Momentous events tend to pass relatively unnoticed while Miss Peggy and I are taking in the atmosphere and scenic beauty of the Great Smokies during our annual retreat to Maggie Valley, N.C.,

This year, we awoke to a Tea Party in the process of celebrating its victories; the second defeat of the year for the vaunted Alabama Crimson Tide; a precious blow-out for the Tennessee Volunteers; a similarly precious blow-out for the Georgia Bulldogs; the third loss of the year for Steve Spurrier’s Carolina Gamecocks — and a snowfall of epic beauty.

And, speaking of beauty, did I mention that the state of South Carolina elected the best-looking governor in the 50 states? Is that a sexist statement or what? Regardless of her political proclivities, Nikki Haley will be nice to look at for the next four years, but her election did pose problems for us scribblers, which I shall get to later in this screed.

This was, by my best count, our 17th annual visit to Maggie Valley in the company of our friends, Ron and Donna Balkus of Greensboro, N.C. We usually get there just ahead of or just behind the peak of color in the fall foliage. This year, the foliage had a lingering blush, and we sat on the broad veranda taking in the breathtaking view of the Smokies and a bracing brew of hot cider mixed with something stimulating.

We awoke one morning to a magnificent scene of green rhododendron and balsam pines gleaming from beneath a thick white mantle. In the distance were white-speckled peaks, still wearing autumn russet, peeking through glistening white mist. Suddenly it was winter.

We threw a few more logs on the fire and sat down to contemplate a nation facing (take your pick) two years of gridlock or two years of dismantling the anti-recession measures that were working too slowly to suit most Americans.

I leave it to the professional pols to figure out whether we need more government or less. They were debating that subject when Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton squared off in George Washington’s Cabinet, and it didn’t stop when Barack Obama entered the White House and Sarah Palin entered the Fox studio. Governor-elect Haley says all we need to do is get government out of the way and prosperity will return. I imagine Jefferson would applaud. I suspect time will tell.

So I’m left to contemplate the problem posed by Haley in the governor’s mansion over in Columbia: What do we call her, other than Madame Governor?

The governor-elect is the daughter of parents who emigrated from India. Does that make her an Indian-American or an American-Indian? She is, I’m reasonably certain, a native American, there being no disgruntled partisans to dispute her birth on Jan. 2, 1972, in the little town of Bamberg on the state’s broad coastal plain. She was born Nimrata Nikki Randhawa, and I presume she can produce a valid birth certificate. Her background is Sikh, not Muslim. She attends Methodist church services with her husband, and Sikh services out of respect for her wealthy parents. That doesn’t seem to bother South Carolinians. We’re not afraid she’s going to implement Sharia law or declare all cows to be sacred.

But it still leaves open the question: Ethnically speaking, what is she?

In South Carolina, when we speak of Indians we’re usually talking about the Cherokee, the Catawba, or maybe the Edisto (formerly known as the Brass Ankles), although there are sprinklings of Pee Dee, Chicora and Santee descendants around the state, and a good many Lumbees across the border in North Carolina. None of these tribes can trace its origins to the Indian subcontinent, so Haley isn’t that kind of Indian.

Unfortunately, Columbus fastened the name “Indian” on the bronze-skinned inhabitants he encountered down in the Caribbean, because he thought he was in the East Indies. Long after we learned that the great navigator was clueless as to his whereabouts, the false name stuck, and we’ve been trying ever since to come up with a better name.

The 20th century gave us “Native American,” which was promptly proclaimed politically correct, but it has unfortunate drawbacks.

Nikki Haley is a native American, since Bamberg, S.C., is in the United States and has been since 1776, except for a brief and unfortunate interval from late 1860 until 1865. I’m also native American. I was born in Clinton (no relation to Bill), which lies in the Upstate more than 100 miles north of Bamberg. Though I’m told I have Cherokee blood in my veins, I pass easily as a redneck, with a strong strain of linthead in my DNA. The 14th Amendment makes both Haley and me natural-born citizens. But the only time I’m called a Native American is when I go abroad and have to show my passport.

I have contended from the outset that Native American, applied to my indigenous ancestors, cheats my redneck and linthead cousins of their proper claim to be native citizens. Now it causes confusion when we contemplate the ethnicity of our new governor. The indigenous tribes were usually content to be called by their tribal names. If you call a tribe member “Cherokee,” or “Creek” or “Hopi,” nobody gets insulted, and nobody gets mistaken for a native of Calcutta. 

As for Governor-elect Haley, I think she’ll be content to be called a conservative Republican. But if she becomes exasperated with her own party, there’s a title she’ll readily answer to: Governor.

Meanwhile, I’m back on the autumn side of the mountains, having left a lovely winter behind in Maggie Valley.

When I return next year, I hope the country and the world will be well on their way to prosperity. And I wouldn’t fuss if we got a little snow.

Readers may write Gene Owens at 315 Lakeforest Circle, Anderson SC 29625, or by e-mail at: WadesDixieco@AOL.com