"What's that?" I asked as I felt the 737 begin to descend.
"That golden dome on the statehouse in Atlanta. The afternoon sun just makes it glow! Did you know that all that gold was mined right here in Georgia?"
"Really? Where?"
"Dahlonega," he said a accent much akin to Jeff Foxworthy.
"That sounds more like the name of an Italian sports car than a place " I responded.
"Yessiree! In 1828 the first gold rush in the United States was in that little town of Dahlonega, Georgia. It's 'bout sixty-five miles from Atlanta. The name came from some Indian word, I think," he said with a big smile on his face.
That was over forty years ago and I had visited Dahlonega several times since. But on April 15 I was there for "The Bear on the Square" festival which promoted Appalachian arts and crafts and mountain music. The old Lumpkin County courthouse, built in 1836, is in the center of the square of the town. About fifty-two hundred people live in Dahlonega. Several years ago the folks decided that they would promote tourism with several festivals per year. The "Bear on the Square" is just one of them. We had driven from Athens on a warm overcast day with threats of rain. Like most festivals there were rows of booths selling or promoting something. What is unique at this festival is that Appalachian folklore crafts and music take center stage. We parked in a modern parking garage for no fee and walked up hill to the town square. There are no flat places in Dahlonega, it's a mountain town. The first thing I noticed was the music. I find myself a seat on the old courthouse steps and listen to some mountain music. They're performing "Fox On the Run", one of my favorites. The band, of course, is all acoustic, two guitars, a bass, a mandolin and a fiddle. All these folks had salt and pepper hair and I'm pretty sure most of them weren't as old as they looked. The girl playing the bass and one of the guitar players, another girl, did the singing. Their harmony was great. I like good harmony. You don't even need music if you've got good harmony. I commented to the woman next to me how great they sounded. She agreed with me. She was strangely familiar. She was about five feet six, I guess, and a hundred twenty-five pounds. She wore jeans and boots and long sleeved white shirt open at her throat. A black cowboy hat adorned her head. I felt I had seen her before. She had flowing hair that was was once jet black but mostly silver now, a heart shaped face with full vermilion lips and eyes as black as coal. There were crows feet in the corners of those eyes and her face had that tan of an outdoors person. Yep, she looked just like the girl I had seen when I was a teenager at an auction in Pickens county. A Boy Scout came by selling bottles of water. I bought one. When I turned to look at the woman again she was gone. Could it have been? I decided to check out some other parts of the festival and moved on around the square. I watched a woodcarver making a dough bowl with an adze and a blacksmith make some nails. One booth had a huge selection of whirligigs for sale. They were really colorful and most of them had animated characters either human or animal. A gentle breeze kept everything moving. There were more potters than painters. all styles of pottery from ultra modern to traditional and face jugs. As one band was fading from earshot another would be fading in. It is very interesting how the bands evolve. They may start with only two musicians. Then they will be joined by others. But seldom more than a half dozen. They play only mountain music or old time string band music. The musicians were all ages and all skill levels. It's not unusual to see an eight-year-old little girl fiddler playing with an octogenarian guitarist. The language of music has no age restrictions. Occasionally, I see a black cowboy hat bobbing in the sea of hats and caps and I wonder. Claudette joins me after the second band. We stop to watch a demonstration of buck dancing. Our ancestors brought buck dancing with them from the British Isles. Modern tap dancing probably evolved from buck dancing. As the buck dancer was performing a little boy of about three or four came up and started watching. He would stare at the dancers feet and then look at his mom. He was a handsome little dude and people began to urge him to dance. He would slowly move one of his feet on the dancing service then look at his mom. We all cheered for him but he never did dance. But you could tell by the expression on his face that one day it would happen.
We were hungry. I had my first foot-long corndog. It was almost good. The cornbread batter the wiener had been dipped in was sweet. I think there should be a law against sweet cornbread! Otherwise, it was good. The brown mustard helped. Claudette decided she would find something else. While she was looking I went into this big tent and with a couple of hundred people were entertained by the Rosin sisters. Their vocal harmony on those old mountain songs was really good. Claudette joined me with her pulled pork sandwich which she shared. Up the hill a ways was the storytelling tent. Storytelling is a big part of Appalachian life. Adam Booth, a professional storyteller, was featured. I spoke with him a few minutes and mentioned that we had heard him in Charleston at the storytelling festival. Since we had heard him before we wondered on absorbing the music and culture. There was a place to try your hand a gold panning. Having almost frozen panning in the Yuba River in California with Claudette I had no desire to wash some Georgia mud!
On the way off the square we passed a band of young guys in their twenties. They performed "Uncle Penn", a classic bluegrass tune. After two verses the singer stopped singing because he said he didn't know anymore verses. Their next tune was "Rocky Top". I thought it might have caused a stir. "Rocky Top" is the University of Tennessee Volunteers fight song and we were deep in Georgia Bulldog country. But they finished a rousing rendition without incident. On the way to the car we walked down Luthiers Ally by the booths of handmade stringed instruments. We had enjoyed our visit to the Bear on the Square Festival and it was threatening rain. As we walked passed a small eatery near the garage I caught sight of a woman in a black cowboy hat, boots and jeans with long silver hair duck through the door.
