Father's Day

Now that we’ve been vaccinated and it feels safe to travel again, I decided that for Father’s Day we would take a trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway that I have been longing to complete for some time.  Last year, as noted in earlier posts, we only took two out-of-Town trips the entire year due to Covid-19.

Our daughter sent me Father’s Day greetings, and it is hard to believe that she just turned 35.  I still remember taking her to church on Father’s Day in 1986 when she was only ten days old.  I recall that she was well-behaved for the most part except for a lot of little cooing sounds – we were up in a corner of the balcony where we did not disturb anybody.  Katy has always been a talkative one!

It was raining when we left our house, which was a little disappointing, and the first thing we encountered was one of those big city bus-sized RVs gingerly maneuvering the multitude of curves between Highlands and Brevard who absolutely refused to pull over despite many opportunities and the honking of the 20-or-so cars behind him.  At times he was going less than ten miles per hour.  But I am striving to become a more patient person and it was good training.  On the same road, we just barely missed hitting a huge deer that leapt across the road in front of us, missing us by only a foot or two.  It would not only have killed the deer, but also totaled our little Mini Cooper and gravely injured its passengers.  We were thankful when the rain began to dissipate, and on the other side of Brevard we found a welcome site parked at the place we had arranged to stop and rest:  the Lobster Dog Food Truck, which sets up at one place or another in the Asheville area, and which we have been trying to meet at one of those places.

We have learned to appreciate food trucks more and more in recent months.  They are quick and inexpensive and usually have a higher Health Department sanitation rating than restaurants.  A lobster dog is a toasted split-top hot dog bun crammed with lobster and mayo, warm butter, and special seasonings – an indulgence on Father’s Day and the best we have had since our trip to Maine in 2016.

As we drove north from Asheville through Burnsville and eventually onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, the rain let up and the sun came out.  Our destination was the Switzerland Inn in Little Switzerland – Milepost 334 on the Parkway.  The historic old inn first opened in 1911 but has seen many improvements since then.  We had driven by the Inn several times on various trips on the Parkway but had stayed there only once and for the first time in 2015.

Inside the inn is a large wood-burning fireplace, comfortable seating with game tables, and lots of bookcases.  A person could happily spend many rainy days without even leaving the lobby itself or the dining room next door.

We had a light dinner and then strolled down the broad lawn overlooking Lake James to the south where a fire pit had been lit.  It was a beautiful place to sit and relax.

The next morning, while we were checking out, I investigated several old photos of the original Inn and the inhabitants of the area.  This striking picture of Isaac Hollifield especially caught my eye.  He was an old-timer who used to take visitors to the camp at Mount Mitchell, and he looked like a real mountain man.

From Little Switzerland, we exited the Parkway and drove on many winding two-lane roads through that part of Western North Carolina known as the High Country, which we seldom visit unless we can stay at a place like Switzerland Inn as a base.  We went through tiny places – some of them containing no more than a gas station – along the way:  Ingalls, Roaring Creek, Cranberry, Elk Park, Banner Elk (not far from that famous Town everybody loves named Loafer’s Glory), finally coming down into the lovely valley that is Valle Cruces, past a stone Episcopal Church and conference center, to the historic Mast General Store, ca. 1909 and listed on the National Register, and its Annex just down the road a bit.  With its wooden floors and old-timey merchandise it reminds me of Mitchell's Hardware in New Bern.

From Valle Cruces, we made our way to Blowing Rock for lunch, with plenty of time to walk around and enjoy this Town that is in many ways similar to Highlands, with a vibrant Main Street and many fine shops and restaurants.  Then we made the surprisingly short trip down Highway 221 to Marion and Old Fort, then down to Bat Cave and Edneyville, finally ending up in Hendersonville.  We both had appointments in Brevard with a young doctor recommended to us – our current doctor in Highlands has left – and it made more sense to stay for a night in Hendersonville, drive to Brevard the next morning, and then return to Highlands, which is exactly what we did.

We discovered a new restaurant in Hendersonville called West First, and we also discovered a new place to stay that we had not known about, a historic rock Inn in the Laurel Park area on top of a mountain called the Echo Mountain Inn.  Originally a private summer home built in 1896, the place went through major renovations in the 1930s and the 1970s.  Small, comfortable, and historic – all of the things we love.

