It's About Time!

"Use it up; Wear it out; Make it do ... Or do without"  (WWII era -- or earlier? -- slogan)

This was the prevailing philosophy all through my childhood.  I grew up in rural central Florida, where some goods and services were not always easily available, although I suspect that even "city kids" who grew up pre-1970's or 1980's had to apply this thinking to some extent.  Surely none of us could have envisioned the myriad choices that consumers can make today -- or dreamed of a time when it might actually be cheaper to throw something away than have it fixed!

Now, of course, thanks in part to the "Green" movement, things are starting to come full circle.  Though our culture has allowed us -- even encouraged us -- to take pride in having the luxury to toss aside even "gently used" items for something more stylish, nowadays it isn't always so cool to carelessly discard an item that may still have life.  When my watch recently quit keeping time, I initially had the sense of dread that usually precedes "major" shopping trips (yes, there are some of us for whom too many choices is, in fact, a curse).  Then, I remembered -- did memory serve me correctly? -- hadn't I passed by a watch repair store in downtown Black Mountain?

Yes!  Pellom's Time Shop, and the cardboard sign in the window read, simply, "We carry watch batteries."  I pushed open the door of the narrow storefront, and was immediately transported into yesteryear: old wooden display cases and counters filled with clocks of all shapes and sizes and vintages.  Clocks and old cigar boxes piled into this corner, clocks covering the counter, clocks hanging on that wall.  And a little hanging display case that had quite an array of watches.

I handed my useless watch to the quietly smiling, soft-spoken, man behind the counter (who I presume to have been Mr. Pellom, himself) and asked him if he'd be able to tell me whether it could be fixed or if it'd be cheaper to just buy a new one.  "Whether it's more expensive to you dead or alive, in other words?" he quipped.  He disappeared behind a partition at the back of the shop, and I turned my attention to the watches in that hanging display case, should I need to buy a new one.  It was an odd assortment, to be sure, but I saw a couple of timepieces that would serve me nicely.  In practically no time at all, Mr. Pellom returned with my good-as-new watch, having replaced the battery and given its running parts "a bit of oil."  The price for this service?  $3

Couldn't have bought a new watch for anywhere near that low sum.

I was glad, because that watch (a Timex) and I have been through a lot together.  For example, because I can't play guitar while wearing the watch (on the wrist of my strumming hand) I usually remove the watch just prior to a performance.  However, there have been times on stage when I've found myself picking up the guitar, only to discover that -- Yikes! -- I'm still wearing my watch.  I've quickly stripped it off and tossed it aside -- more times than is probably good for it -- and it always "Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'" just like the old TV ads claimed.

Before I left, and because there was one pretty and unusual watch that had caught my eye, I asked Mr. Pellom about those watches in the hanging display case.  "Oh, they're not for sale," he murmured, and then as an afterthought, "but if their owners don't come to claim 'em pretty soon, they might be."  

"Times are tough;" he said, "folks who've found themselves out of work need to buy food and clothes more than they need to pay for their fixed watches."  Without a trace of bitterness or self-pity, he added, "Don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep this up."  What could I say to that?  He wasn't one to commiserate, so I thanked him and turned toward the door.  My heart leapt a little to see an older couple entering the shop; Pellom's Time Shop was still in business.

Sandwiched as it is between two of Black Mountain's gift boutiques, Pellom's probably does get notice from a fair number of tourists -- after all, that's how I came to know of it.  But modern society has less and less need for the neighborhood "Mr. Fix-It": these days it's truly cheaper to buy a new TV, for example, than to have your old one repaired.  The kid who loved to tinker on cars back in high school can't manage his own auto repair shop, because vehicles these days have fancy -- and costly -- computer systems that only a dealer can afford to maintain.

But as our growing concern for the environment gives more and more power to the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle," perhaps those who enable us to more fully practice the "Three R's of Environmentalism" will regain their once-critical place in our society.  I'm pulling for you, Mr. Pellom!       

Road Food

"So you're constantly on the road, traveling all over the place," an acquaintance recently remarked.  "Where's the best food?"

That's an interesting question for us, because generally we avoid eating meals at chain establishments, with their generic menus that are pretty much the same all over the US -- or the world.  We prefer instead to patronize local establishments and sample the local culture.  It's not always easy to stay away from the chains, particularly on travel days.  Take today, for example.  Breakfast was coffee and a muffin from Sheetz (a fuel stop/convenience store popular in Virginia and Pennsylvania).  Yesterday, however, we each had coffee and a buttered roll from Renee's Hot Stuff Deli, in Montgomery, New York.  Mmmm ... those buttered rolls.  Doesn't sound like much, 'til you try 'em.  But only in New York!

