There's nothing like the taste of half-runner green beans, so plump and full you are obliged to shell out some of the pearls from their green shell. The flavor is likened somewhat to a field pea, they make a wonderful juice and keep their firmness just right. Cornbread baked with butter, crispy on the bottom made from sprinkling a little bit of cornmeal in the bottom of the pan heated to melt the butter before pouring the sweet-smelling batter in – a trick I learned from my grandmother.
Then add to the meal creamed corn made from slicing the kernels into a bowl, then taking a knife and scraping the juice and milky white marrow off the corncob, adding a mixture of milk and flour and butter to it, cooking until it thickens. Add a blood-red ripe Big Boy tomato and crisp green cucumber to your plate and you have what is called a certified country food dinner!
I got to experience this great food this evening after coming home from visiting my hometown on the polar opposite side of the state from where I now live; a little town west of Asheville called Bryson City. You may not have ever visited it, but you will remember it if you have.
Like the beach towns on the east coast, things run a little bit more relaxed there. Local folks have huge produce markets, some of which cover close to 20 acres where you can purchase all the goods to make the prize dinner I mentioned above. You will also find peaches picked ripe on the vine so sweet they would get up and walk off the plate before they would let you put sugar on them; trust me, they don't need it!
And, I must not forget the sourwood honey gathered from bees that make this brand of honey from pollen gathered from native sourwood trees. I like to buy it with the honeycomb in the jar. I grew up being taught that it has medicinal uses, such as helping arthritis and aiding in alleviating allergies by introducing pollen into the body in minute amounts tucked into that golden, thick fluid, sweet enough to make Pooh come running.
Sadly, our trip was due to a loved one's passing, so our hearts were heavy and the trip was not filled with the anticipation that it usually is, knowing we were going to say our last goodbyes to my husband's dear aunt, one of the county's most beloved souls. But this little town has a way of soothing a troubled soul through its warm, small-town charm. With every flower-filled urn along its streets and bridge into town, down to the diner on its main street, with food so tasty, and service so friendly, you never want to leave; to an ice cream shop that boasts homemade ice cream from a local creamery (we hurried in due to a shower that came on while we sat on one of the many welcoming benches along main street that call you over to take a load off and sit for a while, to keep from being drenched to the bone – of course I was forced to get some chocolate ice cream – oooh heaven!!).
To our surprise and delight, as we waited to meet up with family for lunch, we found that the old courthouse now was the site of a museum of the history of the founders of this little town and held many precious artifacts from the families who settled into the area, along with a real reconstructed log cabin filled with items that were used by families in the early days. There were old sewing machines and a shoe cobbler's equipment, logging history, moonshine stills relics, as well as a very informative and well-done video of how the town came to be with history about the Cherokee Indians and how they were forced from their land by the white settlers. I guess we spent at least a half-hour or more in there and could have stayed all afternoon, given the time.
Of course, one cannot reminisce without remembering favorite childhood memories like sitting around in an old barn with cousins and telling ghost stories, and lo and behold, nestled amongst other great titles like a nature guidebook, Who Pooped in the Park, and a 2020 calendar jammed full of the most beautiful nature scenes one could ever imagine from the area, was Mountain Ghost Stories. I hurriedly flipped to the index and sure enough, there was the story of the "Brown Mountain Lights," a tale I had been told numerous times by my brothers around family gatherings (an activity sure to produce nightmares in their little sister's brain) in our front yard after we had tired of catching lightning bugs.
I quickly snatched it from its appointed placed upon the bookshelf and turned to the story. As soon as I read the opening sentence, "there's nothing scarier than a mountain at night," I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck- just like it used to – and I knew that bad boy was going home to sit on my bookshelf and be read time and again, as I passed a delicious little part of my heritage on to other loved ones. The bookshelves also held other great artifacts of this lovely town such as quilting books and cookbooks, coffee cups and homemade items of all kinds.
I was suddenly back home sitting in the front yard eating watermelon with my brothers, getting it all over my face, and not caring one bit because it was summer and that was what summer was all about – enjoying the food and fellowship of family and friends, telling ghost stories, and catching lightning bugs.
And if this is too tame for you, hop over to Nantahala Outdoor Center - you can't even dream up this much fun!
If you have never taken the time to take a break from the hustle and bustle of your busy life, you need to take a weekend and go and visit this little town where life runs on a different time table, and people say hello to you with a beautiful welcoming smile. Take a minute to sit on one of those benches and take in the scenery, eat some great food, and then take a walk to a place called Deep Creek where you will feel like you have stepped through a looking glass into a Carl Sandberg novel.
The air smells different there as it rolls off the mountains like a ghost floating up, and then drifting down through the trees. It may be hot during the day, but you can count on the coolness of the evening, and the lightning bugs calling you to come and see if you can catch them, sit down and enjoy some sweet tea, watermelon and fellowship with a friend as you hear the owls and other night-time critters calling.
And maybe if you are able to go and view Brown Mountain, you might get a glimpse of the lights that folklore says are the spirits of Indian maidens searching for the spirits of their dead husbands, fathers, and brothers killed during the battle.
Are the hairs standing up on your neck yet?
