Wonderful Apple Crisp

Ingredients

4 apples - peeled, cored and sliced
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 egg, beaten
2 tablespoons butter, melted


Directions

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
In a 9 inch square baking pan, mix sliced apples with brown sugar. In a large bowl
mix together flour, white sugar, cinnamon and salt. In a small bowl, beat together egg and melted butter. Stir into flour mixture. Spread evenly over apples.
Bake in preheated oven for 30 to 40 minutes, or until topping is golden and crisp.

Saylor's Sunrise~ Sweet Mountain Apples

When I was a little girl, and the leaves began to turn, I knew it was about time.

Time for autumn, the fall of the year.
Time for apple cider, and warm fuzzy sweaters.


Apple butter on warm toast.

With the chill in the air, and the clear blue of the 'almost dusk' sky, my thoughts turn back to the mountains.

Time for apples.

The smell of fireplace wood smoke, as evening is coming on, holds something special for me.

October falls softly in Carolina.
Like a spent leaf sighing slowly to the earth.

Time to gather round the hearth.

My grandpa had such a love for the mountains. He was ready, no matter what time of year it was, to get in the car, and head for the “hills”. We lived in the Piedmont of North Carolina. Just some low rising hills around . The mountains of the area, are not really what I would consider to be mountains, they are really tall “hills“.

The mountains call me back ‘home’ this time of year, every year, it is just in my blood. Can’t seem to help myself.

When there is still some color in the trees, the air is crisp, and the skies are blue, it is time.

We would stop along the way, at a roadside stand, for apples, cider, and honey. The signs were emblazoned on the path and beckoned you to stop for quite a ways before you actually got there. Excitement growing with each new sign.

A rite of the changing seasons, this journey to the mountains.
Indelibly imprinted on me, just like heading to Filbert, South Carolina when summer peaches are ripe and sweet. The best place in the world for peaches.

It is just something that you do.
Part of who you are.
Part of where you come from.

On our recent trip up to “the mountains” , the smell of sweet apples, and the hope of the tartness to come, lured me to stop along side the highway to sample them. We came back with more than enough for the both of us.

I like the ones that my grandma always called "poppy". The ones that are sweet up front, after the first bite, then they cause that tingle along your jawline. That tingle of slightly tartness. Do you know the ones? The 'poppy' ones..you know. Grin.

We stopped at Saylor’s Orchard, in Bakersville, NC. We were not disappointed. My friend, Jack, at the Grist Mill, highly recommended these apples. They call their ‘signature’ apple the “ Saylor’s Sunrise“.




They are awesome!
Golden, red, and delicious.

Saylor’s is owned and operated by Jim and Jean Saylor. You can’t miss it, you can see it from the road. The view of the valley from their apple stand is an added bonus. While we were there , a deer passed in the orchard, down below.



A beautiful sight.

When I walked into the apple store, I was entranced with the sweet, tantalizing smell of mountain apples.
It was so thick with fragrance, that it made you feel like you had stepped inside of a basket of apple blossoms.

Stop by and get a large bag of those fragrant apples . You will be glad you did.

The Grist Mill on Cane Creek ~ Dellinger Mill

On the ride up the mountains, to Mitchell and Yancey counties, I had time to quietly think. I thought about simpler times, a time that my ancestors knew well. I thought about surviving during cold, harsh winters in an unforgiving forest. I thought about storing up food and wood , to keep your family safe and warm during the cruel winter months. It had to have been difficult, not an easy life. "Survival" was in every waking thought, no doubt.

As we winded our way along the curvy mountain roads, I thought about a horse and wagon making that steep ascent up the mountain . Not a wonderful thought. I remember my grandfather telling the tale of coming to Gastonia from Shelby with a wagon and a mule. But then again, that is pretty much flat lands compared to Mitchell County.

We found our way to Hawk, North Carolina and followed the signs to the Dellinger Grist Mill. The wood sign along the road proclaims the Grist Mill’s rightful place on the National Historical Registry.



The Dellinger Grist Mill.
I was told a story, under tall pine trees, that gently sifted down sweet smelling pine needles, with each gentle breeze. A story about a mule named “Jack" and a small boy that played along that creek and was taught how to grind the corn into cornmeal.



We were finally there. What a moment of discovery.

This mill has been in the Dellinger family for over 130 years.



It sits nestled in the trees, in a low place by the road. Sitting proudly alongside Cane Creek, with it’s clear, cold, water surging past it. A relic from another time and place, it has reclaimed it’s glory, and grinds away, just as it always has.

We were greeted with a warm handshake and a smile to match, when we entered the drive. It was Jack Dellinger, owner of the mill. His great-great-grandfather Henry (Georg Heinrich) Dellinger and mine, are one and the same, (my 4th great grand). That is where our life paths connect.

