and three girls. They packed all their belongings together on several horses and together they blazed a trail thru the hardwood virgin forests from Pickens, SC to Whiteside Cove, NC. There in the land of the sky, Barak Norton, along with his four sons cleared the land, felled trees and hewed logs together to build a rough but substantial house in which to begin their new life. Their closest neighbor was more than twenty-five miles away. Lonely yes, but the struggle to provide for nine people would prevent any idle time for Norton to worry about isolation or loneliness.
In those years the land was as wild as it ever would be. Panthers and bears roamed the mountain sides and deer were plentiful. Streams brimmed with natural trout and the air was as fresh as a newborn baby. On one occasion a big black bear came rumbling out of the forest and attacked a hog pen of Norton's. The bear killed a pig but then was driven out by Norton's hound dogs and cornered into climbing a tree. Norton grabbed his faithful rifle and with his wife Mary holding a torch to see, Norton shot the bear dead and provided food for the family for weeks.
I think about these family stories every time I climb Whiteside Mountain. In the last decade the trips to that venerable mountain have been few and far between because of my crazy work schedule and the fact that my wife & I are raising seven children of our own, who range from 4 to 23 years old. My last trip there was in July of 2018 with my son Ben.
When I'm at the peak of Whiteside Mountain the gloom of the world melts away. There is a radiance and glory in the views that span across the southeast. The mountain itself is a living splendor woven of centuries of love, wisdom and power. There is a peace that rests in the joy of listening to the quiet on a spring morning when no other tourists have ventured to the top at an early hour. I welcome those mornings when I have been fortunate enough to experience the mountain as my 4th Great Grandfather Barak Norton no doubt enjoyed it. The wonder of the overshadowing presence of God makes itself apparent on Whiteside Mountain and that in itself is gift enough.
My prayer for you, is that'll you make time, (if you haven't already) to experience this gift.
Go see for yourself, when day breaks on Whiteside, all the shadows flee.
I wrote the poem below while sitting at the 4930-foot summit of Whiteside Mountain on April 26, 2013. It was an early afternoon hike. I had feared I would meet with huge crowds of people at that time of day, but that day, it was just me and the mountain. Minutes earlier I had snapped this picture of a bee in flight at an overlook just east of the peak. It still rings true today.
A hike, just God and me
Whiteside Mountain, sun is high
Here I am
2000 feet above the valley floor,
A world apart from anywhere
Standing atop God’s mighty creation forged of molten granite as old as time
Near the summit I climb,
amid mats of moss and laurel and rhododendron
Wildflowers blaze, lighting up the ledges
Northern red oaks adorn my left and right.
Grass fires the hillsides below
I Soak up the moments, however fleeting
Walking only a few paces at a time,
Stopping to observe God’s immense creation.
In front of me life is younger than it will ever be.
The Shadow of the Bear and falling leaves seem a lifetime away.
Yet October always comes
But for now the world above is new
A fresh birth of color, smell and sound
Suddenly through the peaceful breeze I hear
the buzzing of a bee
I turn to see his flight most wonderful 🐝
Feeding on the nectar of a mountain flower
So much strength & power
Just a tiny life giving worker
Lifting off
Pollinating
Doing his job
A small wondrous sign
of the blessing of God’s gift
Springtime
Dallas Reese
April 2022
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