Garret K. Woodward
I had just finished a 3.3-mile jog along the backroads of Clinton County. The afternoon sun was quickly falling behind the snowy peaks of the Adirondack Mountains in the distance. The slow shadow of winter night soon enveloping the Champlain Valley, my parents’ Upstate New York farmhouse smack dab in the middle of it. And it was at this moment my mother asked me a question.
Over the last two winters, a special destination has emerged within the ancient mountains of Western North Carolina — Hatley Pointe Ski Resort.
“It’s all about continuous improvement. We’re building something unique, and to do that we need to be constantly learning and improving,” said Jeff Fissel, general manager at Hatley Pointe. “For us, it has been all about trying to see the ski experience through our guests’ eyes and making sure we’re on the cutting edge of a great guest experience and holding ourselves to the standard of all great resorts.”
Hello from my folks’ farmhouse out in the countryside of Upstate New York. It’s been mighty frigid here in my native North Country since I arrived home last week. At one point, ‘round midnight on a recent evening, the temperature dropped to around -22 degrees. Daytime temps hovered at zero for several days, with wind chills from the Canadian Arctic making critters outside hide and remain silent and those inside huddled near the fireplace, waiting out the cold.
Hello from Room 322 at the Fairfield Inn, located in Binghamton, New York. Exactly one year ago, I stayed in this same room. No joke, this is where I was placed. And, oh, how much has changed and, well, come to pass in this last calendar year since I laid down in this bed, since I opened up the drapes and looked out the same window onto the interstate traffic below.
Whirlwind. Virtuoso. Rollicking. Heartfelt.
Those were some of the sentiments I had ricocheting around my mind watching Bronwyn Keith-Hynes perform earlier this winter at The Orange Peel in Asheville. A renowned fiddler/singer, Keith-Hynes is headlong into a solo career with the recent disbanding of her former band, the Grammy-winning Americana/bluegrass act Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway.
In truth, there are two camps when it comes to Texas singer-songwriter Willis Alan Ramsey: you’re either completely obsessed with his music, with his tunes becoming a pillar of the soundtrack of your life, or you’ve never heard of him.
I only met Bob Weir once. It was backstage at the long gone Gathering of the Vibes music festival located on the shoreline of the Long Island Sound in Bridgeport, Connecticut. It was the summer of 2009 and I was 24 years old, myself an aspiring journalist for a now-defunct music magazine.
Editor’s Note: This is the transcript of a recent voice memo Garret left for a friend of his on Thursday, Jan. 8, in the aftermath of the incident in Minneapolis, Minnesota, between a protester and an ICE agent. To note, both Garret’s father (U.S. Immigration) and grandfather (U.S. Customs) were career officers for the federal government (now retired). In 2003, Immigration and Customs combined to form ICE due to the Homeland Security Act of 2002.
Good afternoon. You’re probably slaving away at your [office] desk doing your favorite thing, which is working inside under fluorescent lighting, I would assume. [Laughs]. Oh, man, I don’t know where this message is going to go, but I just was wanting to vent about…[well], it’s almost hard to vent anymore, because it’s like every day is just this chaotic frustration of things outside of my [front] door and things across the country and things around the world.
In the 1970s, Grand Funk Railroad was one of the bestselling American rock bands on the planet. To that, in 1971, the Flint, Michigan, trio broke the Beatles ticket sales record at New York’s Shea Stadium, a feat coinciding with GFR having six platinum albums and seven gold within the original lineup’s short tenure (1969-1976). Oh, and another thing — the songs still rock, too.
It finally happened. Exactly 10 years in the making, my daily running streak officially celebrated one decade of continuation on Dec. 31, 2025. End-to-end, that span of time is 3,654 straight days. The mile I’ve run? Countless. I can’t even fathom the total distance jogged throughout that time period, although I have kept a running log since “The Streak” started. Someday I’ll calculate it.
Editor’s Note: Since August 2012, Garret K. Woodward has held the position of arts and entertainment editor for The Smoky Mountain News. In December 2018, he also became a contributing writer for Rolling Stone.
Below are a handful of excerpts from my Rolling Stone travels this year covering some of the best albums of 2025, excursions that took me from Western North Carolina to Montana, Florida to Colorado, Tennessee to Utah and then some — always in search of all things beautiful and true, especially when it comes to the sacred, ancient act of live performance.
Late Monday morning. While taking a sip of my coffee at the Main Street Diner in Waynesville, I scanned the room at the tables filled with faces enjoying warm meals and hearty conversation. It was at that very moment when I started thinking about this anonymous postcard I received several years ago.
Fifteen years ago, Main Street in Franklin was a pretty quiet place. It wasn’t hard to find a parking space and most of the things we enjoy downtown today didn’t exist, at least not yet. But, 15 years ago, an anchor business appeared on a hope and a dream — Outdoor 76.
“There were a lot of empty storefronts and not much energy or activity. Still, we knew we wanted to be on Main Street because, to us, community has to start there,” said Cory McCall, co-owner of Outdoor 76.
