December in the Mountains: Four Stories Worth Sharing
Blue Ridge Parkway Overlook at Groundhog Mountain, Meadows of Dan, VA
December 2025: Vol 2, #12
As the year winds down, I’ve been thinking about the thread that runs through the stories I tell about this region. It isn’t nostalgia. It’s grit. The kind you see in a hayfield after a long week of work. The kind that shows up in the stubborn streak of an Appalachian hog. The kind mountain families leaned on when distance shaped their lives more than convenience ever could. Even a holiday train carried a bit of that spirit with every cold-weather run.
Each article this month looks at a different expression of that resilience. Different scenes, same resolve. It felt like the right note to close out this version of the newsletter. Next month, you’ll see the new format — a cleaner layout, tighter focus, and a better reading flow — but the stories will keep that same steady pulse.
In the gray stillness before dawn, Mae pulled her daughter’s coat tighter and brushed snow from the girl’s cap. The chill settled in deep this far up the valley, where wind rolled off the ridges and cut through every layer of wool. Along the tracks, families waited in silence, boots crunching against the snow. Down the line, a long whistle …
Daybreak is quiet and subdued. A lingering chill hangs in the air, and the rustling of leaves hints at something unseen nearby. An Appalachian hog steps out from a stand of young poplar, nose to the ground, as comfortable in the woods as any wild creature. It pauses at the edge of an old fence line, considers the opening, and …
I love driving the Blue Ridge Parkway. Early on an autumn morning there’s a mist in the air and sunlight sparkles off the freshly mowed hayfields where round bales wait in the dew. Visitors congregate at the overlooks. They take in the horizon, nod at the quiet, then turn their cameras toward those giant rolls as if the hay might …
Morning comes early because it has to. The stove takes time. In the quiet of Appalachian isolation, the path to the spring is slick with dew, and the cow bellows until the gate latch lifts. A wagon trip into town must wait for the creek to drop and the sky to clear. Until then, work stays close: feed the stock, …
Well, that's it for this edition. I hope you enjoyed it. If you would like me to cover a particular topic, drop me a line at the address below. And don't forget to "like" our Facebook page.
