Swannanoa 

Contributed by Stephen Wickman, St. Thomas Episcopal, McLean

When you travel this great country by car – and yes, IMHO, it’s already great – and stay in motels, getting up in the middle of the night to view the deer and the tall cornfields and meet others who are nocturnally inclined, you realize just how wonderful, inquisitive, diverse, and caring are your fellow Americans and other fellow creatures. And when you are retired in a sort of semi-permanent “staycation,” it’s invigorating to get out of town like we did last week, when I ferried my wife and Brooklyn-resident daughter to my sister-in-law’s place just outside of Asheville, NC in Weaverville. They went on to the John Campbell Folk School JCCFS | John C. Campbell Folk School while I, having nothing better to do, spent a week at the Swannanoa Gathering at Warren Wilson College for “Old Time Week,” their most popular event. Old-Time Week – Swannanoa Gathering They studied respectively, tapestry making, yarn dying, and making animals out of found objects. I sang, learning shape-note singing, unaccompanied Appalachian ballads, and singing in tight Southern harmony. 

My shape-note teacher, a fellow “Whiskeypalian,” as he liked to dub our Christian denomination, was a walking, talking encyclopedia from Kentucky. And I have never seen so many fiddlers gathered in one place, along with guitarists, banjo players, dulcimer hammerers, mandolinists, bassists, cloggers, square dancers, concertina artists, and folks who played instruments I’d never seen before.  The guest artists who guided us in the pavilion after lunch included a young Cherokee flautist from Cherokee, North Carolina. A banker by day, he spent his leisure hours keeping alive a musical tradition born on this sacred ground long before the settlers came. (When he played, he said it was okay to fall asleep, since he sometimes did while he was performing!) Their dance traditions, which mimicked the native animals they cherished, influenced the dance moves of the incoming settlers. Even as almost all of the Cherokee were “removed” to Oklahoma, the remaining natives somehow kept their traditions alive. 

And there was the best fiddler I have ever heard, who hailed from Galax in Southwest Virginia, where country music was born, and where my son spent one high school Summer in the eye-popping Virginia Conservation Corps. Without getting too political, it is interesting to note that Galax is the only “blue” area in a sea of “red.” (There must be an interesting story there.) 

Warren Wilson never set foot in North Carolina, but he was the most productive and progressive Presbyterian you could ever imagine. The college named after him started as a farm school for boys over a hundred years ago, and the 800 or so students who attend there still work the same farm as they study the arts, sciences, and humanities. 

Needless to say, I came back to McLean “revived.” The highlight was on Saturday, when a local shape-note club that piggy-backs on the annual gathering brought their covered dishes to the pavilion and serenaded the bear that roam freely on campus.  Our leader told us that one year a large bear emerged from the trees to sniff the dishes laid out on a table in the pavilion only to turn and walk up the steps to the dorms. He apparently respected the singing. 

This blog post is the expressed opinion of its writer and does not necessarily reflect the views of Tysons Interfaith or its members.