Travel journal — Part 2: Mountains at last

May 24, am

I’m sitting under a hickory tree listening to water flowing over rocks in a tiny stream that runs down the side of a wooded hill to my left from a spring-fed source a few hundred feet away. All this natural beauty is located on the four-acre spread of a friend and former co-worker I’m visiting in the north Georgia mountains near Hiwassee. What an idyllic setting. From the rocking chair on the deck I can see off to mountains in the distance, including Brasstown Bald, the highest mountain in Georgia, a clearing with fruit trees and a small vine yard, and small pastures and fields.

We took a walk in the early evening before sunset down the gravel access road, stopping to look at old barns, wildflowers, purple clover and daisies, dead trunks and branches of pine trees eaten up by pine bark beetles, abandoned chicken coops, and various kinds of trees growing in the predominantly hardwood forest. Last night we sat out talking in the cool mountain air — about 60 degrees — with a near full moon over the mountains to the south and fireflies flickering about in the darkness. I’m told they fill the air on summer nights here with their thin little body lanterns flashing on and off. Fascinating and magical. I love to see fireflies.

The day’s travels started yesterday with a grand breakfast of stuffed French toast filled with cream cheese and peach preserves topped with syrup, along with fresh fruit, link sausages, orange juice and coffee — all served in the dining room of the bed and breakfast where I stayed. It was a little awkward at first sitting at the table with two strangers to have breakfast, but that’s the way it’s done in this B&B. It all worked out fine. My table companions were a mother and son from St. Paul, Minnesota, visiting in South Carolina because of her mother’s illness.

We had a great time t alking about the Mississippi River, the Mall of America, the Cheasapeake Bay, and much in between. The hour passed quickly, they departed, and I was free to walk the grounds of the farm and rock some more on that picture-perfect porch overlooking the garden and a huge magnolia tree in bloom. It was difficult to rouse myself from my reveries and leave by the 11 am checkout time, but I did at last, reluctantly.

From the B&B, my upstate South Carolina journey took me to waterfalls, first the magnificent 400-foot Whitewater Falls just over the North Carolina state line, and after that, in north Georgia, the exquisitely beautiful Anna Ruby Falls, located a half mile up a small creek from the parking area, a splendid and captivating walk by itself. The falls are a double fall, with two creeks joiining below. One of the falls is about 150 feet high and the other about 50 feet. I took lots of pictures and just gazed at the water sliding and fanning down the sheer rock face. I could sit and look at waterfalls for hours. There is no more lovely and enchanting sight in all of Nature, in my opinion.

Before getting to Anna Ruby Falls, I stoped at the small downtown of Clarksville, Georgia, and found an art and frame gallery that sold books and prints by the regional artist John Kollock whose nostalgic and timeless landscapes and country scenes from the first four decades of the last century are priceless and enduring treasures. I had never heard of the artist until I found and bought one of his books containing sketches and watercolors at the used books place I frequent. I had forgotten that he was from the Clarksville area, and the fact that I would just happen upon a gallery containing his work is quite astonishing to me. it is not something I had planned.

This morning before coming out to sit by the creek, I sat on the deck with my road atlas, thinking about and planning the days ahead, excited about seeing so many new places and experiencing the type of adventure that only a long road trips offers.

(Continued)