We left for Brevard the next day, were pleased with our new doctor, and finally returned to Highlands on Tuesday afternoon, not encountering any leaping deer or slow-moving RVs on the way.  It was a good Father’s Day get-away!  And now I am checking to see where Lobster Dog Food Truck will be located next.

Our Thriving Gardens

Our own gardens are thriving in mid-June thanks to just the right amount of rain and just enough of the limited sunshine that filters through the big shade trees all around us.  The tomato plants are jumping out of their cages, and the ones that Martha planted up on the deck are as tall as she is.  This is the difference that six weeks of ideal weather makes:

The zucchini (left) and potatoes (right) are doing well, too, although the beans and peppers seem to be coming along more slowly.  The potatoes are especially bushy, and I wonder if they will produce a good crop.  It is always a mystery what is going on underground until you dig them, and I am remembering the old saying, “All plant, no potatoes” taught to me by my neighbor 40 years ago.

I checked the zucchini the night before last and found four large ones that seemed to blow up from blossom to full-size overnight.  There was enough to share with our neighbor, and the other two (see below) provided enough for a dinner of spiralized zucchini with grilled chicken one night, parmesan zucchini rounds the next night, and Martha’s zucchini lasagna the third night – delicious!  They are a prolific vegetable, and the joke is that in zucchini season, you have to roll your windows up tight when you go to church to prevent your neighbors from putting them in your car.

I have seen what looks like deer footprints between the garden beds, so I erected some deer netting around the beans topped with a strip of yellow tape.  I couldn’t find POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS at the hardware store, and besides I suspect (but am not entirely certain) that deer cannot read anyway. 

The perennial flowers are doing well, too, day lilies and clematis in full bloom along the walkway to the back door.

I think I mentioned that we were waiting for a second estimate for painting our house.  It came promptly and under budget, and when we asked the genial Lupe Gonzalez when he could start, he said tomorrow or the next day.  In four days time, two men painted the entire house and garden shed, working long hours.  

When that was done he came by and gave us an estimate on building a carport (also under budget), and when we asked when that work could start, he hesitantly replied, “Next week?” as if we might think that was not soon enough.  Sure enough, a team of men showed up early in the week, cut big square holes through the asphalt driveway for the footings (something I would have been unable to do) and poured the concrete.  The next day, work began on the carport, and in four days was completed except for the metal roof, which had been back-ordered.  What a work ethic these men have!  It is top-quality construction, and they worked long hours, one day working nearly 12 hours.  They walked gracefully around on the roof trusses like mountain goats, unafraid of heights, competently whipping out tape measures and circular saws and power nailing guns.  It is always a joy to watch the effortless motion of competent, skilled men at work.

Work stopped for several days until the metal roof arrived, and we were not sure when it would be installed after it appeared in the driveway one day.  Three nights ago, a Latino laborer showed up at 7:30 p.m. and worked until dark, and the next night he did the same.  He could not speak English very well, but we communicated, I think, our appreciation for his working so late.  Last night, he finished up, and in the dark started to carry my ladder around the house and hang it up before I went outside and gestured that I would put it away tomorrow.  Like the carpenters constructing the carport structure, he was fearless on the slick metal roof.

 We like to take photos of construction projects at our house, and it is always interesting to go back and look at them months and even years later.  Martha found a wonderful program on her phone that transforms a photo into something that looks like a water color, and she has been using it to record these new projects.  Here is the house after it was painted.

And here is our garden shed, which I constructed several years ago and which we normally refer to as a “folly” because it is more a place to sit and relax than a place to pot plants.

And here are two photos she magically transformed of the plants on our back deck – her garden, the one that is safe from predators and gets as much sun as anywhere in our yard.

One of the many things that Martha inherited from her Mom is a little sign that Jane Lewis always had in one of her gardens, and now it has been placed in one of the planters on the back deck.  It’s a famous quote, and I discovered only today that it is by the poet Dorothy Frances Gurney:

 The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God’s Heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.

Gardens in Bloom

This weekend was Garden Weekend, with two back-to-back garden tours, one of them right here in the Highlands area as part of a CLE (Center for Life Enrichment) program we had signed up for.  “Gardening for Beauty and Nature” featured a visit to the private gardens of Florence and Tom Holmes, located in the Flat Mountain area of Highlands, presented by local garden professional Canty Worley, whom we know very well (he is also a talented runner) and Florence Holmes, whom we also know.  Many of the participants were familiar to us, too, from previous CLE events.  The home and gardens were new to us, though, and we spent the better part of the morning strolling through the property and getting ideas.

