Between Hendersonville and Asheville, N.C.
Sun., Jan. 17, 1926
Yesterday morning we broke camp and drove the eight miles into the town of Marion--not much of a place. Gangs of seedy, seemingly ambitionless individuals hung around the street corners, gossiping Saturday afternoon. Up till now I had wondered where the “poor white trash” were, for all the folks we had met appeared intelligent and kind, but his mill hand bunch could fit the phrase.
The James Lake, a tremendous storage reservoir for the Southern Power Co., which Bill wanted to see at Marion, was nearly empty due to last summer’s drought, but its location among the mountains is magnificent. Its fifteen thousand acres of water enclosed by one hundred and fifty miles of shore is being considered for a real estate development and will make a dandy. One old codger answered our question with an amusing but pointed remark: “No, there ain’t many summer people comin’ here, praise be! They and the campers that don’t do any real work are the ruination of the country!” That for us!
It was much warmer yesterday, but today, Sunday, it is raining, and we are spending it reading and writing in our camp. The folks around here are very strict about the Lord’s Day, and not even a gas station or a delicatessen is open.