MAY 2026

MAY’S ENDURING MAGIC

I’ll get to the matter of May’s magic in due course, but first I need to do my best to tender what will be a woefully inadequate but assuredly heartfelt THANK YOU. Longtime readers of this newsletter will likely recall occasions when I attempted to describe something in words but also noted that the subject at hand was much better experienced in person than in print. That line of thinking assuredly applies to the most gratifying response to my plea, in last month’s newsletter, for donations to support the research room in the expanded Marianna Black Library in Bryson City, NC. Likely to be known as “The Remembering Room,” it will be named in my mother’s honor. I had hoped, at best, for a few hundred dollars. Dozens of you contributed and the sum totaled far more than that. Day after day for more than a week the mail brought new letters containing checks or cash, and there were PayPal donations as well. Some came from folks I know and in certain cases know well, but others came from readers I’ve never even had the privilege of meeting.

The end result was that I floated around on a mental cloud of excitement and elevated spirits for the better part of a fortnight. Written appreciation for your generosity doesn’t suffice, but it’s the best I can do. Simply put, I was deeply moved, and that holds true of my brother, sister, sister-in-law, niece and nephews, daughter, and granddaughter. You have, to use words that might have come from my Grandpa Joe, ”done us proud.”

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After that rather lengthy but much-needed expression of gratitude, let’s turn to May. The month as I have known it all my years, first in my beloved Smokies, then in college and graduate school at three different locations in Tennessee and Virginia, and since those years of young adulthood living in the upstate portion of South Carolina, has always seemed a time of magic. There may be the occasional rainy day (right now a few of them would be most welcome given the prolonged drought stretching over many months) and possibly one final cold snap before the last vestiges of winter disappear. Taken on the whole though, the month is one of the finest among the dozen that comprise the cycle of a full year. Indeed, to my way of thinking the only real rival May has when it comes to laying hold of a corner of your soul is October.

One of the truly mesmerizing aspects of a typical May is that it unfolds gently, sort of like the petals on a delicate wildflower stretching out to absorb the sun’s warmth or the hills themselves stretching and yawning as they shake off the gloom and depression we humans can never quite escape during winter’s short, dark days. Whatever the case, day after May day gladdens the heart and lifts one’s spirits.

It’s good to be out at first light, maybe listening to a lovelorn turkey gobbler heralding another day or wading in a trout stream hoping to entice a wary brown trout into taking a well-presented fly. But you don’t have to be hunting or fishing, although that’s the way I’ve sampled and savored many a morning at this season of the year. It’s good just to wander through a secluded woodland cove, with mist soft and elusive as a baby’s breath stirring about you and wildflowers in triumphant bloom showing at your feet. You can lift your eyes heavenwards to admire the endless hues of green, tender and changing day by day as they stretch towards the deep dark green that will endure through the summer.

Or maybe you want to smell the luscious lushness that is nature’s perfume as she heralds another season of growth and fecundity. Aromas of honey locust and honeysuckle tickle your fancy and invite the thought that one wishes that somehow, some way, they could be distilled and preserved. In a sense, one that brings taste as well as smell into the equation, they can. Perhaps second only to the wonderment that is sourwood honey is locust honey, and a liberal dollop of either atop a buttered cathead biscuit gives the bread a college education. Similarly, no amount of years, regardless of youth being long since vanished, quite fully sheds the childhood joy of plucking a honeysuckle blossom, pinching off the bottom, and sucking up the dew drop of sweetness it contains.

Creeks are normally at their finest in May. Clear and pure, throaty in their sounds and tempting to anyone who has ever known the inexpressible joy of seeing a fine trout rise to the surface to inhale an insect or, in less mountainous regions, watching a feeding bream kiss the surface and leave expanding circles of pure visual pleasure. With a long magic wand and a whistling line the angler can catch a limit of fish and be largely free of the human hordes soon to arrive in their loud, splashing, boisterous, and bothersome ways. That’s pure bliss, but so are the results–a meal of fresh-caught, perfectly fried trout all dressed up in cornbread dinner jackets.

Or if fishing appeals to you, better still is to enjoy such a meal alongside a campfire, with trout or “titty” beam being flanked by a big pan of fried taters along with a salad from nature featuring delectables such as branch lettuce, ramps, bacon crumbles, and the hot grease from that bacon as a dressing. It’s a meal few kings will ever be privileged to enjoy.

