A Year-Round Guide to Franklin and Nantahala

Purchase collections of Elizabeth Hudson’s columns at ourstatestore.com. In the taproom of Forgotten Road Ales in Greensboro, a wall of lush greenery artfully mounted behind the bar draws you in,

Rosemary and Goat Cheese Strata

Purchase collections of Elizabeth Hudson’s columns at ourstatestore.com. In the taproom of Forgotten Road Ales in Greensboro, a wall of lush greenery artfully mounted behind the bar draws you in,

Purchase collections of Elizabeth Hudson’s columns at ourstatestore.com.


In the taproom of Forgotten Road Ales in Greensboro, a wall of lush greenery artfully mounted behind the bar draws you in, the preserved moss rich and velvety, in deep shades of forest and emerald. I’d been here a few times before I realized that the subtle camouflage pattern it formed was no accident, but a tribute to cofounder and brewer Ben Farrar’s decade of service as a combat engineer in the U.S. Marine Corps, with deployments that took him to Iraq and Afghanistan.

Farrar opened Forgotten Road Ales in Graham in 2019, then expanded with a second taproom in Greensboro in 2022. His military story is woven throughout the space, but not in loud proclamations. Aside from the chevron logo, reflecting Farrar’s rank of staff sergeant, and the beers carrying names like Day Patrol and Gunny’s Irish Stout, the military symbolism here is understated, with no overwhelming display of ceremony.

Unlike the industrial design of many breweries, Forgotten Road feels different, softer. The atmosphere is warm, more like a cozy coffee shop than a taproom. Well-tended houseplants rest on top of bookshelves filled with board games and cookbooks; two caramel leather sofas face each other, inviting you to sit, relax, let down your guard. The hand-painted floor, the glow of bronze ceiling tiles, and even the walnut bar top, which Farrar sourced from the Hardwood Store in Gibsonville, give the space a lived-in feel.

The name Forgotten Road speaks to the emotional journey that many veterans face when they return home, an unseen path where their sacrifices fade from view. The bar has hosted veterans nights, but mostly this is a place where stories unfold intimately, in the comfort of shared space.

In a state that’s home to more than half a million veterans, the military influence can often be loud, commanding attention. Visit Goldsboro during the Wings Over Wayne Air Show, and you’ll hear jet engines — the “sound of freedom,” as the airmen say — roaring through the skies over Seymour Johnson Air Force Base. Attend the Veterans Day Parade in Fayetteville, and the 82nd Airborne Division All-American Band strikes up a sound that moves through you like a pulse — the blare of brass cutting through the air, the roll of a snare drum, powerful and proud. In Jacksonville, military convoys rumble steadily along NC Highway 24 — Freedom Way — heading to and from Camp Lejeune. But just as often, that military influence is quiet, hidden in silent exchanges. A small emblem on a worn hat. A fading tattoo beneath a rolled-up shirt sleeve. A glance shared between those who’ve served, wordless but always understood.

At the Beirut Memorial in Jacksonville, I saw this quiet reverence in action. A man approached the wall, the one bearing the phrase “They Came in Peace,” and rested his hand gently next to one of the names etched in stone. He lingered, and I wasn’t going to disturb him, but then he turned, met my eyes, and with a gentle voice said, “I just stopped by to visit an old friend.” In that brief moment, I understood the weight of the past he carried.

In North Carolina, we find places for reflection, for shared experiences that need no grand gesture, for stories held in silence. In the unspoken moments, forgotten roads are remembered.

 

Elizabeth

 

 

 

 

Elizabeth Hudson
Editor in Chief

 

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This story was published on Oct 29, 2024

Elizabeth Hudson

Hudson is a native of North Carolina who grew up in the small community of Farmer, near Asheboro. She holds a B.A. degree in English from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and began her publishing career in 1997 at Our State magazine. She held various editorial titles for 10 years before becoming Editor in Chief in 2009. For her work with the magazine, Hudson is also the 2014 recipient of the Ethel Fortner Writer and Community Award, an award that celebrates contributions to the literary arts of North Carolina.