Where's the best food, you say?  Well, New York does have a lot to offer; they do have the best buttered rolls, hands down, and any New Yorker will sing the praises of New York style pizza.  Fact is, in New York good Italian food is practically a guarantee ... but they don't have the best Cuban food; that distinction belongs to La Teresita, in Tampa, Florida.  Certain areas of New York offer the most amazing Chinese food ... but El Pirata, in Arcadia, Florida, will amaze you with their Mexican food.

We really don't eat out all that much.  We cook "at home" a lot, using as much locally grown and produced food as we can.  (Not too much point in traveling, is there, if everything's got to be the same as it is back home?)  So here are some of our more memorable culinary experiences: a mix of restaurants we've enjoyed, and things we enjoy fixing for ourselves.  The list is in no particular order:

Asheville, NC -- Barley's Taproom (it's not exactly New York style pizza, but it's awfully good) and Wild Wing Cafe (best wings anywhere, and if you go to the weekday buffet, you can try six different flavors)

Burnsville, NC -- Garden Deli (lunch is not just a specialty; it's the only meal they serve, and they only serve it six days a week)

West Springfield, MA -- Collins Tavern (world's best soups, hearty sandwiches, and hand-cut fries) and Memo's Deli (their breakfast is a great start to the day)

Columbiana, OH -- delicious locally-grown produce, especially corn, and a sausage ring sold at Sparkle (the local grocery) that's as good as any you might find anywhere ... even in New York

somewhere near New Waterford, OH -- a little shop that has the best, sharpest cheddar spread and makes yummy pepperoni

Great Lakes Region -- pike, walleye, and perch (I can never get enough fish)

Nashville, TN -- Jack's Bar-B-Q (by all means, visit the honky-tonks, see the legendary Ryman Auditorium, catch the Grand Ol' Opry but DO NOT miss Jack's)

Mount Dora, FL -- Sunshine Mountain Bakery (I keep sampling, thinking that eventually I'll find something there that I don't like -- but it hasn't happened yet!)

just about anywhere in FL -- buy some fresh shrimp, take 'em home and boil 'em up

Thoughts On The Natural World

Long before I'd ever even imagined doing a craft show in the High Country, I'd come to this area as a sightseer.  The building that houses the Highland House Ski Shop, pictured above, has delighted me as a landmark for as long as I can remember.  It's at the intersection of Highway 105 and Highway 184; once upon a time this group of buildings was a rather lonely little beacon that signified you'd come to the road leading up to Banner Elk and Beech Mountain.  Now it's one of many buildings in a shopping area called Grandfather Village, in the shadow of Grandfather Mountain.  

Charming as the Highland House Ski Shop is, it's not the most noticeable architectural feature of the immediate area.  I'd have to say that designation belongs to a high-rise condo that is perched atop nearby Sugar Mountain.  That huge, glaring white building is visible for miles -- and while it may offer its occupants a spectacular view, it is a jarring sight to anyone else.  A monument to someone's failure to blend with the environment, it should be a mandatory field trip for every student of architecture -- Just because a thing can be done, doesn't mean it should be done.  Look at what you shouldn't do.  If you're curious about this monstrosity, you can look it up for yourself -- I don't want a picture on my website as a constant reminder that there are people out there who have such disregard for the natural world!

Greg and I went into Banner Elk for errands today, and, on a whim, we checked out the Grandfather Campground.  That's where I managed to get this photo of Grandfather's profile.  I'd almost despaired of being able to get a nice picture of Grandfather Mountain, as it seemed I was never in the right place at the right time.  

Grandfather is the highest peak in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and is certainly one of the most recognizable peaks in the world.  I read recently that there are smooth round stones, like the ones you'd find in a riverbed, near the top of Grandfather.  If they're commonly found at the bottom of a river, how'd those stones get on top of a mountain?  Geologists say that 750 million years ago, these rocks were carried by rivers and deposited in a valley.  A continental collision pushed that valley upward, making it into a mountaintop.  Amazing.