This little area was located down below the house and the main garden, and it looked inviting!  Martha has tried to do something similar with our own property, where you will find old chairs scattered here and there – very nice touches in a garden landscape.

Only two days later, we drove to Asheville, where we spent the night in a motel for the first time since the Covid-19 pandemic struck.  The event was the Historic Montford Garden Tour, which consisted of a dozen gardens scattered through the historic Montford District of Asheville, where we enjoyed the fine old homes – some of them 120 years old – as much as the gardens.  There were live musicians at several of the homes, and there was so much to see that I soon despaired of taking photos of everything.  As with the event on Thursday, we came away with many ideas for improving our own gardens.  I found this small decorative pebble feature in a stone patio especially interesting and may try to incorporate it in some of my future stone work.

 We ended the tour by having dinner at a little sidewalk table at a restaurant we were not familiar with called Nine Mile, right in the heart of the Montford district, where we enjoyed Caribbean cuisine.  

Restaurants!  Garden Tours!  It is hard to believe it, but we seem to be emerging finally from a year of quarantine, a year when we very seldom went out of Town.  The requirement to wear masks has been dropped in North Carolina now that much of the population has been vaccinated, and it feels a little odd, and yet very exhilarating, to be cautiously returning to events like these garden tours.

Mother's Day

Martha had wanted to go somewhere different this year on Mother’s Day and decided that an overnight visit to the Fryemont Inn would be just the place to go.  We read about their Covid protocols on the website and it seemed like one of the safest destinations, with large rooms that could be aired out and a spacious lodge and dining room.  

The Inn is located on a hill overlooking Bryson City, just a little over an hour from Highlands, and although we have never stayed there we had heard good reports.  Constructed a hundred years ago by Amos and Lillian Frye (thus it’s name) it is listed on the National Register. 

Amos Frye had access to some of the best timber in the Great Smoky Mountains at the time, and he used it on the Inn – oak and maple for the floors, locust for the beams and columns, poplar bark for part of the siding, and interior paneling from the great American chestnuts that were at the time being killed by the chestnut blight.  Martha’s grandmother’s home on Fourth Street in downtown Highlands, where we briefly stayed 38 years ago when our home was being built, had similar paneling, come of it rare clear chestnut (as opposed to “wormy” chestnut), and when we walked into the lodge it reminded us of that wonderful old home.  It featured a huge rock fireplace in which a fire was blazing.  It seemed to be a laid-back place; a group of guests were playing a spirited game of Scrabble on a big game table, and someone was curled up with a book in front of the fire.  

The Fryemont reminded us, too, of the Historic Brookstown Inn in Winston-Salem where we have often stayed on our way to the Outer Banks and Atlantic Beach.  A converted cotton mill, the Brookstown has that same quirky layout, uneven floors, and crooked corridors.  The Inn has been owned by only three families, most recently the Browns since 1978.  We met Hotel Manager Monica Brown when we arrived – her husband is the Executive Chef and her daughter works there during the summers.

We wandered down dark corridors and peered in unoccupied rooms that were open, some of them containing old-fashioned sinks with separate hot and cold faucets, like the historic old Blue Swallow in Tucumcari, New Mexico, where we stayed on our trip to California in 2016.

Historically interesting, but a bit of a challenge when washing up!  (Do you want ice cold water in your face, or scalding hot water?)  Unsure about some of the rooms in the Main Lodge being musty, Martha had arranged to stay just a short distance away in one of a group of comfortable and more modern rondettes called the Balcony Suites, where hot and cold water commingled in a single spout thanks to the miracle of modern plumbing.

It was a great place to stay, quiet and airy, with rocking chairs on the back deck.  We had arrived early enough in Bryson City to spend some time walking around, but now it was appealing to sit and relax under towering shade trees in those rockers waiting for dinner.  Dinner was in a spacious dining room, and we sat at a table with a window facing a stone terrace; the only other diners were on the other side of the room in front of the fireplace.  The menu included trout prepared six different ways, and we each tried a different way, the apricot-ginger glaze and the white-wine-and-mushroom sauce equally tasty.  While we were eating, Martha remarked that this was the first time we had dined indoors at a restaurant in well over a year.

