A Tour of Bryson City With Renea Winchester

The Tuckasegee River runs through Bryson City, North Carolina, but it’s the railroad tracks traversing the mountain hamlet—surrounded by some of the most stunning scenery in the Smoky Mountains—that largely contributes to the quintessential small-town atmosphere. It’s where Renea Winchester was born and raised. Calling on her deep connection to the town, she was able to create memorable multi-dimensional characters that refuse to give up hope despite the hard times they were facing.

Heeding Mark Twain’s advice, “write what you know,” Renea set her debut novel Outbound Train in 1976 in her hometown. The story is driven by the trials of Barbara Parker, a down-on-her-luck factory worker tormented by past maltreatment and grappling with a layoff and the disappearance of her teenage daughter.

Based on a composite of resilient women the author knew growing up, the protagonist is a strong-willed character who is fighting for a better life for her daughter, her mother, and herself—three generations of resourceful women scraping by from paycheck-to-paycheck trying to keep their heads above water.   

I met Renea in Bryson City one Saturday for a tour of the places she mentioned in her novel. “I can take you to the school and the blue jean plant that is now a flooring plant,” she texted earlier. “If we time it right, you can get a picture of the train and grab lunch at Anthony’s. It’s right across the street from the train.”

We agreed to meet at the school located on a hill overlooking the town. Getting out of the car, smells of the grease from the fast-food restaurants below permeated the air. She was waiting with a gift, a bottle of her special elderberry syrup. Before we determined what was left of the school from the time she attended, and what had been built since, her home-town pride compelled her to mention the 1979 high school football team that won the Class AA State Championship and her friend, Heath Shuler, the Tennessee football star who later served as congressman. I asked Renea if the cemetery near the school was where the famous author Horace Kephart is buried. “Yes, but we didn’t know Horace Kephart when we were growing up,” she quipped.

As we ride from the school into downtown, Renea points out businesses. “That restaurant on the left belongs to my cousin on my mother’s side” she said. “Down the street here is a place owned by another cousin.” Everyone we see is either kinfolk or related to someone she knows.

A short drive out of town on U.S. 19 led us to what was once the blue jean plant, which she called Cleveland Manufacturing Company in her book. The cinderblock building looked more like a prison to me, and maybe it was to women who toiled inside eight hours a day for minimum wage.

Beyond the railroad station, where hundreds of tourist board the Great Smoky Mountain Railroad for a Nantahala Gorge or a Tuckasegee River Excursion, is a vacant lot where the small trailer park that served as an inspiration for Renea once existed along the tracks. While the town leaders are glad to be rid of the eyesore, Renea laments about the people who lived there and wonders if they were able to find affordable housing.

We went to the store that is now Bryson City IGA. When her story took place, it was the local Piggly-Wiggly where the Parker women bought groceries. Our next stop was the Employment Security Commission, where Barbara had no choice but to apply for unemployment benefits when the plant closed. We drove by the Rite-Way Pawn Shop where Granny Pearlene finagled a way to buy a color TV, and the Suds and Duds Laundromat where they washed their clothes before carrying them back to the trailer wet and, to save money, hang them on an outdoor clothesline.

During lunch I asked Renea how she came to write a book about such forlorn characters, and if they were based on anyone she knew? “About a dozen years ago I jumped on a wagon that was heading to town to pick up tourists,” she said. “Traveling slowly with my daughter, nephew, and my brother, at the edge of town I saw eight trailers parked end-to-end. I then saw a freckled face girl with her nose pressed against the window. At that moment she was my Carol Anne.”

“‘There is your book,’ my brother said while pointing to the dilapidated trailer park. ‘Write about this Bryson City, about the town we grew up in, not the tourist trap it is today.’”

Renea admitted she spent countless hours researching the Oldsmobile Cutlass like the one her own mother owned when she was growing up. She also had to do some inquiring to ascertain what it was like to work on a production line in a blue jean plant. “I knew nothing about textiles. I had to rely on recollections of women I know who once worked at the plant,” she said.

“Do you want to see my apothecary” Renea asked.

“If you will tell me what it is,” I replied.

“Why, its where I grow my heirloom corn, organic herbs, and plan to sell my herb medicines,” she said. “I want to transform my vintage trailer into a space for retreats and workshops.”

Off we went, a few miles out of town and up a narrow mountain road to see her apothecary. Although it is a work in progress, the quaint place has a big garden, the trailer, a stable, and a pasture for her horse, Prince.

Back in town we visited N.C. Clampitt Hardware & General Merchandise on Main Street. As we walked into this throwback mercantile, I noted Outbound Train was prominently displayed beside the front entrance. “We are proud of Renea and sell a lot of her books here,” said the clerk. While we were there, a lady came to the register to purchase a book, which Renea signed for the delighted customer.

Across the street from Clampitt’s is another business that sells Outbound Train. One Twenty-One Main is a charming little boutique featuring the owner’s art and other notions. “I should call the place What I Like because that’s all that I sell here,” said the proprietor Ashley Hacksaw. “I am Renea’s number one fan, and proud to carry her book,” she said.

Before the day ended, I asked Renea what lesson she wanted to convey through her book. Without hesitation she said, “The path out of poverty is education.”