A century ago, a record producer from New York City headed into Western North Carolina in search of the sound of Southern Appalachia. Landing in downtown Asheville, Ralph Peer set up a recording space in the former George Vanderbilt Hotel and began work on a series of field recordings that would forever change the course of American music.
It’s Thursday. Early afternoon. In the original plan for this week, I would, in my mind’s eye, be cruising along right now somewhere in southcentral Upstate New York, probably just east of Binghamton on Interstate 88, onward to I-87 North to my parents’ farmhouse on the outskirts of Plattsburgh.
It’s been 20 years since the inception of The Infamous Stringdusters, the Grammy-winning string act whose tone and swagger encompasses an acoustic majesty coupled with a full-blown rock show attitude.
“When you’ve been a band for 20 years, a lot of things change, including your perspective on how to create music and art,” said dobroist Andy Hall.
Hello from Room 1001 at the Cambria hotel in downtown Asheville. It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m currently sitting at this writing desk (pictured), I’m overlooking the intersection of Haywood Street and Page Avenue, the Harrah’s Cherokee Center and former George Vanderbilt Hotel within sight.
There’s a heaviness when you listen to Andy Thomas’ latest album, “Highway Junkie.” Not only from the swamp rock meets honkytonk melodies, but also the underlying tone and hard truths of this whirlwind journey of a singer-songwriter pushing into the next phase of his promising career.
“It’s crazy when you set everything aside and put your mind to something,” Thomas said. “I’m a hard worker, and this album is a product of that.”
This afternoon, when I walked into my publisher’s office here in Waynesville, I sat down to catch up with him about nothing and everything, the holidays and how things are on the home-front of our respective lives. After some friendly banter, he handed me a small envelope. It was a handwritten note from his 90-year-old father-in-law, Bill, who lives on the other side of the state.
With the untimely passing of founding member and longtime lead singer Scott Weiland in 2015, and the tragic death of replacement singer Chester Bennington (originally of Linkin Park) in 2017, the Stone Temple Pilots were at a crucial crossroads with one question in mind — pack it all up and shake hands goodbye or push ahead, hell or high water.
Thanksgiving morning. I awoke to the sounds of my upstairs neighbor scurrying about, most likely getting things together for whatever he has planned for Turkey Day. Nearby Russ Avenue is oddly quiet. Nobody is heading to work. The incessant construction has ceased for the day, too.
At age 66, legendary singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Darrell Scott is having a career rebirth of sorts.
Though he’s always been known as a prolific and productive artist — whether in Nashville musical circles as a performer and producer or through endless touring from coast-to-coast and beyond — this current chapter of his storied life has evolved into a full-circle kind of thing, one where Scott is reevaluating just what it means to create and cultivate in your autumn years.
While I’m sitting and looking out the window of the local laundromat here in West Waynesville, I notice how dirty my rusty, musty, trusty pickup truck has become since I last washed it, which, I think, may have been last winter or so. One year’s worth of dirt along endless miles of unforgiving roads, both geographically and spiritually.
In the midst of eating my third hard-boiled egg of the morning, I overheard the young couple at the next breakfast table mention to their server that they’d gotten married this past Saturday.
Taking a sip of my second cup of coffee, my gaze went from the newlyweds to the nearby roaring fireplace, then out the big glass windows onto the picturesque pond on the side lawn of the majestic property.
Normally, when I’m interviewing storied Haywood County musician Darren Nicholson, we’d be talking either about an upcoming gig of his or a new album coming down the pipeline. But, today, we’re talking all things Christmas trees.
“Well, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Nicholson tells me when I ask him about how to pick out the perfect tree for the holidays.
In what will amount to an early Christmas present for bluegrass pickers and music lovers across Western North Carolina and beyond, there’s a brand-new album from the late Carroll Best.
“What he did with the banjo was above and beyond,” said French Kirkpatrick, a Haywood County musician, who was part of The White Oak String Band with Best. “He was, probably without a doubt, the most creative banjo player I was ever in a room with.”
By the time this newspaper hits the streets on Nov. 12, it will have been 70 years to the day since Marty McFly was accidentally sent back to the future (1955) in a time machine created by Doctor Emmitt Brown in Hill Valley, California. The film was “Back to the Future,” which just celebrated its 40th anniversary.
Each year, I find myself covering a wide array of cultural festivals across Western North Carolina and greater Southern Appalachia — from live music to culinary delights, the sacred arts to outdoor recreation.
Today was pretty surreal. I spoke to students for “High School Media Day” at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. Folks from around the region. Mine was simply titled: “Music Journalism, Garret Woodward, Rolling Stone & Magazine Writer.”
Since its inception in 2014, Asheville-based Fireside Collective has evolved from a ragtag bluegrass act into one of the rising stars in the jam-grass and greater psychedelic music scene in Southern Appalachia and beyond.
With the late afternoon sunshine piercing through the tree canopy above the road leading into the Tsali Recreation Area on the Graham/Swain County line, the sounds of “One Alone Together” by F.J. McMahon echoed out of the truck speakers, windows rolled down with a cool fall breeze swirling around me.