There are so many other fantastic natural features in this world, many (if not most) of them created by similarly cataclysmic events.  I once asked my father, a man of science who was a devout Christian, what his beliefs were with regard to the creation of the world -- there are Christians who flatly deny that anything on Earth can be more than a few thousand years old ... as there are scientists who offer geological evidence as proof that the Bible is false -- what did Daddy believe?  We were standing on the rim of Tallulah Gorge at the time, reading about the forces of nature which produced this deep gash in the Earth's crust anywhere from 250 to 500 million years ago.  Without hesitation, Daddy referred to the second verse of the first chapter of Genesis: "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep."  No timeline is offered, nor even implied, in this portion of the creation story, Daddy said, so it more or less rendered moot any argument by either side: the passage does not rule out the possibility of seismic events and floods which occurred hundreds of millions of years ago, thus -- in this instance, at least -- there is no conflict between belief in science and belief in the Bible.

Oh.  He sure had a way of explaining tough concepts in a way that even a child could understand!

Solomon's Castle

I didn't know there was going to be a mechanical problem when I'd scheduled our van for a routine oil change in a neighboring town (my hometown of Arcadia, to be exact). In fact, to maximize the efficiency of my day, I'd also arranged for Maggie (our dog) to have a routine teeth cleaning and toenails clipping while the van was being serviced. When I was told by the service tech that it'd be some time before a diesel expert was available to do my repair work, I rented a car and went to pick Maggie up, only to be told that she'd not yet come out from under anesthesia and could not be released. Hmmm ... what to do with my time? I tried calling a couple of friends, neither of whom was home. Aimlessly, I began to drive a little west of town, then decided to turn on the Second Bunker Road, a rural route which has a pretty spectacular view: looking back toward Arcadia, you see the that the town does sit elevated above the Peace River, hence its old name "Tater Hill Bluff." (Just a little Florida Cracker history for you.)

Next thing I knew, I was driving on the First Bunker Road, past some orange groves that my dad used to tend, past Oak Hill, toward Limestone. (Don't bother, you may not find all of these names on the map.) I saw the sign for "Solomon's Castle" and made the spontaneous decision that I would pay a visit. On toward Lily, and then the drive toward the castle. Though I'd heard of this attraction for years, I'd never been there. I believe that Howard Solomon first began building his remote Florida paradise in 1972, after I'd already left Arcadia for college. On subsequent visits home, and even during a brief period after college graduation when I returned to Arcadia to teach, there always seemed to be something more pressing than going out to visit what I'd assumed to be just another tacky tourist trap. This day, I hadn't passed another car on the road for several miles (only great trucks hauling late-season oranges and watermelons) so I was very surprised to find a dozen or so cars in the parking lot for the castle.

And after paying my admission I was again surprised, in realizing that Solomon's Castle is far from being a tacky tourist trap. It is (a) a monument to recycling, the epitome of the old saying that "One man's trash is another man's treasure;" (b) a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a true artist; (c) proof that "If you build it, they will come;" (d) a lot of fun; (e) all of the above. It is difficult to describe in words what you'll find, but here's a link to the website: Solomon's Castle

I enjoyed seeing old metal coat hangers made into a zoo that included a giraffe and an elephant. There were numerous sculptures made out of discarded oil drums. There were montages paying tribute to masters such as Picasso and Matisse. And lots of jokes and really bad puns about the different works of art that revealed a delightful wit. (Even the restrooms -- sporting an old "Rooms To Go" sign -- were labeled with humor.)

The tour of the "castle" is but a small part of the experience. If you're hungry, you can get a really delicious home-made meal or scrumptious dessert in the "Boat in the Moat." There's shopping, of course, for both Howard's works as well as some carefully selected items that echo a nature theme. I chose to wander one of the trails leading down to Horse Creek, and marveled at how long it'd been since I'd felt good ol' Florida scrub sand between my toes. Heck, with advance reservations, you can spend the night in the castle, or in the luxurious B&B that's on the grounds!

I'm not sure this event qualifies as "serendipitous." Perhaps it lacks the connection to divine providence that a strict definition of serendipity requires. However, the experience refreshed me, and reinforced for me the notion that there are treasures all around, sometimes hidden under our noses, sometimes (as in my case) for years ... and maybe it takes a little inconvenience or some similarly not-altogether-pleasant thing to nudge us in their direction. Yes, I'm disappointed that our van is still, as of this writing, waiting for the mechanic, and no one seems to know just when it'll be set right. (Maggie, by the way, is right as rain!) But it turned out to be a fun day, an enlightening experience ... and quite an inspiration.

Maggie Muggins at Biltmore

We are now staying in what we consider our home away from home: Swannanoa, North Carolina.  Endured a terrific wind storm on our first night, but since then, it's been pretty tranquil.  We do love it here.

