Taylor Greene writes Taylor is a writer exploring North Carolina and surrounding wine regions in the Southeastern U.S. After a decade writing corporate copy in various brands’ voices, she is now discovering her own voice alongside the up-and-coming grape growers and winemakers in her home state. Read her work at The Noble Grape on Substack and @noblegrapenc on Instagram.
b-sides & unforgettable evenings in Southern Appalachia
Lake Santeetlah is a little blue gem hidden high up in the Blue Ridge Mountains among old growth forests just outside Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The closest town is Robbinsville, NC, population 545. No cell service. But with these views? Who cares?
I spent two memorable days on Santeetlah last summer with a ragtag collection of cooks, servers, and bartenders from the restaurant I work at in Asheville, NC. It was our day off, and all of us needed some time outside, away from the crush of tourists who both support our livelihood and haunt our dreams. The whole experience was an escalating series of shenanigans and awe-inspiring wonders.
We floated aimlessly across the lake all day. Some more aimlessly than others. One couple forgot the plastic fin to stabilize their kayak, causing them to spin in circles every time they paddled out of sync. Another friend’s dog couldn’t decide if she wanted to swim or ride in the boat. Every twenty minutes or so, she would jump in. Five minutes later, he would hoist her out of the water by her little doggie life jacket.
A few frustrated anglers—myself included—made cast after cast to no avail. Then we watched a hawk swoop down right in front of us and pluck out a bass so large that the bird could barely carry it to shore.
We brought a speaker to play music, but we didn’t need it. A campsite down the road was blasting old country tunes loud enough to hear half a mile across the lake. Around the time Hank Williams sang, “Hey good lookin’, what you got cookin’,” we made our way back to land for dinner.
The night’s fare: hot dogs roasted over the fire. To drink: Plēb Urban Winery’s ‘b-sides & rarities vol. 5’.
Most people would stick to light beer on this kind of low-brow, backcountry excursion. Believe me, there was plenty to be found. But I brought a bottle of ‘b-sides’ because drinking wine in the woods is one of my favorite pastimes. Something about the austere setting enhances the sensory experience.
‘b-sides’, in particular, is a feast for the senses. It’s a Traminette-dominant blend of grapes grown within two hours of Plēb’s winery in Asheville, NC. Traminette is a French-American hybrid grape descended from Gewurztraminer, and the grape’s parentage is on full display in this flower-bomb of a wine. Its heavy perfume is balanced by skin-contact tannin and citrus fruit from Seyval Blanc and Vidal Blanc.
Crisp acidity from high-elevation grapes cut straight through the richness of our charred beef franks, and the intense aromas and flavors did a happy jig with the various accouterments of sauerkraut, spicy mustard, ketchup, and relish.
It was a perfect pairing—equally matched maximalist flavors that mirrored our mood. We were there to let loose. Buzzing cicadas replaced the constant clicking of the kitchen ticket printer. Genuine laughter took over the half-smiles we wore to calm anxious guests. If only for a night, we answered to no one other than our own hedonistic joy.
As we ate, huge thunder clouds climbed over the hills that ring the lake. Everyone took shelter under the cover of my tent, and we spent the rest of the evening with wine in-hand and mouths agape, watching the most incredible display of nature any of us had ever seen.
Lightning flashes illuminated the lake every minute for the next six hours. Thunder boomed between each shot. We hooted and hollered for each hit like it was a heavyweight title match.
We somehow managed a few hours of sleep, until, as soon as the sun rose, Dolly Parton sang out through the trees, “Good mooooooooooorning captain!” The Appalachian Mountain Queen’s recording of Jimmie Rodgers’s Mule Skinner Blues (Blue Yodel no. 8) was an almost-too-perfect wakeup call, courtesy of our neighbors.
We packed up our tents and deflated our kayaks using practiced motions honed on prior lake outings. We took every opportunity to get on the water that summer—it’s the only way to deal with the heat in the American South.
While there were plenty of lakes and campsites and beautiful views, this trip stands out more and more as time passes. It feels like a deep cut from a favorite album. Not a hit single, but a b-side sleeper that creeps into my head and makes me smile at random moments.
An instant #1 grips you on first listen. It’s catchy and, typically, uncomplicated. B-sides are slow burns. They wriggle their way into your mind as you gradually discover new details—the lyric in the second verse that resonates deeper than expected or the bassline that you missed at first but now can’t get out of your head.
Someone fills in a new part of our collective memory each time we reminisce on the experience.
“Remember when the hawk pulled that fish out of the water?”
“Did y’all pack your kayak fin this time?”
“Do you think they play that same song every morning?”
I drink Plēb’s ‘b-sides’ often, and every glass takes me back to Santeetlah. The wine is forever a player on the soundtrack of this moment I’ll never forget. Harmonizing with thunder and cicadas and Dolly Parton.
The photo – 'The view from our Lake Santeetlah campsite the morning after the storm' – is the author's own.
