Southern Charm and Smoky Horizons

Our latest journey carried us east from Nevada to the rolling foothills of northern Georgia, where Canton stretches along the Etowah River. Our friends welcomed us with the kind of hospitality that defines the South: grills fired up, long dinners that drifted into conversation, and local tours that revealed the texture of daily life here.

Canton surprised us with its culinary range: fresh seafood at Goin' Coastal, elevated Mexican fare at La Cantina on Main, and handcrafted dishes at Nuevos Amigos Cocina Mexicana, where the outdoor patio offers mountain views and sunset glow. We found time for classic Italian at Dina's, squeezed in gym sessions, and played pickleball between meals, because even in travel, healthy routines help anchor us.

Just south, Woodstock offered a walkable downtown where restored brick buildings line streets full of southern character. We celebrated Oktoberfest beneath the trees at Reformation Brewery, lingered over dinner conversations, and sampled self-serve wine flights at Deep Roots Wine Market, a quiet example of how community, not scale, gives a place its character.

The warm reception in both towns lingered with us. There's something special about genuine hospitality, the kind that makes you want to return.

Driving northeast toward Gatlinburg, we stopped in Helen, Georgia, an Appalachian town rebuilt as a Bavarian village. In the 1960s, as the local logging industry faded, civic leaders gambled on tourism and mandated that every downtown building adopt Alpine architecture. The result is delightfully surreal: gabled rooftops, flower boxes, and accordion melodies floating along the Chattahoochee River. About 500 residents, but 3 million visitors annually. It leans hard into the theme, unapologetically.

We stepped into The Heidelberg for Sauerbraten and bratwurst, soaked in the ambience, and then continued to Tennessee.

The Great Smoky Mountains National Park stretched before us, America's most visited national park, receiving more than twice the visitors of the Grand Canyon. What draws millions here isn't just beauty; it's accessibility. Entry is free, a rarity among major U.S. parks and perhaps the truest reflection of its democratic spirit.

These mountains are ancient, older than the Himalayas, older than the Rockies. Time has rounded their peaks and softened their slopes. Where Yosemite's granite cliffs inspire awe through verticality, the Smokies invite belonging through density. Over 200,000 acres of old-growth forest shelter more than 19,000 documented species. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site and International Biosphere Reserve, one of the oldest ecosystems on earth still intact.

We witnessed this abundance firsthand when a herd of elk crossed our path along the Oconaluftee River and in the meadow. Elk vanished from these mountains in the 1800s but were reintroduced in 2001. The herds we saw are part of that restored population, a reminder that wilderness can return when we make space for it.

From Newfound Gap, we drove to Clingmans Dome, Tennessee's highest point at 6,643 feet. The observation tower offers 360-degree views when the weather cooperates, which we were fortunate to enjoy. This summit marks the highest elevation along the Appalachian Trail's 2,198 miles, a symbolic high point both literal and figurative. Having hiked sections of the Pacific Crest Trail out West, we felt a quiet connection between two great American routes.

The contrast between Yosemite and the Smokies reveals how landscapes shape our relationship with wilderness. Yosemite's granite solitude invites introspection; the hiker becomes small, almost monastic against stone. The Smokies, by contrast, feel inhabited. Their forests are lush rather than sparse, their trails well-worn rather than remote. One wilderness overwhelms; the other welcomes.

Both are necessary. Both are true.

Back in Gatlinburg, we navigated the town's bustling energy: part mountain gateway, part tourist destination. We dined at Smith & Son Corner Kitchen, a brick-walled southern pub, and made the obligatory stop at Ole Smoky Distillery, where we sampled flavored moonshine flights while a bluegrass band played "Rocky Top." The experience felt authentically Tennessee, even if designed for visitors. We finished with a feast at Bennett's Pit Bar-B-Que: pulled pork, brisket ribs, and all the sides that define southern comfort.

The next morning, we passed through Pigeon Forge, a different kind of spectacle altogether. Massive attractions, themed restaurants, and entertainment complexes line the main strip in relentless succession. It's sensory overload by design, a playground built to dazzle. We drove through without stopping, content to witness the spectacle from the road.

Along the way, we detoured to Buc-ee's, the Texas-born travel center that has become a cultural phenomenon. It's part convenience store, part theme park: beaver-themed souvenirs, a massive food court, countless gas pumps, and bathrooms so clean they're legendary. Worth experiencing once.

We also stopped at Black Rifle Coffee, a veteran-founded chain known for bold, high-caffeine brews and patriotic branding with drinks named Liberty Bell, 1776, and Betsy Ross. The coffee was solid; the vibe unmistakable.

Our final stop was Chattanooga, where we ate elevated comfort food at The Feed Table & Tavern, grass-fed sloppy joes and a smoked brisket French dip, before walking Coolidge Park along the riverfront. The Walnut Street Bridge was closed for renovations, but Lookout Mountain rose in the background, a reminder of what still waits for next time. Chattanooga offers scenic beauty, a vibrant arts scene, and a 16-mile paved riverwalk. It deserves a longer visit.

We flew back to Reno via Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, the busiest in the world by passenger traffic, more than 100 million travelers annually. The trip reminded us that even short journeys can feel full when you prioritize place over pace.

Trip costs: Airfare ran $620 plus miles, and our share of the Gatlinburg Airbnb came to $672. Add restaurants, and that’s the bulk of it. We kept expenses manageable by staying with friends who also drove (no car rental), cooking some meals in, and steering clear of the pricier tourist traps. The national park, of course, was free.

Now, the calendar presses forward. We move from Reno to Dallas in late December as part of our transition planning. In January, we'll establish residency in Texas before departing for international travel in February. Between now and then: downsizing, packing, and preparation.

This week, we reset, spending time locally in Reno, recovering from the flurry of recent travel, and beginning the work of what comes next.

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It’s time to stay home for a while. Expect reflections on the transition ahead, practical preparations for our upcoming move, and perhaps a little celebration at The Great Italian Festival in our own backyard.

The South greeted us with the kind of warmth people mean when they talk about southern charm: genuine, unhurried, and rooted in pride of place. From Canton's dinner tables to Gatlinburg's mountain air, the common thread was community, the way people show care through history, conversation, and hospitality.

We left tired but grateful, reminded that hospitality itself is a form of culture. The road ahead will take us farther from these familiar rhythms, but this trip served as grounding, a reminder of what makes a place worth documenting.

Coming soon: winter in Texas, then the world.

Until next week,
S&S

Some Great Place
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