I’ve lived in North Georgia for decades, calling multiple cities and counties home. Over the
years, I’ve gathered countless stories and experiences, but a few stand out—moments that truly capture what it means to be a North Georgian.
Some are heartwarming, others hilarious, and a few are downright appalling—much like life
itself. So, take a moment to see this community in all its complexity, the good, the bad, and the unforgettable.
1. Dahlonega
Best
It was cold. Like, cold. Cold.
As a student at the University of North Georgia, I (naturally) couldn’t find parking on campus.
Even more naturally, I forgot my coat. So, I walked across town, hunched against the freezing wind, which bowed me as I shuffled forward.
As I trudged along, I considered the cruelty of the world—how my suffering surely rivaled that of Canadian Inuits fishing on a skip in the North Sea, braving the elements just to survive another winter afternoon.
Then, a red truck pulled up beside me. Honestly, at this point, I was so cold I didn’t care if I was about to be kidnapped—that truck looked heated.
Then it parked. In the middle of the road. In downtown Dahlonega.
Now I was angry, but not because I felt threatened. No, I was angry because clearly, this person wanted to talk, and it was flipping cold.
The window rolled down, and instead of the Hamburgler, I saw an elderly gentleman in a flat cap and sweater vest. He smiled warmly and said, “It’s mighty cold out there.”
Then, without hesitation, he handed me his coat.
I thanked him and took it, stunned. He wished me a good day, rolled up his window, and drove off—no fanfare, no expectation, just a simple act of kindness that thawed a bit of the winter around me.
Worst
In a plot that could have been lifted straight from the rejected scripts of a 1980s movie executive, the most appalling behavior I ever witnessed in Dahlonega came at the hands of the notorious Roberta Green-Garrett.
I had heard about her—Dahlonega’s purported land
baron—hoarding overpriced rentals while tenants alleged black mold, broken locks, and air filters that hadn’t been changed since the Bush administration.
I was driving through the square, a Chick-fil-A biscuit in hand, singing along to Taylor Swift’s 1989 CD when I noticed a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk. Curious, but more focused on a text from my crush at the time, I almost kept going, in a hurry to park and read the message—until I saw what had captured their attention.
I kid you not: It was a banner with a massive hooded figure resembling a Klansman, beside
what appeared to be a Klan flag. The sign, located on a building that belonged to Mrs.
Green-Garrett, claimed—incorrectly—’Historical Ku Klux Klan Meeting Hall.’
I slammed the brakes (not my proudest driving moment). I wasn’t alone in my reaction—others stopped too, some out of shock, some to document what they were seeing. Realizing I needed to keep moving, I headed to class, where the full story behind the sign unfolded throughout the day. Eventually, a press release clarified the situation, as seen below:
Green-Garrett owned a historic building that had clearly fallen into disrepair. She reportedly
wanted to redevelop the property into a hotel, and the sign seemed to serve as leverage—an attempt to stir controversy and push for a more profitable outcome.
The town, however, wasn’t having it. Local churches, student-led initiatives from the university, and various community groups erupted in protest. In a rare instance of true justice, the town came together, resisted the power at play, and, in the end, the historic building was torn down and in its place now stands a very fine Holiday Inn Express.
Maybe that’s why this particular script was left in the slush pile, the ending sucks.
2. Oakwood
Best
At an event at the University of North Georgia in Oakwood, a group of volunteers and I worked to raise awareness for a local Pregnancy Resource Center. Assisting me that day was a veteran mom—one of the kindest women I have ever met. Since then, I made her my personal nomination for The Cute North Georgian’s ‘Woman of the Month’ due to her animal activism and humanitarian spirit.
We stood together at our table under the early spring sunshine, chatting as we greeted
passersby. I happened to compliment her poncho— a beautiful, high-quality wrap that suited her perfectly. Without hesitation, she took it off and handed it to me. No second thoughts. Just a simple act of generosity, as natural to her as breathing.
