Love From Hot Springs – The Trek

Having made it relatively unscathed through the Great Smoky Mountains and profited from the down-home comforts of Standing Bear Hostel just afterward, my hiking partner and I didn’t feel a rest stop in the town of Hot Springs would be necessary. We planned to run some errands on our way down the main street – which is, in fact, still the Appalachian Trail – and climb back into the hills that afternoon. Save our money for the next small North Carolina trail town. Well, let this post stand as evidence that the trail and its magic tend to spoil even the best, most money-wise intentions. In other words: this is a love letter to Hot Springs, NC.

Not Your Average Joe

It started when I let us a bit off trail heading into town, intrigued by the grounds of a handsome estate. On the other side of the building – the Laughing Heart Lodge – we found ourselves within reading range of a coffee shop advertisement. This, it turned out, was not your run-of-the-mill java place: it was Artisun, a boutique café and gallery offering locally-made coffee, ice cream, and art. I had been dreaming of affogatos for the past week on trail and when the barista said he could make one I think I teared up. A group of friends came in and started a game of D&D at the big center table. Scraps and I ogled the watercolors on the walls, botanical fairytale scenes with naked ladies watering flowers, curling up under mushrooms, dancing hand in hand. We reminisced about hometown cafés where we would post up and write, before we became the forest-dwelling gremlins we are today. I was thrilled to rediscover the simple pleasure of a great coffeeshop.

After our Artisun dalliance, we wound our way down the stone stairs leading onto Lance Avenue. We made a pit stop at the Appalachian Trail-er Bunkhouse – another curiosity driven side quest, this time because I’d seen the Jennifer Pharr Davis’ name on the sign outside and had to know more. Some friends staying there joined us in rummaging through the hiker box on the porch, where I made a foil pot cozy and painted my nails blue. Further down the road we found the Hillbilly Market, the sweetest resupply spot I’ve seen yet. More friends were eating and loitering out front (top town activities). It was at this juncture that Hot Springs truly got ahold of me.

The Sunnybrook Inn

Leaning on a concrete block outside the Dollar General, stuffing chocolate and cheese into my already-overstuffed food bag, I looked up and glimpsed a historical marker directly across the street. “English folklorist Cecil Sharp in 1916 collected ballads in the ‘Laurel Country.’ Jane Gentry, who supplied many of the songs, lived here.” I straightened up and looked at the sign again, then at the old Victorian behind it. Only then did I remember I had been here before.

Back in 2018, my family passed through Hot Springs on our way to Atlanta, where I was beginning my undergraduate studies. My father had scoped out the Sunnybrook Inn as an affordable place to stay the night. We didn’t know until we got there that it was also a gem of Appalachian musical history, with a gorgeous music room and a library of songbooks to prove it. As an eighteen year old singer with a penchant for folklore, the house enchanted me. I was entranced by the long grasses in the front garden, the tapestries and lace shawls draped on the lamps, even the copper pans hanging from the kitchen ceiling.

The whole place seemed suspended in time, shimmering with history. It was run as a boardinghouse beginning in 1912 by three generations of the Gentry family. Mother and daughter Jane and Maude Gentry were both renowned for their knowledge of Appalachian folk song, mountain music. Providing true mountain hospitality through food, storytelling, and music was a cornerstone of the inn. Jane Gentry was powerful in her kindness and generous in song, sharing ballads with family and all who visited. That same ethos has been carried forward by current owner Elmer Hall, who has presided over the inn since his own AT thru-hike in the seventies.

True to the spirit of the place, Elmer and staff member Chris allowed us to hang around, admiring the house and playing tunes on the old piano. Just like in 2018, I felt like I was walking around my own fantasy home – art covering the walls, tomes on medicinal plants and organic gardening, dulcimers and banjos propped on living room chairs like guests of honor. The rooms seemed serene and even wise, as if a whole century of kindness, song, and story has settled into the bones of the place. It exudes the same warmth and welcome that the AT is known for. In fact, the entire town of Hot Springs is characterized by welcome and care, especially when you hear locals speak about the enormous restoration efforts they have put in as a community since Hurricane Helene flooded the area and dislocated hundreds. The churn of the French Broad river, the warmth of the healing town, and sage Sunnybrook – they’ve made a powerful impression on me. I hope to return soon.

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