Hiawassee, Georgia, having roads named Bug Scuffle and Shake Rag is part of my childhood heritage. My father’s people all came from near Hiawassee, and he spent part of his youth there. Many members of the family moved to farms in southern New Jersey during the tumultuous years of Prohibition and the Great Depression. Many of my ancestors, including my grandparents now lie peacefully in lakeside cemeteries near Hiawassee. I spent many happy summertime days climbing the hills above Lake Chatugue, swimming in it’s cold waters, catching fish on “trot” lines baited with bread balls, and searching for Indian arrowheads along it’s shorelines. Roads of red clay were still being built then along the lake and through the mountains, and dynamite blasts were not uncommon. The town of Hiawassee had board sidewalks when I was a child, and all the stores and public places were strictly racially segregated. Times changed, the town changed a little, becoming a mecca for city dwellers seeking a cooler climate and more peaceful living, but the area remains very beautiful. My grandparent’s little home on Bug Scuffle Road was a mecca for us, too, and we rejoiced to be there each summer for a week or two. Bell Mountain, Brasstown Bald and the Georgia Mountain Fair will always hold a special place in my heart.