Simply put, I’ve always found May to be magic, and for me it remains irresistible. Winds have calmed and quieted from the bluster of March and April, temperatures are comfortable, and life can be full and fulfilling without any compulsion for haste, hurry, or hassle. It’s impossible to capture all of May’s gifts in words, though fools such as me keep trying, but the month is one where time is measured in memory and musing, wandering and pondering, rather than by manmade clocks. That’s a gift of inestimable worth, something to be joyfully taken from the earth’s treasure trove of wonders.

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JIM’S DOIN’S

 

James Russell Lowell once poetically pondered “What is so rare as a day in June?,” but to my way of thinking and experience, he got a bit messed up in his months. He should have said May, and along with arguably greater accuracy he would have had the bonus of a bit of internal rhyme. Earlier this month I experienced a wonderful reminder about just what is so magical about May. It came about thanks to a dear lady friend whom I have known virtually all of my life (we began school together in the first grade and shared teachers, high school home rooms, and many high school classes). After school we went our separate ways, with the woman, Mickey Downs Donathan, having an exceptional career as a nurse anesthetist. For a whopping 55 years she worked in operating theaters and never once lost a patient. Thanks to her wide-ranging training and even wider experience, in terms of achievement I reckon she has to rank at the top of the 90 or so mountain boys and girls who comprised the 1960 graduating class at Swain County High School.

The loss of spouses and a world of things in common in areas such as background, parental nurture, being poor as youngsters, and a deeply embedded love of our native mountains has led to us becoming close over recent years. That provides the backdrop to a recent get together that she made possible and from which we both derived immeasurable delight. Two or three years ago I introduced Mickey to some of my longtime friends in the world of outdoor communications and she has since gotten to know them thanks to trips to a few of our annual old-time writers’ get-togethers. So well was she accepted, and so quickly did she bond with that merry band of 30 or 40 individuals, that she graciously offered to host a small group to plan our next meeting. Mickey owns an Airbnb, Round Hill Lodge, in the rural area of the Smokies where she grew up. If you want to learn more, see photos of the inside, or maybe even consider it as a retreat, Google Round Hill Lodge and the Airbnb listing will pop up. It is in a spectacular setting, as will be in some measure indicated by the photos on the Internet and even more so by those accompanying this newsletter, and the company was just the sort to let you forget cares and relax in a breathtaking setting.

You can’t see another building from the Lodge, and for someone who has had a lifelong love affair with the splendor of solitude, that’s a singular blessing. What you can see are the upper reaches of Fontana Lake, stair stepping ridges leading ever upward to the main spine of the Appalachian chain, and the third highest mountain in eastern America, Clingman’s Dome (recently renamed to use the original Cherokee, Kuwohi). As dusk gives way to dark, the lights of cars in the parking lot at the trail leading to the 6,643 foot peak wink in the gloaming like distant lightning bugs. That’s the view to the north, but if you cast your eyes westward from the same spot on the deck surrounding Mickey’s lodge, there’s the wonderful visual experience of seeing the sun set in what seems to be a downhill fashion. Words don’t do the setting anything approaching justice, but you’ll get a bit of a feel for things from the accompanying photos.

Yet the spectacular lodge and lovely accommodations were only breathtaking parts of the whole. The “lace on the bride’s pajamas,” to borrow a phrase from one of my favorite outdoor writers, Havilah Babcock, was the company. Hopefully the food was also a part of the cornucopia of delights, but since I played a fairly significant role on that front that judgment is best left to others. Recipes for several of the key items to the main “feast,” one that saw friends and members of both our families join the group for a meal and music, appear below.

Those few days with bosom buddies of long standing will buoy my spirits for months to come. Meanwhile, there’s always work to be done, and of late most of my writing efforts have centered on the three books I’ve mentioned before: “Profiles in Mountain Character” (to be published by the University of Tennessee Press), “The Enduring Joys of Appalachian Food: Recipes and Remembrances from John Parris” (The History Press—with input and photo support from Tipper Pressley), and “Bryson City” in the “Images of America Series” (also The History Press and co-authored with my brother, Don). Recent published material, in addition to my weekly column in the Smoky Mountain Times, includes  “Lt. Colonel J. H. Patterson: A Life on the Lunatic Express,” “Sporting Classics Daily,” April 2, 2026; “Trout Magic in Words: The Anatomy of a Fly Fisherman,” “Sporting Classics Daily,” Apr. 20, 2026; “Fishing for Night Crawlers: A Mollygrubs Messer Angling Adventure,” “Sporting Classics Daily,” Apr. 24, 2026; “Introduction” to Corky Pugh, Turkey Tactics (privately published, 2026); “The Weather Lore of Spring,” Carolina Mountain Life, Spring, 2026, p. 91; “Cabbage: A Wonderfully Versatile Vegetable,” Smoky Mountain Living, Apr./May, 2026, pp. 6-9; and “’Caring Karen’ Messer Goes Bream Fishing,” “Sporting Classics Daily,” May 4, 2026.