The next morning, we returned to the same dining room for a bountiful breakfast, and then left Bryson City on a rambling, circuitous route, warm enough to put the top down on our Mini Cooper.  We stayed on two-lane roads to Robbinsville, then back over to Topton and a beautiful drive down the Nantahala River gorge to the Nantahala Outdoor Center (the NOC), popular with tubers and kayakers across the country.  

 We had a little picnic across the river, watching the water cascade over the rocks.  It was a little early in the season for venturing out in the water, but we watched a single kayaker expertly maneuver his craft upriver.  The Appalachian Trail actually crosses the Nantahala River on the bridge alongside the NOC, so after we had walked across the bridge we were able to say that we had hiked on the AT for Mother’s Day. 

It was a good Mother’s Day despite being tempered by the sadness of such holidays.  Martha heard from our own daughter, and she also heard from her sister and her brothers, who were united in missing Martha’s Mama who died last June.  But we were fortunate to have our mothers for as many years as we did, weren’t we? - my own mother lived to be over 90 – and it is a comfort to know that we tried to love them as much as they loved us.

Our Iffy Gardens

It is always nice to see our gardens take shape in May - my "main"garden down in the raised beds that I built several years ago, and Martha's "backup"garden up on the deck, protected on high from deer and rabbits.  The time to plant gardens in this part of Western North Carolina is not before May 15; otherwise a late frost can arrive overnight and put a swift end to early planting.  Although a little early, the temperatures looked good for the next week, so last week we set out most of our plants.  

I planted red bell peppers, tomatoes (several varieties), zucchini, and blue lake green beans in the raised beds, which after several years contain loose soil amended with composted fall leaves that don't even need tilling.  I expect them to do well if I erect the deer netting around the raised beds, if it doesn't rain too much this summer, and if I can keep slugs under control with "Sluggo," a product that always reminds me of that old cartoon strip that only we old-timers still remember.

But what's in a name?  Sluggo, tiny pellets that bait and kill slugs and snails, is very effective if I distribute it in time.  There are a lot of other "ifs" in the sentence before, but it is well worth the effort.  Of course, we realize we could buy fresh vegetables all summer at August Produce, but where's the fun in that?  Is there anything better than a tomato grown in your own garden?

Martha's backup garden takes place in several very clever planters known as "Grow Boxes," which you can fill with water so that they water the plants (mostly herbs) below, from the roots,  She ordered six new ones this year, and has planted them with the herbs that make our summer cooking so wonderful - basil, parsley, chives, and rosemary.  She has also planted some roma tomatoes, green beans, and summer squash.  My garden, exposed to the elements and the predators, is not always reliable, but her backup garden rarely fails.

So we have planted, fertilized, and watered.  And now we wait to see, in that "if" of the gardener's held breath, what happens this season.  In the best of conditions, we will be rewarded with that most wonderful gift, real produce from our own gardens.  And if it fails, we have at least gotten some dirt under our fingernails and experienced the age-old wonder of sowing seed and cultivating and hoping for the magic of growth.

More Projects Underway

"It is good to be working on something physical again, sore muscles at the end of the day and the satisfaction of seeing plans become reality."  That's what I wrote in my last post about the demolition of the steps to our front porch and various fences that will interfere with the planned covered entryway to the front door.  Work continued this week with the removal and replacement of two rotten boards on our deck.  What seemed like a relatively easy task turned into a brutal contest against rusty screws with crowbar and circular saw. 

Wednesday morning, after two days of hard work, I learned that my running was impacted in a big way.  I had run three miles on Monday, but fatigue is cumulative, and I felt it in my heavy legs.  I have also come face to face once again with that uncomfortable truth:  "I am no longer as young as I was!"  I ran until I was tired, then walked, then ran some more.  Fortunately I met my friend Fred half-way through the run and I turned and finished it with him.  82-year-old Fred is actually planning on running in a track meet next weekend and had been running intervals, so we paced each other back to the park at 12-minutes per mile.  A track meet!  What an inspiration.

Thursday I put the finishing touches on the deck, adding another decorative horizontal beam for hanging flowers this summer, something I had been meaning to do for some time now.

