Waking Up in Appalachia

Our cabin was right on the side of a mountain. Driving up the driveway was a thrill and nerve-racking at the same time. It was as steep as a ski slope, making part of the family queezy and the other part excited every time we revved the engine to make the climb. There were other homes within sight, but I don't remember ever seeing any neighbors. Along with the solitude of our home, there was an incredible view. Courtesy of the second-story back porch, we were able to see over the trees and across to the the next mountain. The weather, the natural beauty, the rising and falling light at the beginning and closing of the day was all visible to us.

Mornings were my favorites. My father-in-law would always beat me out of bed, but when I woke, I would sneak out of my bedroom, trying not to wake my wife. Then head down stairs, trying not to wake other family members, and fill my coffee cup. Finally, I climbed back up the stairs as silently as possible, once again attempting not to disturb the slumber of the others, as I exited onto the porch and found my father-in-law already enjoying the cool morning air.

With the early rays of the dawning sun and a warm cup of coffee, we would sometimes talk, sometimes read. There was ample time to gaze out at what the landscape wanted to give us. Providing some insight into itself that those who were part of the scene would not be able to appreciate. We were above it all and because of this, bystanders instead of participants.

This particular morning a heavy fog lay over the forest below. Obscuring our view, but enhancing it at the same time. Time slowed a bit, the fog adding something new to the landscape and providing a serene panorama to enjoy with our taste of Sumatra. So with the wind lightly blowing and the coffee steaming lazily, we chatted and discussed the finer points of life and whatever else came to mind.

Fog in Appalachia, Outside Gatlinburg, TN

Using One's Hands

My great-grandfather was a carpenter. I don't use this title as someone who frames houses (though there is nothing wrong with this), but rather as a true woodworking, build-anything carpenter. In fact, before he passed away, he was the last person alive in Illinois who could make a wagon wheel. This blows me away. I think the only thing I could make from wood is a spice rack.

I tell you all this because I have noticed that trades involving the skill of one's hands is on the decline. There used to be a time where people lived on a trade and in order to become accomplished at that trade, they became an apprentice under a master of that trade. Blacksmith, carpenter, printer, etc. But in this age of office jobs and corporate ladders, the simple art of working with one's hands and creating something has lessened in its use.

So I was pleased when I went to Gatlinburg with my wife's family and found Alewine Pottery in the Great Smoky Arts and Crafts Community. Walking through their building was like taking a step up into a mountain community. Wood floors and a banjo/bass duo out front gave the place an earthy feeling you don't get amidst the bright lights and cheap novelty shops of downtown Gatlinburg.

As I was perusing the pottery-lined shelves, I saw another area with large glass windows to view the potters at work. It was not a high-energy show, but rather a display of creativity, art and skill, often absent from our everyday lives. So I stood there, watching and taking pictures of an artisan at work and not once did I wonder why he wasn't doing it more efficiently through mass-production.

A Potter at Work, Alewine Pottery, Gatlinburg, TN