August 20 marks the third anniversary of the passing of my good friend Debbie Fletcher, whose life was cut short by the same virus that has taken the lives of several of my family members and several of my good friends, all of whom are very much missed. Debbie had been hospitalized for Covid in late July, 2021, along with her husband and son-in-law and several of their fellow church members at the same time. Debbie passed away three weeks later, a week and a half after having been placed on a ventilator.

Jocassee was our connection and common bond, upon which we built a lasting friendship after meeting in 2009. As she said, we were “Jocassee sisters.” Although Debbie was from Columbia, her family had owned the Attakulla Lodge in Jocassee Valley, before the water of the manmade lake inundated Jocassee Valley, and she had fond childhood memories of Jocassee Valley. (The Lodge was named for the Cherokee Chief Attakullakulla, whose people once called the land of Jocassee Valley home. Attakullakulla’s daughter was the legendary Jocassee, whose name meant ‘Place of the Lost One.’)  Although I did not know Jocassee Valley, my maternal grandmother was born there, and my grandmother’s family owned nearly 500 acres, most of which is now underwater. My mother and her family lived in Jocassee Valley for a short while when my mother was very young. I have fond childhood memories of Lake Jocassee, as there my late grandparents built a lake house, which they called the cabin.

Debbie invited me several times as divers dove to the Attakulla Lodge, which remains, turned on its side, 300 feet down, under the waters of Lake Jocassee. (And Debbie had known my late great grandfather, whom I was never able to know, and, on one of the Lodge dives, she showed me the direction of where his store had been, hundreds of feet down, beneath the water, in Jocassee Valley.) I interviewed Debbie and wrote an in-depth article, and I also took many photographs each time I went. I’ll always treasure those precious memories of our good times spent at our beloved Jocassee, during the several Lodge dives on the lake and also when selling and signing copies of our books, hers about Jocassee Valley and mine a fictionalized story with the setting based on Lake Jocasseee, during Bell Fest at the state park at the lake, where we went on a nature walk, looking for the rare Oconee Bell flowers. I’ll also treasure memories of hearing her speak, sharing about Jocassee, at the Upcountry History Museum in Greenville and viewing their Jocassee exhibit together.

Whippoorwill Farewell: Jocassee Remembered is the title of Debbie’s first book about Jocassee Valley. Debbie, also, will always be remembered — fondly remembered with precious memories. Everyone who knew Debbie loved her and knew her as a kind, sweet, encouraging, caring person. Since she was so full of life, it’s still hard to believe that she’s gone.

Before Debbie went into the hospital, she shared something she had written eight years earlier, after she had read an article someone had written about Jocassee:

“I just read a well-written article about Jocassee, in which someone is quoted as saying, ‘Jocassee is nowhere. Jocassee is gone.’ There was a time I would have agreed with this. . . until we found Attakulla Lodge and Camp Jocassee for Girls, guarded and preserved by the dark depths of Lake Jocassee.. The valley may be gone, certainly unseen by most, but as long as we have divers who brave the deep and bring back left-behind reels and sidelights and tales of a river that still runs deep and keeps the rocks swept of silt, as long as grown up little girls still reminisce about shaving their legs in an icy river and marching 7 miles up the mountain to Salem, as long as there is an underwater buoy to touch for 10 seconds until your lungs feel as if they will burst, as long as we keep her alive in our tales and our tears . . . we’ll always have Jocassee, at least in our dreams and our hearts where Jocassee is never gone. I call my beloved Attakulla Lodge ‘she’, much like a sunken ship. She lies in 300 feet of water, on her side. I like to think that if the Lodge were a person, she’d be delighted to welcome us back – overjoyed that we went to all this trouble.”

After each Lodge Dive, Debbie would kiss the rope that connected the outside modern world above the waters of Lake Jocassee to the land of yesterday below, to her beloved Lodge and the land of her youth and childhood memories in Jocassee Valley.

Debbie concluded: “She feels the kiss of the little girl, now a grandmother, who unties the boat that has been anchored to the Lodge, kisses the rope, and drops it in the water as she says, ‘See ya next time, old girl.’ She doesn’t feel forgotten. She’s a little worse for the wear after 40 years of submersion in deep, dark, cold water. Oh, but she’s not forgotten. The Lodge and the beautiful lands of Jocassee are still there, but just like the wrinkles on the face of a 100-year-old woman, you can look past her facade, look into her eyes and still see her soul. She’s not gone, just different.”

Although Debbie is gone from our sight, she will never be gone from our memories and our hearts. She’s not really gone, just different, with a heavenly body instead of an earthly body. She will never be forgotten.

Debbie wrote of our friendship: “I have treasured every minute. Love you!”

I and everyone who was blessed to know you, Debbie, treasures your friendship and loves you.

Debbie’s very last words to her family and friends while in the hospital and still able to communicate were: “Love you.”

Thinking of you, Debbie. We all will treasure our memories until we meet again. Love you.