Our last evening with Kate was very pleasant, because I could put off thoughts of saying goodbye. Logan (5) and Bob came across the street to visit for a while on the porch. The young boy supplied power for the trains, since the transformer caught fire a few days ago. Living in the mountains can be very exciting at times.
This morning I heard an alarm at 5:15 which I presumed was Kate’s, so I got up. Everyone appeared to be asleep. By the time I dressed for walking, John was up, followed by Kate. She had packed the car last night and left after a light breakfast. We had two quick goodbyes, after which I started walking. The hardest goodbye was the third — waving as her car disappeared down the street. I had an hour then to try to concentrate on all the good times we had while she was here.
I’d pegged Kate’s leaving as the time to attack the climbing hydrangea, which we have watched not bloom for two summers. Internet instructions said to cut back in late June or early July. As John, Nate, and I had breakfast on the porch, I decided I might as well be truly miserable. Out came the loppers and clippers. There is nothing like gardening to make the rest of my life seem to be a delightful dream. I wonder if taking off my glasses would help. You finish one job, and your eyes wander a bit, luring you to yet another rogue plant that needs to be curbed. The quick answer is no, because I’m so blind I might cut off a toe instead. I allotted ten snips for the wisteria and removed low branches from the crepe myrtle at the front. I hope super gardeners Amy, Shawn, and Beth will give me a virtual pat on the back. For immediate gratification, I should have taken before and after photos.
Found a picture from a month ago and ran outside to record today’s hack job. I can’t see much change, certainly not a half hour’s sweat difference.
Golly Pete! I don’t think the clothes pins changed, either.
The excursion on Kate’s last day here was a trip to Cherokee. We drove through the town full of motels, tourist shops, eateries, and the huge casino. Our destination was the Oconaluftee Indian Village, where we arrived just in time for the demonstration of Cherokee dance. They had dances for bears, corn gathering, bulls, and several others. A man outside the circle chanted and beat a drum or shook a gourd as the Indians circled about. At the end, the audience was invited to participate in a dance that snaked about the inner square and stands were we sat. Nate and $ represented us. A guide took us around the craft areas where we saw people making belts, pottery, baskets, blow guns, arrow heads, and a canoe. We were on our own to look into log/clay houses and the council house.
I never thought about what Cherokee Indians sound like, and I found out they sound like me! They have Southern accents. The reason behind it is sad, though. Until recently children were punished in public school if they spoke Cherokee. Now that the language is almost extinct, Americans are urging them to preserve it.
As we were leaving, we walked past where the dancing had been and heard an older man’s lecture. He was fantastic. I wish I could remember all he spoke about. I always associated feathers with Indians, and he said that eagle feathers were used in sacred dances. They trapped eagles, removed a few feathers, and set them free again. Elements of dance included thanking the creator of the birds and the birds themselves. I knew white settlers brought the common cold which killed many Indians, but he listed others such as smallpox and influenza. Medicine men had been able to cure diseases before, but they tried all kinds of things against the new illnesses without success. The man spoke of body painting, saying the amount of black paint indicated the degree of anger involved. I was surprised at the drum he showed. It was made of pottery with animal skins stretched over both ends. Gourds were filled with seeds to make the rattle. He spoke of burial customs and housing, explaining carefully that now they live like normal Americans and are buried like us.
On the way home Nate picked up my hat as he got in the car and clapped it on top of his. We stopped by Jonathan Creek so that Kate could see the destination of my morning walk. She has been fighting a cold or allergies all week and didn’t feel well enough to go out early in the morning. Next year she may come later in the season.
We were celebrating independence but ruled by rain. We read that there would be activities in Waynesville, so we drove down Main Street. There were lots of people walking about and several musical groups playing on the sidewalks. We also saw signs for a cookout. It began to rain. We kept driving. Fireworks were listed in the newspaper, but with our luck, they would be canned if we showed up.
Cooking meats on the grill was about as close as we could get to doing something traditionally American. John and Nate grilled apple sausages, turkey hot dogs, and turkey burgers. We also had squash from neighbor Joyce who shared produce from her first garden in 30 years. As always, star billing went to Uncle Walter’s potato salad recipe. Uncle Walter, John’s godfather, had the recipe from a cousin who owned a deli. It’s a little different every time, but always delicious. I put together some chocolate chip bars while the squash was cooking. Kate has been with us a week now, and this was the first time I baked. Her eyes lit up when she saw the pan cooling on the counter.