"That sounds more like the name of an Italian sports car than a place " I responded.
"Yessiree! In 1828 the first gold rush in the United States was in that little town of Dahlonega, Georgia. It's 'bout sixty-five miles from Atlanta. The name came from some Indian word, I think," he said with a big smile on his face.
That was over forty years ago and I had visited Dahlonega several times since. But on April 15 I was there for "The Bear on the Square" festival which promoted Appalachian arts and crafts and mountain music. The old Lumpkin County courthouse, built in 1836, is in the center of the square of the town. About fifty-two hundred people live in Dahlonega. Several years ago the folks decided that they would promote tourism with several festivals per year. The "Bear on the Square" is just one of them. We had driven from Athens on a warm overcast day with threats of rain. Like most festivals there were rows of booths selling or promoting something. What is unique at this festival is that Appalachian folklore crafts and music take center stage. We parked in a modern parking garage for no fee and walked up hill to the town square. There are no flat places in Dahlonega, it's a mountain town. The first thing I noticed was the music. I find myself a seat on the old courthouse steps and listen to some mountain music. They're performing "Fox On the Run", one of my favorites. The band, of course, is all acoustic, two guitars, a bass, a mandolin and a fiddle. All these folks had salt and pepper hair and I'm pretty sure most of them weren't as old as they looked. The girl playing the bass and one of the guitar players, another girl, did the singing. Their harmony was great. I like good harmony. You don't even need music if you've got good harmony. I commented to the woman next to me how great they sounded. She agreed with me. She was strangely familiar. She was about five feet six, I guess, and a hundred twenty-five pounds. She wore jeans and boots and long sleeved white shirt open at her throat. A black cowboy hat adorned her head. I felt I had seen her before. She had flowing hair that was was once jet black but mostly silver now, a heart shaped face with full vermilion lips and eyes as black as coal. There were crows feet in the corners of those eyes and her face had that tan of an outdoors person. Yep, she looked just like the girl I had seen when I was a teenager at an auction in Pickens county. A Boy Scout came by selling bottles of water. I bought one. When I turned to look at the woman again she was gone. Could it have been? I decided to check out some other parts of the festival and moved on around the square. I watched a woodcarver making a dough bowl with an adze and a blacksmith make some nails. One booth had a huge selection of whirligigs for sale. They were really colorful and most of them had animated characters either human or animal. A gentle breeze kept everything moving. There were more potters than painters. all styles of pottery from ultra modern to traditional and face jugs. As one band was fading from earshot another would be fading in. It is very interesting how the bands evolve. They may start with only two musicians. Then they will be joined by others. But seldom more than a half dozen. They play only mountain music or old time string band music. The musicians were all ages and all skill levels. It's not unusual to see an eight-year-old little girl fiddler playing with an octogenarian guitarist. The language of music has no age restrictions. Occasionally, I see a black cowboy hat bobbing in the sea of hats and caps and I wonder. Claudette joins me after the second band. We stop to watch a demonstration of buck dancing. Our ancestors brought buck dancing with them from the British Isles. Modern tap dancing probably evolved from buck dancing. As the buck dancer was performing a little boy of about three or four came up and started watching. He would stare at the dancers feet and then look at his mom. He was a handsome little dude and people began to urge him to dance. He would slowly move one of his feet on the dancing service then look at his mom. We all cheered for him but he never did dance. But you could tell by the expression on his face that one day it would happen.
We were hungry. I had my first foot-long corndog. It was almost good. The cornbread batter the wiener had been dipped in was sweet. I think there should be a law against sweet cornbread! Otherwise, it was good. The brown mustard helped. Claudette decided she would find something else. While she was looking I went into this big tent and with a couple of hundred people were entertained by the Rosin sisters. Their vocal harmony on those old mountain songs was really good. Claudette joined me with her pulled pork sandwich which she shared. Up the hill a ways was the storytelling tent. Storytelling is a big part of Appalachian life. Adam Booth, a professional storyteller, was featured. I spoke with him a few minutes and mentioned that we had heard him in Charleston at the storytelling festival. Since we had heard him before we wondered on absorbing the music and culture. There was a place to try your hand a gold panning. Having almost frozen panning in the Yuba River in California with Claudette I had no desire to wash some Georgia mud!
On the way off the square we passed a band of young guys in their twenties. They performed "Uncle Penn", a classic bluegrass tune. After two verses the singer stopped singing because he said he didn't know anymore verses. Their next tune was "Rocky Top". I thought it might have caused a stir. "Rocky Top" is the University of Tennessee Volunteers fight song and we were deep in Georgia Bulldog country. But they finished a rousing rendition without incident. On the way to the car we walked down Luthiers Ally by the booths of handmade stringed instruments. We had enjoyed our visit to the Bear on the Square Festival and it was threatening rain. As we walked passed a small eatery near the garage I caught sight of a woman in a black cowboy hat, boots and jeans with long silver hair duck through the door.
