Appalachian State University - Rhododendron Yearbook (Boone, NC)

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t y R.T. Smith In the land of kudzu and copperheads, of mica md moonshine, there is glory on the wing of a swooping lawk and mercy in the lace of November snow, and »race in the crystalline tumble of a gem-studded nountain stream. These Blue Ridge Mountains form a agged and shining bracelet of rock and wood across the Arist of the South, and the centerstone of this natural ewelry is Boone, North Carolina, where Appalachian state University is a nucleus of energy and enthusiasm. As you snake along the narrow highways or the splendid showcase of the Blue Ridge Parkway, you feel :he churning energy of a banjo breakdown on the wind, ;ee the green fire of high pine forests, and touch the undeniably tangible spirit of the mountains. Here, in the dorious country surrounding Boone, the fertile sward of ppalachia once settled by the Watauga Indians and ater explored by Daniel Boone, you taste the sharp salt )f country ham biscuits, hear the midnight quake of the roomer squirrel among the yarrow, smell the immodest iweetness of wild mountain laurel, and behold the cold •oadside waters in their eternal rush down the nountainside. The North Carolina Mountains are the last home of the old gods, survivors of reason and technology, the brilliant images of cryptic red sunsets, sickle-shaped winter moons, the rich chocolate brown of fecund soil that knows the probe of hoe and steel plow, the roaring chorus of a diamond-clear waterfall, and the phoenix flames of frost-glazed sunrises. A wizard-like combustion dwells in these hills, and this is the magic your bones must seek. This is the mystery your blood must find. As you drop into the granite bowl that holds the small town of Boone, you feel the cool autumn breeze and see its bold brush strokes in the trees - gold, crimson, green, yellow and brown. You anticipate days of sitting on the cold rocks of Winkler ' s Creek or Elk Park Falls, afternoons of walking the fringes of Watauga County and scanning the swarthy land for hay ricks and froth-scrimmed running horses, of chatting with the back-country folks who cling to their King-James-Version language and time-proven methods of coaxing the crops from the earth, and nights of hiking to the totemic fire tower where you see Boone leap as one sprawling spray of light among the rough shadows of mountains with names like Hawksbill, Grandmother, Table Rock. J0 ■ 7A L T ' « A| w Scenics 5

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