Hazel Creek
A Memoir
This here’s the one. My most favorite place in the world. This little ridge that overlooks all the mountains of my life. Nothin' but clear blue sky and deep green forests stretchin' out for miles and miles into forever. I found this place during the War. Wasn’t no name for it then, so I called it Hall Field. After myself, if you please.
This time of year it’s so cool and clear you can see nigh on to a hundred miles. Knoxville’s out in the valley to the north. And beyond it the Cumberlands, all dark along the horizon.
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That patch of busy in the near flatland is Marysville, grown into a fair sized town. If you was to walk west to the top of Thunderhead Mountain, you’d look straight down into Cade’s Cove, just over the state line in Tennessee.
And way down in that valley’s my home in Medlin, North Carolina. Follow the smoke from the chimneys just below where the ridge dips in front of that big mountain. Past Medlin and on down Hazel Creek lie Proctor and Wayside, Fairfax and Fontana and all the river towns and mountain settlements that have grown up ever since I first came out here.
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I reckon the high country is all that’s left in these Great Smoky Mountains where a man can find a quiet place to be alone. When me and Crate brought our families out here in ‘78, you could count the cabins on your hands. Now, there’s all manner of souls lookin’ for the free life. ​ Well, why not? I come to Hazel Creek early. I’ve had me the good fortune to live that free life, raise my young’uns, love my woman, hunt and fish and have these Great Smoky Mountains as my world. A man cannot ask for more. ​
So here I sit on this clear September day and if I don’t fall off this ridge top, I’ll tell you my story.