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SPECIAL BOOK OFFER

 

Although it seems like its publication only dates back two or three years, a limited edition copy of an anthology I played a significant role in bringing to published fruition, as did my longtime friend and fellow “lost soul” consumed by turkey hunting, Jim Spencer, recently came into my possession. The owner, another cherished friend, is paring down his library like a lot of others of my acquaintance who are getting long in the tooth and sparse in the hackle. The book, The Best of Tom Kelly, was actually published  the better part of two decades ago, in 2009. This one is copy #497 of the special limited edition of 1000. It is in pristine condition with leatherette binding, all edges gilt, and a ribbon marker. Between its covers are 34 of the finest tales from the man often known as the poet laureate of the wild turkey, carefully chosen by Jim Spencer and me in consultation with Colonel Kelly. Both of us wrote introductory notes to the book, which contains xiv, 311 pages of pure literary delight. This copy is signed (twice, on the front endpaper and then on the limitation page) by Kelly and I’ll gladly sign my little contribution if you’d like. I’m offering the book for $275, postage paid, and you won’t find a copy at this price (if you can find one at all) on Internet outlets. The first call (803-329-4354) or e-mail (jimcasada@comporium.net) gets the book.

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RECIPES

The recipes below were the essence of what we served at our gathering of family and friends. All of them are found in Celebrating Southern Appalachian Food, which Tipper Pressley and I wrote. Copies can be ordered through my website, www.jimcasadaoutdoors.com.

MUSTARD-FRIED VENISON STEAK TIDBITS

Mustard-fried venison steak makes a wonderful main dish—tasty, easily prepared, and quick. But cut the already fried steaks into small, bite-size pieces and you have a hearty appetizer. That’s exactly what I did at the recent gathering. All that is involved is giving cubed steak plenty of pounding with a meat hammer or a dandy device I use made by LEM. It pushes down dozens of sharp little points, sort of like a whole bunch if ice picks penetrating the meat. Once you have the meat thoroughly tenderized, use a food brush to cover both sides of the cutlet with mustard (French’s or any common brand will do) and then dredge in flour. Cover the bottom of a large frying pan with oil and heat it to the point where the cutlets sizzle as soon as they hit the oil. Turn once and cook quickly—they’ll brown up in a hurry. Put atop paper towels to remove any surplus oil and cut into small cubes. Talk about fine finger food!

CUBED STEAK AND GRAVY

With the possible exception of burger, I eat more venison prepared in this fashion than any other. The exact same approach will work for beef, but with plenty of deer on my land and the price of beef in the stratosphere, it’s venison for me. Tenderize cubed venison steaks in the same fashion described in the recipe above and then dredge in flour that has been seasoned with salt and black pepper until all the meat is fully covered. Fry in a pan holding enough vegetable or olive oil to make sure you’ve got the makings of gravy, being sure to brown both sides nicely. Remove the fried steaks from the pan and set aside, covered to retain heat, while you make gravy. The key to good gravy is preparing a nice, smooth, browned roux and going from there. You make your roux from the grease and tiny tidbits of browned meat and flour left in the pan. Add more flour, stirring or whisking constantly until all the flour is dissolved and beginning to thicken. At that juncture add milk and continue stirring, maybe adding more milk or more flour as needed, until suddenly “you’ve got gravy.” Some folks say gravy is difficult to make, but I’ve never had much trouble. When the gravy is ready either pour it atop the steaks on a platter or serve separately in a gravy boat.

CORNBREAD

Most everyone has their own little peculiarities or touches when it comes to making cornbread, and other than stating that to my way of thinking sugar in cornbread is an abomination (except in the case of blackberry cornbread) do it as you wish. My way with cornbread follows the recipe long used in my family, and with slight variations I think you’ll find the recipe which follows is fairly standard among the folks of southern Appalachia. Some key points, before we even get to the recipe, are: (1) Cook in a well-greased cast-iron skillet. (2) Grease the skillet with a piece of streaked meat or bacon before you pour in the batter. (3) Use stone-ground cornmeal. Store-bought stuff is ground at too high a rate and heat hurts flavor. Also, if you like a bit of crunch in your cornbread, and I do, stone-ground meal, even if sifted has more “body” to it. (4) Use buttermilk, not sweet milk. This recipe makes just the right size pone for a standard nine-inch cast-iron skillet. A frequently uttered adage holds that “Yellow corn is for critters and white corn for folks,” but my personal preference is for yellow cornmeal.