John could have provided us with thoughts on fallen heroes of the 1770’s, but we didn’t delve into history. I took care of fallen heroes in the garden – glads that toppled to the ground after all the rain we’ve had. I wouldn’t normally cut flowers to bring inside, but these would never have pulled themselves upright. We’ve talked about them on the porch, so they should know they are loved and appreciated.
Another round of rain came and went. We planned to watch fireworks on TV, but when booms sounded up the mountain, we sat on our porch and enjoyed the free show.
Yesterday we were resigned to a day at home because of rain. Son $ called to see how we were, and he suggested we go on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Cloudy days can be much more dramatic than sunny ones. By the time we ate lunch and drove out, the rain had stopped. White clouds and ghostly mist kept our heads turning.
We got out of the car at many of the overlooks. I couldn’t resist taking a photo of Kate and Nate looking at the scenery. Kate said the hills near her in New Jersey can’t begin to compare to our mountains. My favorite cloud picture is named “Mythical Beast”. We were hungry by the time we got to the Pisgah Inn, and we were surprised there was immediate seating. The waiter said on a normal Thursday, the place would be packed. Our table was in the second row, not next to the window, but good enough. This is the only place I know which is high enough that you can look at clouds both above and below you. We enjoyed watching the staff, too. Their turnaround was amazing. Waiters and supervisors whisked dirty dishes from tables, and they had the table reset in seconds.
Although the light was fading, we went to my favorite waterfall on the way home. I looked for the wildflower trillium near the spring, but nothing was blooming there. Several years ago I took a picture of trillium which Beth identified for me. There is a lot to be said for instant gratification with digital photos.
We had rain again this morning. The top attractions Kate wanted to see during her first visit here were Andrew’s geyser and a train going through the Loops. When we got our act together, we drove to Old Fort and out to the geyser which wasn’t geysering. It isn’t a real geyser, anyway, but water was bubbling from the hole. We were almost ready to leave when the stream of water intensified and gradually soared into the sky. Nate was the first to hear something on the tracks. It was a pickup truck on train wheels, running down the mountain. John wondered if they were checking the tracks before sending a train. Nothing else happened. Finally we set a limit, saying we’d leave at 1 if no train had come. Just in the nick of time, we all heard a train whistle echoing through the mountains. It rumbled through the extreme curves, which I presume is why they call that stretch the Loops. We knew not to talk to John who was counting the cars – 78 today. Maybe we all have a compulsive desire to count certain things. I’ve broken my habit of counting silverware when emptying the dishwasher, but he still counts railroad cars on a moving train.
After the train left that area, we went to Old Fort and saw it go through the town. Next stop was the Moose Café. $ introduced us to this restaurant years ago, and it’s always been a favorite. They put biscuits and their special apple butter on the table when you order, and they serve fried chicken, collard greens, country ham, liver mush, chicken and dumplings, and other Southern fare. The meals are terribly carb-heavy, which I tried to balance with a spinach/peach salad. The ploy was unsuccessful, but I gave myself 100 points for trying.
Adjacent to the restaurant is the farmer’s market, now in full swing. John and I went in the winter when only one building was open. Today there were the usual fresh fruits and vegetables, but other stalls had craft items, clothing, pottery, home decorations, and jewelry. We poked about one area featuring gourds. We made the mistake of engaging the proprietor in conversation and couldn’t get away. I wondered where John was and spotted him on a bench, asleep. The woman told us how many days it takes for a very small gourd to dry enough for her to paint. The largest ones take a year! Her signature pieces have a few leaves painted on them. She cuts the top off around the jagged leaves, which I found esthetically pleasing. She also used gourd seeds to make earrings. She had many items there and mentioned that her work was in six other galleries. Before we left, she gave Nate an egg gourd ornament that someone had broken, suggesting ways he could decorate it.
