Cherokee Story Teller

I finally made it to Cherokee, North Carolina, the setting of the modern day part of my parallel lives novel, Two Crow. Beginning in January of this year, the story of an 1876 Crow Indian named Two Crows and the modern day Cherokee Indian Lucky Two Crows almost effortlessly flowed though me. By May, 42 chapters with 260 pages were complete. I was about ten chapters from the ending when I got caught up in my move from Kauai. I wasn’t sure how at the time, but I hoped that somehow I would find my way to the Great Smokey Mountains and be inspired there to finish the novel. And here I am. Still looking to be inspired.



I headed down Highway 19 through Maggie Valley, a long stretch of many motels that cater to summer tourist and winter skiers, and onto a curving mountain road through a rich forest. After several miles of forest the road opened to a valley clearing, which was dynamically punctuated by the 16 story Harrah’s Cherokee Casino Hotel. Beyond that and all the road construction was Indian tourist happy hunting grounds - a highway mall of souvenir shops. It was still morning and I was relieved to discover Tribal Grounds Coffee, a most comfortable lounge to enjoy my latte and meet with Cherokee elder story teller Lloyd Arneach.

Lloyd is in his mid-sixties. He walks with a cane, and appeared quite comfortable with his Santa Claus belly and easy smile. We spent a long time just talking story, getting to know each other. I wished I would have recorded some of the small stories he told, but I reminded myself that this first meeting was about building trust.

I want to say some things about Lloyd, but before I do, the fact that I was even there, in Cherokee, North Carolina, talking story with a tribal elder, is in itself a huge accomplishment. There was a whole lot I needed to let go of to get here. Even though I thought I wasn’t like most people, I shared one important thing - the fear to totally Letting Go. Like most of us, I was resigned to a stable life. I knew pretty much what I was going to do day to day, week to week, month to month. Like most of us, and contrary to what I thought about myself, I don’t do change well, unless it was well planned change. Truth is, I’ve been wanting to take this trip for years. Things, more important things or so I though, mostly lies, mostly revolving around money, prevented me from leaving. And of course things happened because I didn’t go - I met people I wouldn’t have met and so on, but in retrospect the last two years were limbo years, avoiding change. It was almost like the house was on fire, the sirens were screaming, the hoses gushing, flames ready to engulf me, friends yelling, “Go! Get out! Move! Now!”

I had forgotten, money or no money, that life is good, and I would have landed safely on my feet no matter what.

After two hours of wonderful sharing, Lloyd agreed to meet again - today - to digitally record one or two of his stories. This I believe will be an exciting new chapter in my life - interviewing and writing the stories of wonderful people like Lloyd. I want to record the dialog, as if each interview were another chapter in a continuing story. I’m very excited and curious to see where all this will lead me.

There was a point in my time with Lloyd when he changed: he surrendered to this new friendship with a fellow story teller. He began telling me about Ray Hicks, a 6 foot 7 inch white Appalachian story teller, who he had the great fortune to meet before Ray passed. As Lloyd talked about Ray, tears began rolling from his eyes. He wasn’t embarrassed. He was simply showing the love he had in his heart for his story-telling hero. More tears came when he talked about the aunt of Billy Mills, the Cherokee runner who won a gold medal at the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. The memory of the aunt of this remarkable man, not Billy Mills showing up, but his aunt, showing up to hear his, Lloyd’s, story, moved him to tears. Life can be that simple, that sweet. That good.

I’m off to Cherokee, to take in more of the sweetness of Lloyd Arneach, and his stories of his people - hopefully a story about the mysterious mountain “little people.” He gave me his book when we said goodbye: Long-Ago Stories of the Eastern Cherokee. www.arneach.com

Before I close I want to slip in a little bit of Asheville color - the photo I would have taken if only I had my camera. He was a skinny white man - maybe around 35, about 6’2” and wore a black mini-skirt. He had extremely long legs with gross black hair. From the waist up he wore the full nun’s habit - the hood and all. Before I could reach him to ask, “What the @#$%%^&*,” he was off on his bright red Vespa. A picture I wish I could share.

Blessings, Dakan