Labor Day

Labor Day in Highlands has always been a big holiday.  It marks the end of summer, and it is the last opportunity for visitors with families to vacation here before school resumes.  A former director of the Chamber of Commerce once told me that many Main Street businesses survive each year based solely on the success of three holidays - Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day - and I do not doubt it.  The streets began to fill up on Saturday, and the visitors were still here on Sunday when we stopped by Hickory Street to take care of a few odds and ends.  Driving up Chestnut Street when we left, we could see what looked like twenty people ahead of us out in the road, with dogs and strollers, taking advantage of one more day of a three-day weekend.  "I've never seen so many people!" Martha said, and I agreed.  There seemed to be more than usual, perhaps glad to escape from their own communities where heat, humidity, and Covid-19 may still be in full swing.  The only difference this year was that everyone on Main Street was wearing a face mask, and most of those on quiet streets like Hickory and Chestnut as well.

It is always a little sad on this holiday because Martha's Dad died four years ago on Saturday night of Labor Day weekend.  He had been out with a friend earlier in the day, driving one of his cars - a King Midget, one of the smallest cars ever manufactured - and that evening he died of a heart attack while talking to Martha and watching a Nascar race.

Since then, it was always a difficult holiday for her family, especially her Mom, and now that she is gone it is no different.

Sunday morning, we had a nice leisurely brunch, something we have not been able to enjoy for the past two weeks because of the estate sale.  Then, in the afternoon, we hiked somewhere we had never been before, a half-mile straight up our road to a rolling meadow just off the highway owned by a man in our church named Stell Huie, who owns a house on Queen Mountain overlooking the meadow.  We had learned that Stell had allowed the Highlands Land Trust to begin planting apple trees there in memory of people he knew, and one of them was Martha's Mom.  We waded through the knee-high grass until we saw the trees, all lined up, and found the one in memory of Jane Lewis.

It was nice to know that this tree is so close to our home, right in what they call Sassafras Gap, almost overlooking our house.

The cold front that arrived Saturday has lingered, the temperatures the past three mornings in the 50s.  Some of the leaves are starting to turn, especially the burning bushes, and it felt like Fall.  It was another ideal morning to run in Highlands, and there did not seem to be as many walkers out.  Instead, I passed three or four rental houses where it seemed that cars were being loaded with luggage.  I went to August Produce after my run and then circled through the Post Office to mail something, and when I exited onto the Dillard Road - the main artery to Atlanta and its suburbs - there was a steady line of cars departing in that direction.  On our own road, the Walhalla Road - the artery to the Greenville area - I got behind another line of cars, taking their time at 20 miles per hour, as if savoring every last minute of this cool mountain air before returning home.