She probably doesn’t even remember it, but I do. That moment transformed my understanding of love, inspiring me toward her practice of radical generosity. It was such a tangible, real expression of kindness. That small gesture shifted my perspective on how to love people like Jesus.
I have a second-best moment in Oakwood. Once again, I was enduring the Sisyphean struggle
of finding campus parking—and, once again, coming up short. Eventually, I gave up and parked
about two miles from my building in what I assumed was an empty lot.
Now, an important detail: my car. It was not a looker. After two years of working at McDonald’s in
high school, I had finally saved enough to buy it—a Hyundai with all the charm of a spray-painted tin can, which indeed it was. It sported a massive rusted dent by the taillight, courtesy of a tree that absolutely jumped out at me while I was backing out of a curved driveway. (Don’t judge—statistically, one in ten people will fall victim to tree attacks in their lifetime.)
To truly understand how ugly this car was, consider this: someone was so offended by its
appearance that they ranted about it on the college message board YikYak. They described it in vivid detail, claiming it was so ugly it made them irrationally angry. That comment? Upvoted 500 times.
But it didn’t stop there. Someone despised my car so much that they scrawled “ugly car” in
milkshake across the hood and ripped off the antenna—an act of vandalism fueled purely by aesthetic outrage.
As it turns out, the “empty” parking lot wasn’t empty at all. It belonged to a luxury car dealership.
When I returned at noon, I found my poor, battered Hyundai parked like a sore thumb among sleek, high-end vehicles—an eyesore in a sea of elegance. But to my immense relief, they had chosen not to tow the clueless college kid. At 19, I couldn’t afford to get my car out of impound, so that small act of mercy meant the world to me.
May we all be so merciful.
Worst
As a Dawsonville McDonald’s employee on a limited income, a splurge was as rare as a
customer who didn’t try to “cone” me with their vanilla ice cream or complain that their
half-and-half Dr Pepper/Diet Dr Pepper mix had too much diet. On one such rare occasion, I
treated myself to a fruit smoothie.
Feeling momentarily indulgent, I set my precious smoothie on the cafeteria table and stepped away to the restroom. When I returned, it was gone—stolen. The devastation I felt rivaled that of a customer who didn’t receive a suitable number of salt packets with their meal.
Some losses you never forget.
3. Cornelia
Best
On my way to work at a new job, my car broke down on the side of the road near an abandoned parking lot. The only other vehicle in sight was a truck…with a pile of raccoon carcasses in the back.
I was new to Habersham County, having just moved from Buford, and before that, Alpharetta. I was still adjusting to the occasional unsettling sights of rural life, but this was a level of grotesque I hadn’t yet encountered—though, given an incident a few weeks prior, I was growing uncomfortably familiar.
As I stood by my lifeless car, a police officer pulled up. My heart sank. Given the trajectory of my day, I braced myself for a ticket.
Instead, the officer was understanding and helpful—and just as weirded out by the raccoons as I was.
After assessing my situation, he offered me a ride to work. As I climbed into the backseat, my phone’s Waze app chimed with a warning: “Police presence ahead.”
The officer laughed. “Those detectors never work,” he said.
I smiled. “I beg to differ. Seems pretty accurate to me.”
Worst
I follow a local Facebook group in Rabun County as a means to stay plugged into the community. I’m used to the occasional questionable post from a vocal minority, but this was on another level.
A grown woman had posted a picture of a fast-food employee—who looked about 13—complaining about his service.
My inner McDonald’s worker, though retired at the age of 20, was instantly furious. I jumped in to defend the kid, pointing out his youth, inexperience, and the simple fact that he was a literal child working a job. He deserved patience, not public shaming.
Thankfully, the post was eventually removed. But it was shocking to see something like that in the wild.
Conclusion
North Georgia is a wild, wonderful, unpredictable place—equal parts charming and
chaotic—and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Editor’s Note: Carly McCurry of The Cute North Georgian Magazine shares her views with our Now Habersham readers.
