With Grandpa on Wayah Bald

Grandpa and me in 1972.

When I was young, my grandfather, Eugene Griffiths, retired as a policeman in Florida and moved to the rural town of Franklin, N.C., in a little mountain house next to a creek on Wayah Bald Mountain. He had always longed to get back to the country life he had led as a kid on the farm. He spent most of his retirement helping on a nearby farm and hanging out with friends at “Loafer’s Glory,” the local general store.

As a youth, I spent a year living with my grandparents, and we became very close. My grandfather taught me about nature, living fully and being a good human being. We would spend days fishing, hunting and singing silly made-up songs as I strummed the guitar. Late at night, we would often raid the kitchen and make pizzas from Bisquick and Grandma’s spaghetti sauce.

A few years later, after I had moved to Charlotte with my parents, I learned that Grandpa had gotten cancer. Less than a year later, he passed away just two months shy of my 18th birthday. I remember crying but being proud to have loved a man so rare. He was smart, funny, witty and a joy to be with. It’s been 27 years since he passed, but I bet there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t thought of him and the time we spent together.

David Nardelli, Locust, Union Power Cooperative