Depending on who you talk to, ramps are either the world’s most noxious, disgusting smelling plants or the nectar of the gods.

I was first introduced to ramps when my family was invited up to Tellico Plains one spring by a dear friend, Verlin. Every year, Verlin and his wife made this a family reunion, and friends were considered family. Several days before the Saturday festivities, he would go up the Cherohala Skyway, at least as far as it was completed at the time. Parking by the side of the road, he’d go down into the hollers and find ramps.

Ramps can be elusive 'critters.' They are considered a leek; a cross between garlic and onions, and they can be about ten times more pungent. They only grow above 3,500 feet, which was why Verlin had to drive some miles above Tellico Plains. After the skyway began construction, it was rumored that it wasn’t legal to go ramp hunting in that area. However, a lot of folks didn’t listen to that rumor. It’s possible they still don’t.

The initial year we went to the family ramp reunion the first thing that struck me was the smell. Verlin had ramps spread out in the shade on canvas, cleaned and ready to be cooked in the numerous Dutch ovens heating over wood and charcoal. The whole plant is cooked, so only the base of the roots were cut off. Verlin also provided the bacon and potatoes, along with hamburgers and hot dogs. The rest of us had brought side dishes such as cole slaw, potato salad, and copious quantities of desserts.

All the kids took turns playing on Verlin’s go-carts in one of his fields and playing baseball or football in the other. The adults sat under the trees and caught up on the latest news and gossip.

Verlin was the chef, but he had plenty of helpers. The bacon went in first, providing the grease needed for the other ingredients, as well as the salty maple flavor that good ramps need. Next came ramps and cut up potatoes. Some of the ramps were fried in bacon without potatoes. Either way, once they hit the grease, the smell evaporated. A plate full of ramps and all the homemade sides was the highlight of spring. We did that for several years until Verlin and his wife decided it was getting too hard for them to continue the tradition.

Not too long after this, I got a call from a friend, a professor at UTC, who had been invited by Verlin to come up to the Cherohala Skyway and hunt ramps. He remembered that I was interested in finding some for myself. Craig, the professor, brought his son, Westin. Verlin took us up and then waited by the road in his nice warm truck. I slid down the slopes with my bags, trowel, small shovel, and a stick. My main concern wasn’t a broken neck from tripping over roots or rocks, but poison ivy, which I was easily susceptible to.
We walked and stumbled at the bottom of several hollers, splashed through tiny streams, wondering if perhaps we weren’t very good at plant identification when Westin sang out that he had found some. Digging up what he discovered showed us he had. We spread out and began finding a great deal more. It took us about an hour to fill up our bags. By then it was getting late, and the chance of falling and hurting ourselves grew rapidly. When we drove back down in Verlin’s truck we were smelly, dirty, and thoroughly enjoying the golden sun sitting above the beautiful mountains.

I drove down Mecca Pike to Etowah, then to Athens with my stinky stash in Wal-Mart bags piled in a large box in the back of the car. It was totally dark by the time I got home and I knew I had to clean off the ramps as well as the trunk of the car. I worried that the neighbors would smell my bounty and wonder if I had brought home road kill. Strangely, when I laid the ramps out on the back patio, and hosed them off, they didn’t smell that strong.
The next night, the bacon went into the Dutch oven, and then the ramps. The meal was wonderful, but I noticed my students watching me surreptitiously for a couple of days.

After all, ramps are related to garlic and onions, and I guess you can eat too many.

Ramp festivals occur around mid-to late April in Cosby, Reliance, Greasy Creek, Polk County (Ramp Tramp), Newport, Flag Pond, Gatlinburg, Johnson City, Roan Mt. and probably many other places in the eastern mountains of Tennessee.

Susan Kite is the author of several books for young adults. She has also contributed to an Etowah Author’s Guild anthology of spooky stories called Haunted Houses & Terrifying Tales, all set in east Tennessee. Pictures for this article submitted by Dr. Craig Laing.