John’s sister Barbara and husband Thom arrived about six hours after we got back from the baptism of their grandson in Maryland. Our first meal together was breakfast, out on the screened porch, as usual. What was different was the temperature. It was so cool that I brought out sweaters and lap robes. Thunder rumbled; rain followed, and we sat there visiting.
When it cleared, we headed for Cataloochee, stopping at a great lookout on the way. One of my favorite things to do is to get out of the car to feel the breeze and smell the fresh mountain air. A couple from South Carolina joined us at the railing. Son $ engaged them in conversation, something he does brilliantly. The way he looks and talks puts people so much at ease
Thom John Nate Kate Barbara $
that they begin to tell him their life stories. I walked over to Barbara, a linguist, and suggested she might want to get closer to hear their speech. She did much more than that; she recorded them. I enjoyed picking out things that I wouldn’t say, even though I have a Southern accent. The woman talked about “goin’ up air” which translates to “going up there.” $ also corrected their information, that people in Maggie Valley where they are staying, said there were no bears around. There most certainly are, and they should be aware of their surroundings at all times in the woods. A few weeks ago a 16-year-old boy was dragged from his hammock as he slept, and his dad was finally able to get the bear off by punching him in the eye.
I had been watching for the rhododendrons to bloom at higher elevations, and I was rewarded. $ spotted a wild flower we didn’t know, bee balm or wild bergamot. We took pictures of the red flower and wanted to make tea with it. He said we’d need a lot of blooms, and we weren’t going to pick all of them in that one area.
The Caldwell house was built in 1903 and was open for people to wander through. Barbara headed for the stream, and Thom said, “Don’t encourage her.” She is an adventuresome person. A few minutes later I said to Thom, “She’s got one shoe off.” One of us dared her to wade across the stream rather than taking the wooden bridge, and she was off. Kate whipped out her phone and took a video, while I went to the other side to get a still shot.
Just across the road was an old barn which others explored. I stayed outside to get a picture of them. We hoped to see elk grazing in an open glade, but we spotted only one young one close enough to the road that others took a photo of it.
There was a two-room schoolhouse to walk through. My mother taught a year or so in a school that small in the late 30’s. We looked at patched holes where stoves had been and sat in the desks. My fifth grade desks looked just like that, only we had five rows. I sat in the back desk in the middle row, which was one desk shorter than the others. (For classmates, that was Mrs. Eidson’s room.) The old windows would have been propped open with wooden blocks attached to the side of the frames.
It was 2 p.m. by the time we drove out of Smoky Mountain National Park. We headed for a restaurant with the area’s signature food – barbeque. Pulled pork and brisket were our choices. The waitress was full of fun, teasing Nate. I don’t remember how it started, but she said he could wash dishes to pay for his meal. She seemed surprised when he pursued it, wanting to know how many hours he’d have to work. It was one thing after another as we laughed our way through the meal.
Barbara is always eager to walk, and I should be. I suggested we take a quick stroll beside the stream at the rec center. John opted out because he hand was tingling from angina, and $’s ankle was hurting. Thom stayed with them in the shade, while Nate and the women walked past the skateboard area, fenced dog park, and children’s playground. Just as we turned to go back, two women and two children lugged a two-person raft to the stream. We watched as they put in at a low place, and the boy and girl got in with their paddles. We were walking faster than they were floating. When they lost an oar, we watched to see if they were able to retrieve it. They caught up to it when it hung in a low branch. We would have been through with our walk much quicker if we hadn’t hung back to see what would happen when they came to a small waterfall. The whole time we were both pleased and apprehensive that the adults left the children to go it alone. We rejoined the others and came home, not knowing how much further the children would float.
Dennis came across the street to play backgammon with $ and Nate. Thom took $’s place, and they played long enough that Dennis’ folks called for him to come home. The Brownworths wanted to record John repeating some of the stories his dad told him, saying Dad didn’t share his war stories with Barbara and Chris. John said he spoke into the recorder for 45 minutes. We were sorry to see them go, but they had people to see, and we have a daughter and grandson to enjoy. Family times never seem to last long enough.