1 extra large egg

1 1/3 cups buttermilk

¼ cup bacon drippings

2 cups stone-ground yellow cornmeal

Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl and whisk until thoroughly blended. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees and place the pan, well-seasoned by rubbing in a bit of the bacon grease or by running a piece of streaked meat across it after the pan is hot, in it for a few minutes. Then take out and pour the batter into the pan, return to oven, and cook until golden brown.

CORNBREAD SALAD

Once you have the pone of cornbread from the recipe above, you have taken the key first step for preparing cornbread salad. The recipe couldn’t be easier. The ingredients can be changed according to what you have on hand. The amounts can be adjusted to fit the amount of cornbread you have as well. Crumble cornbread in a large bowl. Add chopped onion and diced tomato, a can of beans (pinto or kidney beans work well), a handful of shredded cheese, and whatever fresh veggies you might have or enjoy—radish, cucumber, yellow squash, and celery are all good choices. Then dress the salad with ranch or buttermilk dressing, or if you really enjoy the tartness of buttermilk use it. Whatever choice you make you want the cornbread and vegetable mix damp but not soggy. Season to taste, and dress salad with your favorite dressing. The ingredients can be layered in a glass bowl for a pretty presentation, but I prefer to mix them all together.
NOTE: The salad is better after it marries in the fridge overnight, and it keeps well as a leftover.

“NEW” POTATO SALAD

There’s something particularly appealing about the texture and taste of new potatoes. Here’s an easy-peasy way to make a potato salad, liberally laced with boiled eggs, and it’s fit for the pickiest of appetites.

6 boiled eggs, chopped.

Roughly 3 times the volume of eggs in new potatoes.

½ to 1 cup coarsely chopped sweet pickles (amount depends on how much you enjoy their taste).

Mustard and mayonnaise to taste—make sure you have enough to make the salad creamy.

1 teaspoon dried dill weed or 1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill

Salt and pepper to taste

Paprika

Boil eggs and set aside when done. While they are boiling, cut potatoes into chunks and boil until just tender. Drain and set aside while peeling and chopping the eggs. Place eggs and potatoes in a large bowl, add the sweet pickles, and then stir in mustard, mayonnaise, dill weed, salt, and pepper. Sprinkle the finished potato salad with a really hefty dusting of paprika and place the bowl in the fridge to chill.

STRAWBERRY COBBLER

Strawberries were in season and with the possible exception of tomatoes I can’t think of a foodstuff that differs more dramatically from “store bought” to fresh picked on a local farm. That translated to a strawberry cobbler for dessert, making sure there were plenty of extra berries for cereal and simply eating by themselves with a sprinkling of sugar. This cobbler is, like most of my cooking, simple and straightforward.

1 stick of butter

1 cup of self-rising flour

1 cup milk

1 cup sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

4 cups sliced strawberries (if strawberries are not very sweet toss with additional sugar)

Place butter in a 9- x 13-inch pan and put in oven. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix together flour, sugar, milk, and vanilla until smooth. Once butter is melted pour flour mixture into pan. Do not stir. Spoon strawberries on top of flour mixture. Bake until crust turns a golden brown–about 45 minutes.

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SOME RANDOM FINAL THOUGHTS FROM AN ERROR-PRONE SOUL

As those of you with keen editorial eyes or perhaps the sensitivities of a particularly persnickety old maid school teacher who possessed precious little tolerance when it came to matters such as spelling, sentence structure, split infinitives, proper use of commas, knowing how to diagram a sentence, and the like have doubtless noticed, every issue of this newsletter contains stylistic mistakes. I do proofread it and my webmaster occasionally notices incongruities even though that isn’t her job, but gremlins remain at work and glitches creep in. I will also acknowledge that it gets a bit less of my attention than something destined for the pages of a magazine or book.

Consider this a general apology, covering both past mistakes and those yet to come. I also need to let you know that such aberrant behavior on the part of yours truly is sure to continue. As a faithful reader of this newsletter who also happened to be a heckuva an editor during his career in the world of communications, such shortcomings are pretty much inevitable. He then humorously added that since the occasional reader finds delight in noticing errors, maybe they are also an offbeat way of a writer trying to keep everybody happy. One thing for sure, I provide such souls plenty of happiness. For the rest of you, thanks for your tolerance and for being loyal readers.