From the managing editor, June 2014

I met my husband at 34 Church Street in Waynesville, N.C., in August 2003. Not that I knew it at the time. In fact, I think I didn’t even speak to him, as I was there to interview for a job I wasn’t sure I wanted. It had taken only nine months of working as a general assignment reporter at a community paper in South Carolina for me to become burned out and disillusioned with the profession. I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue to be a reporter. I wasn’t sure I wanted to move back to the mountains. Really, I wasn’t sure of anything at all.

Being unsure gave me permission to take a leap. If I liked the job, I could stay. If I didn’t, I could leave. I was young, and at that juncture, open to adventure. Shortly after my interview, I was offered the job at Smoky Mountain News, accepted it, left South Carolina, moved to Maggie Valley, and took up residence at my desk in the newsroom on Sept. 23. My first assignment was to contact a local sheriff for a story about the county’s jail. I’d become adept at fraternizing with law enforcement during my days in South Carolina where it seemed that every other week brought another shooting or bank robbery or drug bust. 

Little did I know, my cops chops, high-heeled boots, and stories of cruising Charleston on the back seat of a motorcycle with a purported Hell’s Angel gave me a certain je ne sais quoi among my new workmates. In particular, Travis, a quiet graphic designer who had been with the company for three years, described me as “intense and a little bit scary.” 

Always up for a challenge, I decided I liked Travis; he, however, was a good Southern boy and too polite to make a move, so after a year and a half, I made mine. Nine months later we were engaged, and five months after that we were married. Our boss, who had given his nod of approval to the relationship, came to the wedding, and we, after a weekend celebration, went back to work on Monday. 

Travis and I shared office space in Waynesville, and then in our company’s remote office in Sylva, and then once again in Waynesville. We were together on a seven-day-a-week basis for five years, until 2008, when a change in duties meant that I began working from home. Though many spouses cannot imagine working together, for us, the challenge came in working apart. Our work identities were the cornerstone of our relationship, and, in working from home, I began to lose touch with him and with the coworkers who were so much like our family. My transition from Smoky Mountain News to the helm of Smoky Mountain Living further emphasized my disconnect, as I no longer was a part of the weekly news cycle but instead focused on a much larger region and an altogether different production schedule. Moving onward and upward didn’t come without certain penalties. 

In the years to follow, the company grew, and eventually we outgrew our office at 34 Church Street. We hesitated to move too far from the historic downtown area and ultimately didn’t. Years of memories were sorted, donated, tossed, or packed away, and on the first weekend of May, we moved less than a block away to 144 Montgomery. 

Much to my pleasure, the we includes me. I have an office of my own, located across the hall from Smoky Mountain News’ editor. Beyond our offices is the new newsroom, beyond that, the publisher’s office, and beyond that, Travis. Ten years after our first meeting as coworkers, we are beginning a new adventure as coworkers once again. 

This edition of Smoky Mountain Living is dedicated to all adventures great and small—to the joy and discovery that’s possible when one decides to take a leap. 

— Sarah E. Kucharski, managing editor