Logan, who lives across the street, celebrated his fifth birthday with a Pooh party. The boy was totally delightful – excited, exuberant, and polite! The excitement had been building all day until dinner time, yet he didn’t have a meltdown from all the stress. I loved watching him pin the tail on Eeyore. He was tempted to peek around the blindfold, but he stuck to the rules. He and his little niece took turns, then they included Dennis who is six feet tall. Eeyore was about two feet off the floor, so Dennis spun around on his knees before aiming. After half an hour or so, Logan wanted to pin on more tails with just as much excitement as the first time. That little boy was a winner.
Logan’s mom took the cake with all the decorations and special food. Pooh presided over the festivities from his perch on the chandelier. On the table were cupcake liners with honeycomb cereal, pretzels that might have been Pooh sticks, tiny bear cookies, and the birthday cake. The cake represented a honey jar complete with marshmallow bees and tiger tail candles. Shawn’s artistic ability was much in evidence.
While Logan was playing, his dad readied the tablet, which was his big gift. Bob downloaded a disk, installed the batteries, and had it ready to play with before Logan got ready for bed. We were very pleased to have been included in this special celebration.
On the longest day of the year, we played church roulette and lost. It was Father’s Day. Our son had suggested several outings that John would like, and he chose going to Old Fort. Rather than go to church near home, we opted to drive first and be nearer our destination when we went to church. We were out of practice with the game, not having traveled on a Sunday in a long while. When we used to go on two-week vacations, we’d keep going toward our next stop and look for a church on the way. We didn’t have GPS devices or cell phones back then, but we did get off the interstates onto smaller roads. As we cruised through towns, we looked for Protestant churches that had a service in the next 15 minutes. Once in a while we found one with an early service, but if we didn’t, there was always the standard 11 o’clock time.
Today we were playing the modern way, with a Garmin poised and ready. I’d find a church listed with its distance, and John would approve or disapprove. This device didn’t give any information other than distance and time to travel. We thought we’d done it just right, getting off the interstate and arriving at the church only a few minutes late. Wrong! The large parking lot was totally empty. Not even hangers-on were still there. The sign explained everything. Service at 8:30; Sunday School at 9:30. We were there at 11:05. We lost.
Andrew’s Geyser near Old Fort, NC
When we got to Andrew’s Geyser, John removed his jacket and tie. He would have been overdressed for a summer service in the South, anyway. We had bought barbeque sandwiches on the way and ate them beside a mountain stream. John is a train buff extraordinaire, so we were there to wait for a train, any train, that would climb through the Loops. Meanwhile, we were entertained by a young couple with a large dog. Repeatedly they threw an orange Frisbee, and the dog caught it like a football player. The dog began to run before his owner threw it, and he caught it midair almost every time. Play was wetter when the threesome went into the stream. The humans picked their way from rock to rock, but the dog could run in the stream. They were fun to watch.
Photo taken 10/23/11. Think spring, not fall.
John had forgotten to bring a book, so he listened to a CD while I read the newspaper we’d brought from home. He had already read it online in the wee hours. Although he was in the car, his antennae were tuned for the sound of the train climbing the mountain. He was getting out of the car as I got up to get him. We watched the train, pulled by three diesels, as its wheels squealed around the steep curve. When the train had gone, we drove on a small gravel road over the mountain and down to Ridgecrest. John found a good place to park in Black Mountain minutes before the train passed. He considered it a successful celebration of the day, and we headed home.
Who takes pictures of chickens? I do when the situation presents itself. I was almost home from the morning walk and turned into our street. A chicken was strutting about on the lawn at the turn, clearly pleased to be there. Oh, no! Could it belong to our neighbors across from us who were away on vacation? Without thinking twice, I whipped out the toy camera and shot it. I talked to it for a minute and went home, wondering if I should text Shawn. I wouldn’t know how to handle a chicken, but I would have tried if she told me what to do. There ensued a string of messages.
Anne: Something fowl in Angie’s yard a few minutes ago. Brown with red comb. Hope it’s not yours. No others visible.
S: Oh, no!!!! Alive or dead?
A: Very much alive. If I see it again, what should I do? I took a photo. Don’t know that I could send it here.
S: Yes, u can send it here. If you can grab her they usually lay down for you and can u put her in the coop?
A: Did the pic come through?
S: Yes, but we don’t think she’s ours. Our friend that’s caring for them is now heading over to check.
