Tag: Southbound

I am lost in the wilderness. Not “lost” in the desperate sense. My phone still shows 5G in case I need to drop a pin, and two bars if I want to make a call. (Does this thing have a compass, too?) And I know where I am: somewhere on a wooded ridgeline in the Cherokee National Forest near Shady Valley, Tennessee, not far from the North Carolina and Virginia borders.

Growing up in Belmont, I couldn’t wait to get out. It was small. We were a dry county, so we couldn’t even get a chain restaurant to open there. My friends and I hung out in a church parking lot and jogged up and down the street for fun.

As 30A continues to grow, so does its culinary scene. We explored the 12 Florida Panhandle neighborhoods linked by 24-mile County Road 30A, where we discovered ample options for each meal of the day—plus plenty of happy-hour hideaways.

With brilliant columns of light pouring through two keyhole entrances, it’s no wonder Alabama’s Stephens Gap Callahan Cave Preserve makes an appearance on many a bucket list. After a short but rocky hike to the entrance, visitors may descend into the 143-foot-deep cavern via the walk-down path (which is steep and can be wet and slippery—sturdy shoes, helmets, and headlamps are highly recommended).

The Pawleys Island rope hammock has long been a symbol of Southern relaxation, and its latticed, heavy-cotton design was groundbreaking for its time. Before 1889, hammocks were made from canvas or low-quality hemp—hot, rough materials that did not accommodate muggy climates like that of South Carolina.

As much as we love the South's quintessential clapboard churches and stately mansions, our appreciation of Southern architecture extends beyond the classics. We‘ve combed the region for noteworthy structures, from historical masterpieces like Thomas Jefferson‘s Palladian Monticello to modern marvels like the breezy, zero-energy McDonald‘s Florida flagship (yes, McDonald’s).

You might expect nothing more than a cute street with a few “olde shoppes” from a neighborhood named “Old Town,” but this nationally designated historic district is the real deal, founded in 1749 and covering nearly 100 square blocks. Cobblestone roads are lined with charming multicolored row houses; by night, these homes are aglow with flickering lanterns reminiscent of Colonial times.

Hunter Evans remembers running around with his brothers when they visited their grandmother Elvieretta in New Orleans. The Jackson, Mississippi, native can still see the fresh shrimp in the sink and smell the spicy aromas of her homemade stuffed artichokes.

As the boat meanders through the bay, my guide and captain debate locations to check for manatees. They rattle off familiar ones we might run into—Greased Lightning, Penny Pockmark—named and remembered by the map of scars across their backs. Finally, we stop in a small cove flanked by docks and residential houses. I lower myself into the drink, and my teeth instantly begin to chatter. As I duck under the surface, I see more than two dozen manatees gather by a small spring and graze on seagrass, elephantine mermaids without a care in the world.

When I was 19, I spent the summer in Nashville working in a show for Opryland theme park. I grew up in a tiny town called Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, so getting the chance to sing and dance for months with live musicians in front of a lot of people was my heaven.