I am an unabashed partisan of the Appalachian Mountians: a land of  wildflowers, waterfalls, wildness, ancient rounded mountains and hidden hollows of proud people straddling North Carolina and Tennesse. And so what did this urban based nature writer do when  time became available for a quick getaway from the trails and parks of Oakland County? He snagged a friend and headed for a quirky hideaway--Hot Springs, a tiny rugged mountain town where Mayberry seems to meet the Twighlight Zone. And in this so very different town the Appalachian Trail runs down the sidewalk and over the French Broad River. As for the name Hot Springs: we are talking geothermal activity, Mother Earth is restless and underground magma is not so far down. The land is dynamic and alive and nature's way is the way when we put our boots to the trails and spring sings her ancient magical song in my adopted town of hopes and dreams and basic pleasures.