The Hostel

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After our first year of living in North Carolina, I thought we occasionally ran a bed and breakfast place. It was wonderful to have many of our closest relatives and friends spend a few days with us. We had two guest rooms, so there was always room for everyone.

Our college friend, Gerhard, made reservations for our bed and breakfast months ahead of time. When son John $pencer and friend Rose came at the same time, we had to work out where people should sleep. The hikers ($, Rose and grandson David) insisted they would all be in the bunk room that has three beds. At breakfast the next day, they said everything went smoothly. It was like sleeping at a very nice hostel. I took a picture of the happy people at breakfast.

Later in the afternoon we had our Memorial Day lunch. John and $ cooked the burgers and brats on the grill. By that time David was working, so it was just the five of us.

We set off for Cataloochee, the area of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park where elk are often spotted. We ended up being much later than expected. We couldn’t let David know we’d be late getting home, because our phones had no bars in that remote area. He found the meats and buns and heated some for his dinner. We joined him to have leftovers together. It had been an unusual day, but a nice one.

Published by Anne Mehrling

I'm a retiree who loves to write about life in the mountains of North Carolina.

Published

23 thoughts on “The Hostel”

  3. A hostel in the NC mountains- I would love that. I am glad you have so many people visiting you and keeping your house filled with friends and family for long parts of the year. And I enjoy your posts and pictures that results from these get togethers.
    Susie

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    1. Son $ helped run a real hostel for a while. It was on the Appalachian Trail, so it was often full of serious hikers. He enjoyed talking with them and hearing some of their stories.

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  6. The best host and hostess are always the ones that get repeat bookings. I know your guests stay whenever they can so you should be in a Michelin Guide to Guesthouses by now.Everyone always gets such a welcome and you always devote your time and energy to them I can’t see anyone wanting to leave.
    Massive Hugs

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      1. That’s why your house is always groaning with family/friends at the holidays and I mean “groaning” in a very complimentary way, believe me. I am envious of a house that is groaning with family/friends having never grown up in that environment.

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        1. I didn’t grow up with lots of family, either. When I was little, my three grandparents came for dinner at Thanksgiving. I don’t remember that they came for Christmas. We all lived in the same town and saw each other often. My mother was a good plain cook, but she probably did not like cooking for others.

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          1. After we moved to Oakville, about 25 miles from Toronto where my grandmother lived, we only saw her occasionally on Sundays for Sunday dinner and for Thanksgiving, Easter and Christmas. My grandfather was a sullen man, who ate dinner, then went and watched TV and smoked his pipe or went to the Lansdowne Tavern to drink with his friends. I used to wish I lived in a family like “The Waltons” TV show – wishful thinking I guess.

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