Originally, I had planned to start my journey by stopping at my twins’ house in Fayetteville, North Carolina, and then work my way down the coast. Due to Hurricane Helene, all the reasonable routes from Sevier County to eastern North Carolina were closed. To find a passable road, I had to detour north to Wytheville, Virginia or head almost to Atlanta before turning back to reach the middle of North Carolina. It was far from ideal. There was only one available route was via Highway 441, crossing the Appalachian Mountains into Cherokee. While I knew 441 well, hauling a trailer over its twists and turns was a daunting prospect, especially for a novice like me. That route can be intimidating even without a trailer, so I reluctantly decided to skip the twins this time, hoping to catch them on another trip.
Instead, I set my sights on Hilton Head, traveling through eastern Georgia. Unfortunately, I failed to carefully study the map, check the elevation changes, or assess the road conditions. As it turned out, the route I chose was nearly as challenging as 441—if not more so—and far less familiar. The drive was harrowing, with steep climbs and sharp descents that tested my nerves and skills as a trailer hauler.
Despite the challenges, I made it safely to my destination. Along the way, I caught glimpses of the last remnants of the 2024 fall foliage, which offered a small but welcome reward for the difficult journey.
my second stop was Lake Hartwell, South Carolina. I first heard about Lake Hartwell back in 1977, when my late husband, Myles, took his theater company there to perform. Their trip included stops in Tennessee and Georgia. While I accompanied him through Tennessee, I had to return home to prepare for college, so I missed the rest of the journey.
Myles often spoke fondly of Lake Hartwell. He performed in Atlanta and later for a Rotary Club in Hartwell, Georgia. He couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful the lake was, how charming the town seemed, and how friendly the people were. Over the years, we often talked about going back together, but sadly, we never made it before he passed.
I hadn’t given Lake Hartwell much thought until my son, Jeremy, brought it up during his cross-country camping adventures. He mentioned staying at a campground in Georgia, near a lake. As he described it, I asked, “Was it Lake Hartwell?” He said, “Yeah, I think the town was called Hartwell too.” Surprised, he asked how I knew about it, and I explained that it had been one of his father’s favorite little towns. That conversation was the nudge I needed to finally put Lake Hartwell on my travel list.
Jeremy was right—it’s a charming town. I especially loved how the community embraced its theme by decorating downtown with sailboats. It added a whimsical touch that made the town feel even more special.
I happened to visit during the weekend of the South Carolina-Clemson football game, which added a lively atmosphere. Fans were out in full force, celebrating and chatting about the rivalry. Coincidentally, I once had an intern who became the Assistant City Administrator in Clemson, so I already had a soft spot for the area.
It was fun to explore Hartwell and imagine how much it had changed since Myles had been there. Unfortunately, it was the weekend before Thanksgiving, and my former intern was out of town with her family, so we didn’t get to reconnect. Still, I wished her well and promised myself I’d visit again someday.
Setting up my campsite was tricky, and taking it down proved even harder. I struggled to remember all the steps, but I managed! From there, I left Georgia and made my way into South Carolina, heading toward my Thanksgiving destination: Hilton Head Island.