I felt like I had just “come home”. His face 'lit up' when I told him my connection. He has a deep, rich, family history flowing in those waters of Cane Creek. He also has a deep 'river of love' for the place, flowing through himself. You cannot help but feel that love. It just spills over like water over the dam, just up-creek about 200 yards.

Oh yes, back to the story of the mule. Jack’s grandfather, David Dellinger, had two mules, one named “Ruby” and one named “Jack”. He thinks that just maybe, just perhaps, he himself, is named after that mule. I sort of doubt that, but it does make one pause for thought, a smile slowly spreading, as he tells that story.

He is a storyteller from the heart, for sure. Simply captivating. He knows that place by every stone and stick. He restored the mill, saving it from certain ruin and loss. He restored it back into operation, but not by 'conventional methods' alone, but by the love he poured back into it.

He told me that he had retired, without a hobby, to keep him busy. No golf for him. So one thing led to another, and he began the difficult task of restoration. After getting permission from the 'Missus’' first, of course. (grin) One man and one mill, and a wonderful legacy of love, that just won’t quit. We walked across a log foot path that crossed the creek, to the site where the Cane Creek Church once stood.



We saw the old chimney of the homestead of Jack's grandfather, now gone. I touched that cold hearthstone and imagined the fireplace glowing, and a family gathered round the warmth.



He has grits and cornmeal for sale, ground on the premises, of course, just the way that our great-great grandfather did it. He will autograph your book, if you ask him kindly. The book is a treasure trove of Dellinger information.



He has a wonderful DVD that tells the story, too.

But don’t take my word for it. Go see the mill for yourself. Go meet the man full of love for the old Dellinger Grist Mill. Hear him tell the tale. Maybe you will get lucky and get the warm, genuine, bear hug that I got. We are family, after all. You will come away richer and with a better understanding of our past, just as I did. Tell Jack “Hello!” for me.





Directions to Dellinger Mill:

From I-40 in North Carolina or I-81 in Tennessee and from the Blue Ridge Parkway:

Go to Bakersville, the county seat of Mitchell County, NC.

There is one traffic light in Bakersville and it is located adjacent to the courthouse. Turn onto Mitchell Avenue going east, which becomes Cane Creek Road
( State Road 1211 ) as you leave Bakersville. Go exactly four (4) miles, with no turns. Dellinger Mill has a large wooden sign on the right side of the road. The mill parking lot is near the Mill, down the access road on the right side of Cane Creek Road.

Destination: Pigeonroost, NC- Scenes from the trip

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
Their winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy, while cares drop off like autumn leaves.

John Muir~



Pigeon Roost Freewill Baptist Church Along the road in Pigeon Roost A family cemetery behind the barn The Blankenship- Arrowood Cemetery on Prices Creek in Yancey County, North Carolina. This cemetery is located atop a steep mountain. Amazingly they manage to get the deceased and the tombstones up there! It is about 40 feet wide and about 150 feet long, just along the ridge of the top of the mountain. The view is beautiful! The view from the Blankenship-Arrowood Cemetery, atop the ridge.

This is the view from an apple stand where we stopped for apples..Wonderful apples! An interesting old house and barn along the way. The Mitchell County Courthhouse. A view along Cane Creek.

Destination ~ Happy Valley, Tennessee

We took off for Tennessee. The morning was misty, but the weather promised to clear off to sunshine and blue skies. We were not disappointed.





Our Destination: Happy Valley.

I knew a little about our destination, things I had searched for and found, but not a lot. A collection of 'maybe’s and about’s', mostly.

When you ask people, 'where it is', and 'how to get there', the answers become strangely vague. You go ‘almost’ to Maryville. You go ‘almost’ to Tallassee. When you get there you go ‘perhaps’ five miles, maybe. You will see a sign, then maybe you will not. It used to be there…I think.





The people that are local to this area simply “know” how to get there and the assumption is, that everyone else knows, as well.

Well, it was wonderfully worth the effort, despite the “unknowns”.

This area of the world, has almost been forgotten by time. There are areas around it, that are bustling cities, caught up in the hum of modern day life and the Happy Valley lies quietly, basking in the Tennessee sunshine. It is content to remain as it is, and as it has been for quite awhile. It does not want anything from outsiders. It has it’s own world and is content in it. It is just as “happy” as can be, to be left alone.



We had to take an alternate route to get there. There was a major rock slide on I-40, just shy of the Tennessee line. Mile marker 20, I believe. We decided to take highway 129 when we drove into Tennessee.
It is an area called The Tail of the Dragon. *See Correction Below* It is simply beautiful. The road twists and turns and corkscrews through the mountains. The perfect place for a ride if you are a motorcyclist. There were lots of them riding in the sun, it was perfect weather for it. Every curve offering a breathtaking view of the final flash of fall colors that the mountains offered up.

Happy Valley follows along Abram’s Creek.
The Chilhowee Primitive Church, also known as Red Top, is nestled into the hill on your left as you enter.