And what is a deck without rocking chairs?  Our last remaining rocking chair finally succumbed to old age and rot this winter and could no longer be repaired with hose clamps, screws, or new runners cut with my jigsaw, so I sadly took it to the landfill.  Martha had identified some acacia-wood rockers at Walmart, of all places, so on Friday I took an extra rest day and we drove to Clayton and bought two of them.  I unpacked and assembled them, challenged by the claim "Easy Assembly:  Assemble in 30 minutes or less!" (21 minutes 52 seconds - hah!)  We were heartened to learn that acacia is "100% wood from well-managed forests," and surprised to learn that they were made in Vietnam.

We had our house pressure-cleaned by Martha's nephew last week and he did a great job, making our green metal roof shine as if brand new as well as the boards on our deck (above).  Now we are planning to have our house painted.  It is a good time after a thorough pressure wash and painting is long overdue.  We had agreed on a new color scheme, a shade of tan or beige instead of gray, the same green window frames, but brick-red accent colors on the window sashes and doors.  We found the exact colors for the windows on the first try, but we went through four shades of tan for the siding before finally (with some remaining trepidation) settling on a shade.

We had already sampled, among other colors, Shakespeare Tan (is that based on the color of cottages in Stratford-upon-Avon, I wondered?) and Woodstock Tan ("By the time I got to Woodstock . . .?") before settling on the comparatively unglamorous Grant Beige.  

Now to find somebody to do the work.  Construction (and painting) is booming in Highlands this spring; Covid-19 restrictions are being lifted, everybody wants to build a house in Highlands, and there is more than enough work for everyone.  As a result, the cost of lumber has gone up 200% since last year and contractors who are not tied up all summer are hard to find.  Our first painting contractor told us he might be able to get to our job by August.  Now we are waiting for the second estimate from a genial Latino who spoke excellent English and whose truck ran out of gas in our driveway, where I gladly gave him all the lawnmower gas that I had on hand.  Maybe he will remember the favor and find time for our project.

The extra rest day paid off, and Saturday morning I was able to complete six miles.  "I am no longer as young as I was" is a condition, I have found, that can be treated by another truth I am learning more and more about every year:  "I need an extra rest day!"

Bells in the Night

It has been a busy time in our lives, so busy that I have neglected posting to this blog.  Every day seems to require us to drive out of Town to appointments - doctors, tax professionals - and to continue preparing our house and yard for spring.

At the same time I am excited to have finally sent my book off to the publishers.  Proofread many times now and ready to publish since last November, I was waiting until this month on the slim chance that my book might have a chance to win the Academy of American Poets new book prize.  Had I won this prize, it would have included publication of the book as well as an all-expenses-paid six-week residency at the Civitella Ranieri Center, a castle in the Umbrian region of Italy. 

In all honesty, I could not really see myself lounging on the lawn in such a bucolic setting with other poets and artists.  I might instead of tied on my running shoes and explored the nearby Italian hillside roads.  In any case, the award went to the deserving young poet Kemi Alabi, and I look forward to reading her book.  My own book - Bells in the Night - will be published sometime this spring or summer.

While it will not have as wide a distribution as Ms. Alabi's book, I do hope that somewhere a reader or two might lounge on the lawn and enjoy reading it!

On top of everything else, we have decided to embark on a new construction project at our home consisting of a carport and a new entryway to the front door.  We have discovered to our disappointment that every contractor in Highlands seems to be busy (it is a project which I will need some help to complete) and lumber prices have doubled in the past year.  Still construction began yesterday with demolition, as it sometimes does.  Taking advantage of a clear, cool afternoon, and with the help of crowbar and circular saw, I removed the front steps and fences along the walkway and hauled them away to the landfill.  It is good to be working on something physical again, sore muscles at the end of the day and the satisfaction of seeing plans become reality.

 

Sunday, we decided to take the entire day off, and early in the morning we drove to Brevard, then up US-276 past Looking Glass Falls and the Cradle of Forestry, finally climbing to the very crest of the mountain range and the Blue Ridge Parkway, that lovely 469-mile long park that holds so many sweet memories for us both.  We spent our honeymoon at Pisgah Inn nearly 41 years ago.  And that is where we ended up on a sunny Sunday afternoon.