The more the merrier

I had just driven 1,016 miles and yet I didn’t know where I was.

In July 2012, I wandered into The Smoky Mountain News office in downtown Waynesville, North Carolina—tired, hungry, a little delirious and full of inertia and caffeine after a nonstop haul from upstate New York. Publisher Scott McLeod extended a friendly handshake and conducted our fourth interview in two weeks (the last three over the phone). He needed to fill a slot for an arts and entertainment writer. I was in dire need of work.

“Let’s see what you can do on the spot,” he said. “The town is in the midst of Folkmoot. Find and write me two stories by the end of this weekend about the event.”

What in the heck is Folkmoot? Before I could get a firm grasp on a definition, I was handed a camera, notepad, pen and quickly pushed out the door. Around the corner, on Main Street, I could hear the sounds of music and people cheering. 

Bringing together the essences of world culture with the traditions of Southern Appalachia, Folkmoot USA is a true “meeting of the people”—as I later found out that the Old English term means. The art of live performance found at this the two-week international dance and music festival transcends barriers by creating an ambience that’s as embracing as it is unique. Alongside the hundreds of performers stand business leaders, politicians and musicians who represent this region with class, style and their own brand of southern hospitality. Since its debut in 1984, Folkmoot has emerged as a beacon of hope, change and beauty in Haywood County.

As the sun fell behind the Blue Ridge Mountains on my first day in town, the Serbian dance troupe Talija overtook Main Street. Draped in traditional attire, the teenage ensemble stepped onto the cornmeal-laced pavement representing a foreign nation, an abstract dot thousands of miles away. For all who bared witness to their movements and musical accompaniment, it seemed to move a little bit closer.

Talija Director Dragan Pantelic felt it, too, and shared his love for western North Carolina. “The people and the nature is just like in Serbia,” he said. “People here are always friendly and always make you feel at home.” 

After Talija exited the street, the local Green Valley Cloggers performed traditional Southern Appalachian rhythms and techniques along with a fast-picking band from eastern Tennessee. Rotating and shuffling around the street with meticulous style and grace, the dancers never once lost their step.

I’ll never forget watching those performance ensembles, from completely different backgrounds, happily share their cultures as ambassadors of peace and understanding. I’d only been in Waynesville a few hours, but I had already experienced the most      important trait of this region—its abiding sense of community. 

Festivals in Southern Appalachia stand apart. Here, the word “nostalgia” does not exist. The traditional dances, sounds, food, attire and attitude are not simply for show, emerging once a year and then pushed aside. These faces and the heritage they represent are an everyday lifestyle for those of us lucky enough to call this region home.

In other words, the skills presented on stage during a festival     actually represent who its performers are as people. See those folks up there clogging or playing a string instrument? They’re doing that all year, in community dance halls on a raucous Saturday night or around a potbelly stove while winter frosts their windows. See those blacksmiths and weavers demonstrating on the street? Those are professionals who lead workshops at local colleges or take to the road to share, spread and sell their craft. 

Living in western North Carolina, I witness that sense of community and tradition every weekend. Whether I’m listening to an Appalachian storyteller at Mountain Heritage Day on the campus of Western Carolina University, sipping a locally made craft beer at the Knoxville Brewers’ Jam or marveling at a bluegrass act at the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion, to partake in this southern paradise is an exercise in immersion. 

Life here is also rich in under-the-radar happenstances such as the Fines Creek Bluegrass Jam. Tucked off of Interstate 40 in a rural corner of Haywood County, the daylong celebration of mountain music brings together some of the finest musicians in the bluegrass and folk genres. 

Each year, hometown heroes Balsam Range headline the jam. Named the 2014 International Bluegrass Music Association       “Entertainer of the Year,” Balsam Range makes regular appearances at the Grand Ole Opry. But they also play their hearts out here. Far from any city, the stage perches two floors up on the backside of a Depression-era elementary school turned community center, nestled in a cradle of ancient mountains. Around a hundred folks in lawn chairs watch the band, eating barbecue and sipping sweet tea. It’s pure magic.

“I grew up in the mountains and music was a part of our heritage,” said Darren Nicholson, mandolinist for Balsam Range. “My dad played and about everybody in my family played. We’d play every evening, especially on Friday nights when other musicians would come by and sit on the porch. As long as people have been living here, music has been here. Music and dance is a big part of mountain culture. It’s just a way of life—sitting down with your family after dinner and playing. It’s been like that around here for hundreds of years.”

So why does Balsam Range play the jam? Why do all of these bands and artisans do what they do, especially on such a local level? It’s a gift to those who first provided them with a platform for success. 

“You’ve got to give back to the community. You can’t lose sight of that,” Nicholson said. “When you’re not in a mainstream genre of music, you become very accessible and close to other bluegrass musicians. With more people at a bluegrass show, it’s just a bigger porch.”

That’s also the same reason such amazing people remain in this area, rather than hightailing it to the nearest city or trendy spot. Folks raised here understand from an early age the importance of not only giving back to your community, but taking a sincere pride in the people, places and things surrounding you.

There’s a saying here: “I wasn’t born in Waynesville, but I sure got here as fast as I could.” As an arts and entertainment writer for The Smoky Mountain News, I find that statement truer each day. I live and thrive in Southern Appalachia, and the characters I cross paths with—while grabbing a cup of coffee around the corner or meandering around a festival—never cease to amaze me.

Everyone here has a story to share. We all came from somewhere, near or far, and yet we all have come together for one purpose—community.