It sits on a knoll, among trees that seem to cradle it. The cemetery is on the hill, fenced in, in front of the church. There is an ancient gnarled holly tree that stands by the gate to the cemetery, imposingly standing as the gate-keeper.






All you need do to secure a place to bury your loved ones here is mark it. You place markers on all four corners with your first and last initials and the gravesite is yours. Amazing.

There are lots of family here. I made my way down and up each row, acknowledging each one. The view of the surrounding mountains was something else.
Arminta, "Minty" , Isabell Correll's sister is buried here, along with her brother, Thomas.
Thomas married Annie Evelyn Waldrupe and they are buried side by side.

Next stop along the way is Boone Cemetery.




There is a dirt road that leads you in. Up the side of the mountain , the cemetery is over your shoulder on the left. Fenced in and quiet. The view of the surrounding mountain is lovely from the cemetery. Quiet and comforting, this country burying ground.




Fannia Barrett Arrowood is buried there.

























Wife of John Arrowood, mother of Samuel, grandmother to Welzia. My third greatgrandmother. What a moment that was, finally “meeting“ her! Her grave lies just to the left of her daughter, Fannie Arrowood Whitehead. I was really into the moment of discovery and tracing my finger over her name and dates when something caught my eye, over to the left, behind another row of headstones, it was the name “Correll“.





It was David and Nancy Correll. The parents of Isabell Correll, wife of Welzia.
David and Nancy are my great-great-grandparents. I cannot tell you how that felt. It was simply one of those unforgettable “moments’.

I felt ‘welcome’ and at peace there. I was ‘Home’. Also resting there is Mary Calla, Isabell's younger sister.




My husband, Russ, sometimes is confused with exactly why this is so important to me. He tries to understand. But he knows that it is important , and he is always a help. He was armed with a brush, some baby powder, and a piece of soft chalk. He always carries these things with him when we go to the cemetery. If the markings on the stone are weathered or time worn, the powder or the chalk can make the writings more evident without harming the stone.

While we were there the only sound you could hear was the gentle blowing of the wind through the leaves. The leaves were falling from the trees with a slight crunch as they landed on the ones that had fallen before. I was struck at the soft silence and stood there and took it all in.

I can see why they settled there. It was protected by mountains all around and it was such a peaceful place.
Not one car passed on the road below while we were in the cemetery. Only leaves falling softly. Even the birds were quiet because they knew we were there, disturbing their peaceful chirping.

Below the cemetery lives a family member, a distant cousin.
A Boring that married into the family down the line.


There are houses along the valley that have root cellars, still. They stand off from the houses, huge mounds of grass covered earth, with a door on the side. I am intrigued with these and really would have loved to venture inside one. I am told they are dark, cold, and musty, not a most wonderful place, but fascinating to me.
Aunt Hilda has spoken of going into Aunt Nora’s and Uncle John’s in Pigeon Roost. She remembers it was a scary place for a kid. A place full of dark corners.

The Boone’s, Hearon’s, Boring’s, Marine’s, Sellar’s, Correll’s, Arrowood’s and the Whiteheads are among those buried in this valley..they are all our family.

Also there in Happy Valley is 'Happy Valley Church' Cemetery.




We visited there and stood among the family and paid our respects. This cemetery is across the road from the church and sits on a knoll, overlooking a wonderful view. A beautiful place.



Resting there is Nancy Correll and her husband. She is Isabell's sister. Also resting there, are a lot of our extended family, generations of them.

If you ever find yourself in the area, you should definitely stop in. The family would all love to meet you.



Notes:

Happy Valley is an unincorporated community in Blount County, Tennessee, near the Great Smoky Mountains National Park . Although it is not a census-designated place, the area that is designated for the zip code (37878) that serves Happy Valley, had a population of 529 as of the 2000 U.S. Census.


Happy Valley is situated in a narrow valley of the same name on the northwestern fringe of the Great Smoky Mountains. Chilhowee Mountain - an elongate ridge stretching for roughly 35 miles (56 km) between the Little Tennessee River and the Little Pigeon River watersheds - spans Happy Valley to the north.

The valley is walled off to the south by several low ridges— namely Pine Mountain to the southwest and Hatcher Mountain to the southeast— which run roughly parallel to Chilhowee Mountain. Cades Cove is located opposite Hatcher and Pine Mountain to the south.

Happy Valley Ridge provides the valley's eastern barrier, splitting it off from Lake-in-the-Sky and the Top of the World community. Gregory Bald and the main crest of the western Smokies rises beyond Pine Mountain approximately 3 miles (4.8 km) to the southwest.

Abrams Creek, which rises in Cades Cove, flows northwestward through the gap between Pine Mountain and Hatcher Mountain.

Before it reaches Happy Valley, the creek turns southwestward and flows for several more miles before emptying into the Chilhowee Lake impoundment of the Little Tennessee River. Happy Valley's two major streams - Mill Creek and Bell Branch - are tributaries of Abrams Creek.