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"Fate" Remembers

"Fate" Remembers by Mabel Young Moser "Fate" (David Lafayette) Moser, 1869-1957, was gifted with a masterful memory for details and the ability to translate his rich harvest of experiences into fascinating narratives. For half a century he had lived in the forests of Western North Carohna: cutting timber, learning forestry on the Biltmore Estate under the tutelage of Dr. Carl Schenck, working on Mt. Mitchell as the first state forester, and then holding the ranger' s job on the Beacon Watershed in the Swannanoa Valley. In the summer of 1932 his artist-son, Artus (my husband), asked him to pose for an spring to which he went each morning for his fresh bucket of water. Framed by masses of rhododendron, laurel, and wavy ferns, he sat perched on a moss-covered log, an impressive figure clad in his ranger s outfit-khaki shirt, brown cotton trousers supported by galluses, heavy shoes with leather leggins, brown felt hat, and pistol holster on his right hip. About sixty-five years of age, he looked younger, with a deeply tanned ruddy notebook and pencils (no tape recorders then). I tried to record his stories the way I Christian Creek. This day he talked about a man called http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

"Fate" Remembers

Moser, Mabel Young.
Appalachian Review , Volume 16 (1) – Jan 8, 1988
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
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Abstract

by Mabel Young Moser "Fate" (David Lafayette) Moser, 1869-1957, was gifted with a masterful memory for details and the ability to translate his rich harvest of experiences into fascinating narratives. For half a century he had lived in the forests of Western North Carohna: cutting timber, learning forestry on the Biltmore Estate under the tutelage of Dr. Carl Schenck, working on Mt. Mitchell as the first state forester, and then holding the ranger' s job on the Beacon Watershed in the Swannanoa Valley. In the summer of 1932 his artist-son, Artus (my husband), asked him to pose for an spring to which he went each morning for his fresh bucket of water. Framed by masses of rhododendron, laurel, and wavy ferns, he sat perched on a moss-covered log, an impressive figure clad in his ranger s outfit-khaki shirt, brown cotton trousers supported by galluses, heavy shoes with leather leggins, brown felt hat, and pistol holster on his right hip. About sixty-five years of age, he looked younger, with a deeply tanned ruddy notebook and pencils (no tape recorders then). I tried to record his stories the way I Christian Creek. This day he talked about a man called

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 1988

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