Last month, at the International Bluegrass Music Association (IBMA) award show in Chattanooga, Appalachian Road Show took the stage to perform “Della Jane’s Heart” in front of every big star currently within the “high, lonesome sound.”
Last week, I received an email one morning from a reader of this here column. He said he enjoyed the words spilling out over this one particular page every week, then asked if I had thought about putting out a book. It had been awhile since that notion floated through my mind. And, truth be told, it dusted off some aspirations I’ve been keeping in the closet of my mind for too long.
On the outskirts of downtown Old Fort, along the quaint Curtis Creek Road, is the entrance to Wunderland Resort — a brand new “immersive nature retreat” for folks passionate about the outdoors and wellness.
The title of this week’s column is a lyric from a song by rising singer-songwriter Angela Autumn. The melody, “Electric Lizard,” is an incredibly haunting number, especially the solo rendition (just her and guitar) on the EP under the verbiage “Live from NYC.”
Raised in the small town of Zelienople, Pennsylvania (pop: 3,769), singer-songwriter Angela Autumn recalled having an isolated childhood, one that was “very intermingled with nature.” By the early 2000s, as an elementary school kid first hopping onto the internet, Autumn was able to access world culture and trends — more specifically, music and its endless rabbit hole.
It’s Wednesday, Oct. 1. Midday. I was awakened, once again, by the incessant construction just outside my window on nearby Walnut Street in downtown Waynesville. But, thankfully, the abrupt disruption of my slumber was calmed by the early fall sunshine cascading into my bedroom window.
Celebrating its 100th anniversary in 2025, the storied John C. Campbell Folk School — located in Brasstown amid the rural landscape of Clay County — remains a cultural bastion for the arts, music and dance in Western North Carolina.
“[The school] had an effect of kind of changing what traditional music and dance was in the region,” said T-Claw Crawford, music and dance coordinator for JCCFS.
Hello from Room 304 at the Delta Hotel in Bristol, Virginia. Sitting here at the desk, I can hear the hustle and bustle of nearby Interstate 81. Right outside my window, the howling of tractor-trailers zooming by into the unknown night, either heading south over border into Tennessee or the depths of the Shenandoah Valley going north.
At age 51, acclaimed blues rocker Patrick Sweany has performed over the decades at seemingly at every venue from coast-to-coast and beyond. Through it all, one sentiment still rings true in his heart — “The whole thing is luck and trying to show up as much as possible.”
I’ll never get that smell out of my memory. The stench of mud and rotting debris. Most of you reading this will immediately know what I’m referring to — the aftermath of Hurricane Helene in the fall of 2024. And yet, that stench was already in my stored subconscious, seeing as I first encountered it with the aftermath of Tropical Storm Fred in 2021.
The first time I saw Josh Copus post-Hurricane Helene was when I was allowed, as a journalist, to mosey on into downtown Marshall and scope out the absolute destruction of the small mountain town for myself. This was in the depths of last winter. The silence of the season and the lingering remnants of the devastation conjured on Sept. 27, 2024, was still real and daunting.
When it comes to the rich, vibrant history of Haywood County Fair, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone as passionate and knowledgeable on the subject as Alex McKay.
“I think what people here now take for granted is that, for so long, Haywood County was farming and agriculture,” McKay said. “And a lot of that is physically disappearing.”
There’s a certain feeling you get when you cross over the Graham County line. For most “outsiders,” whether it be nearby East Tennessee or origin points from any incoming direction, it’s a sense of genuine curiosity and wonder, where you don’t know what to expect around the next curve. And that’s half the fun, you dig?
The absurdity of life, eh?
I’m just sitting here right now at the local laundromat in West Waynesville. Simply observing and reflecting on gratitude, for nothing and everything, and everything in-between. Families sit quietly around me awaiting the wash cycle to end. It’s Sunday morning. Back to work by this time tomorrow. Spend your free time cleaning your clothes.
Not far from the tiny town of Floyd, Virginia, surrounded by the Blue Ridge Mountains, is the childhood home of The Wildmans. The sibling duo is currently navigating the release of their debut album, “Longtime Friend,” for New West Records. And today truly feels like a full circle moment.
Hello from Cabin 152 at the Tryon International equestrian center on the North Carolina/South Carolina border. It’s Monday. Labor Day. And I’ve just spent the last few days attending and covering the annual Earl Scruggs Music Festival. I’m exhausted, but the gratitude remains.
When it comes to songs immortal, 311 has them in spades. From “Amber” to “All Mixed Up,” “I’ll Be Here Awhile” to “Beautiful Disaster,” “Down” to “Love Song,” the band is regarded as one of America’s most successful and enduring rock groups since its formation in 1988.
It was nearing lunchtime. In the midst of putting out the newspaper last Tuesday, I was getting hungry when I realized it was almost noon. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and was still craving eggs, sausage, toast, hashbrowns (with onions) and strong coffee (at least two cups worth).
Since their formation in 2018, The Brothers Gillespie have become one of the must-see rock acts emerging from Western North Carolina and greater Southern Appalachia. A sonic blend of Americana, indie and folk stylings, the quintet remains steadfast, inspired and, more importantly, hungry for what’s just beyond the horizon of their intent.