A short while later:
S: It’s not our chicken! Belongs to the teen who lives there.
A: Sorry to have troubled you about the chicken. Wanted to help if it had been yours.
S: No I’m so thankful you did as a fox could have gotten in the coop. Hence the fear.
I was relieved to see lights on in their house a few days later. I would be off chicken duty, with no need to take identity shots again.
John came in from our front porch and told me the neighbors were on their roof, cleaning the gutters. That was something I didn’t want to miss. I shouted to ask if I could take a picture, and they gave permission. I tell you, living in the Smokies is one fun adventure after another. I laughed when the owner sprayed the teen with the hose. It was a very warm day and undoubtedly felt good. If I’d been gardening, I might have gone over asking for a spray myself.
We had a great, short visit with John’s sister Chris and Steve. This is a tribute to their powers of concentration, rather than anything we did. They were in the middle of moving from Pennsylvania to South Carolina. Originally they planned to be here for three or four days, but the arrival of the moving van was advanced. They would be here only one night. You know their minds must have been racing ahead, mentally placing furniture in various rooms and trying to remember where they packed the coffee pot. You wouldn’t have known it from their conversation.
Chris has yet to see the house. She couldn’t be there when Steve was looking at it, so there was a flurry of phone calls and pictures before he signed the deal. We learned they were used to that. The same thing happened when they moved from Long Island to Morgantown, PA.
I’m currently taking the free on-line course Blogging101 given by WordPress. This is one of those hidden ads in plain sight, as you might see in a newspaper or magazine. Steve made a statement that Southern Living magazine has great tips on gardening, but he had not noticed answers to gritty questions like keeping a lawn looking great when the weeds come up. After they left, I leafed through the magazine on our counter. The editor wrote about the garden column in the current issue, giving the blog address as southernliving.com/grumpy. (Copy and paste that in your web browser.) Lo and behold! The blog is hosted by none other than WordPress! Hooray for the home team!
Chris and Steve left mid-morning, expecting the trip to take less than five hours to get to their new home. John and I are still marveling at the state of their cars. We peered in and exclaimed, “You can’t be moving! You can still see out of the back of your cars!”
They knew how to move the right way. All their belongings, except for a few items, were on the truck. We were the opposite. We made numerous trips in the big Jeep, back and forth, always loaded to the gunwales. The vehicle probably looked like a chicken coop – untidy, raggedy, with feathers flying out the windows. Several times John made a hasty sign that we could see through a rear window, “Do not open.” That was a warning that the window was booby-trapped and would spill out possessions if you made a mistake and opened it. I still think that some of the items we never found must have leaked out. Now, almost a year later, I’m often surprised to look in the rearview mirror and see the road behind me.
In reading lots of blogs from my classmates in Blogging101, I noticed that many of them provided their own photographs. In addition, some of them took shots of their own artwork. It didn’t take much to recognize these people as creative folks, real artists. Of course, writing is an art in itself, but I take that one for granted. If something comes easily to you, you tend to think anyone else can do it if they try.
I’ve added photos before, but my challenge today is to attach an audio file. A couple of years ago I had occasion to play the piano while people were coming into the church for a service. Wanting to hear what I sounded like to others, I recorded a snippet with a tablet. I include it here under the guise of providing my own art. If you decide to listen to it, please do so as my audience would have done. They came in at the last minute, greeted the usher, looked around to see where they wanted to sit, waved to friends in the choir, greeted people across the aisle, silenced cell phones, and checked to see if they needed to go to the bank on the way home. I might have sounded pretty good to that group.
I found out the hard way that I can’t attach a WAV file. Thinking an MP3 file would be acceptable, I found a free application and converted my little dinky piece to that format. Only then did I see the fine print. The only files that can be added to a free blog site are the following: jpg, jpeg, png, gif, pdf, doc, ppt, odt, pptx, docx, pps, ppsx, xls, xlsx, key. What a relief! Now I won’t embarrass myself in front of you. Thanks for reading this far, anyway.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
(5) and Bob came across the street to visit for a while on the porch. The young boy supplied power for the trains, since the transformer caught fire a few days ago. Living in the mountains can be very exciting at times.
Mehrling Muse 