Today, Maggie Muggins (our dog) and I went to the Biltmore Estate, which is currently celebrating its Festival Of Flowers.  The two of us gals had previously visited the Estate's Riverbend Farm back in July, so we concentrated our sightseeing on the gardens adjacent to Biltmore House.  The photo is one of The Mags examining water lilies in the Italian Garden.

Visiting gardens with a dog is probably as much fun as visiting a circus with a child -- minus the excited chatter!  Maggie wanted to explore every path, sniff every tree, delight in wading through the ivy that covered the ground.  Her senses must have been overwhelmed, especially with the scents of jasmine, honeysuckle and rose that perfumed the air. 

I wonder how many people visit the grand Biltmore House without ever venturing into its gardens?  The house, its furnishings, its priceless works of art are indeed a wonder to behold and not to be missed.  But inside the house, one must keep moving along with the long line of visitors; there's no place to stop and take time to process the experience.  There are several Flemish tapestries, for example, that have all sorts of Biblical or classical imagery woven into them, and I've often wished that I could pull up a chair with a friend and take time to identify every scene or event depicted in those tapestries.  Impossible!

It's all different in a garden.  There's plenty of time for contemplation, for study ... for simple enjoyment of nature.  Take a look at the first picture above.  Maggie had to choose to cross stepping stones over a rushing stream in order to continue on our path.  Pretty scary stuff for a dog!  She hesitated at first (so did I) but figured out how to get across, because she wanted to experience everything.  Instinctively, I suppose, she knew that there were great rewards beyond that obstacle.  If she were able to talk, she'd probably tell you that her instincts were right!  It reminds me of a quote that my grandmother had in her house: "You're nearer God's heart in a garden, Than anywhere else on earth."

Smoky Mountain Side Trip

Greg and I have made little day trips into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Maggie has gone too, and yesterday's visit was along the Gatlinburg Trail, which is one of few Park trails that dogs are permitted on. Today we got up really early and went into Cades Cove to view wildlife, and were rewarded with sightings of wild turkey, groundhog, deer, and even one bear. We were absolutely blown away by how calm the animals were, as if they know they have a safe haven inside the park.

The Great Smoky Mountains had human inhabitants for many, many centuries. First, of course, were the Cherokee, who camped and hunted there. In the early 1800's, Scots-Irish settlers came to farm, raise livestock, and log. In 1927, the states of Tennessee and North Carolina began buying tracts of land which they would eventually give to the federal government for the establishment of a national park in 1933. This must've been quite a hardship on families who'd lived in the Smokies for generations, and a few resisted the forcible sale of their land, though ultimately  they lost their battles against the government. Residents who agreed to accept a little less money for their land were permitted to remain on it until their deaths, but their descendants could not inherit.

The Great Smoky Mountains is the only park in the National Park system which was created from privately owned land. Lumber companies had owned more than 85% of the park, and had logged vast portions of it. Though I can certainly empathize with the hardy souls who'd carved out their daily existence in those mountains, their sacrifice, forced though it may have been, was a boon to us all, and particularly to the wildlife. When white settlers first came to the Smokies, deer and bear were described as "plentiful." By the time the National Park was created, only an estimated 30 deer lived in the park. Otter, once hunted for their pelts, were no longer to be found in the mountains by the 1920s; elk had disappeared from the landscape in the mid-1800s due to overhunting and loss of habitat. The deer population is now at an ecologically sustainable level, and both otter and elk have been reintroduced. About 1500 bears live in the park, and the park now boasts the greatest biological diversity of any area in the world's temperate zone.

After leaving Cades Cove, we slipped into Townsend, Tennessee, to pay a visit to the Wood-N-Strings Dulcimer Shop. Now we're back at our campsite in Pigeon Forge, listening to thunder in the distance and enjoying a cooling afternoon rain.

Here are a few more pictures from The Smokies and Cades Cove:

This photo was taken along the Gatlinburg Trail, near the Sugarlands Visitor Center. It's an easy trail -- the first half-mile or so is paved -- a perfect warm-up for future visits into the park!

The Primitive Baptist Church in Cades Cove -- the church was founded in 1827, and this building was built in 1887. To the left is a cemetery. One of the stones bears this epitaph: "_____ murdered by North Carolina Rebels." This congregation were Union sympathizers and had to suspend services because of harassment from Rebels. From an official church correspondence: "We the Primitive Baptist Church in Blount County in Cades Cove, do show the public why we have not kept up our church meeting. It was on account of the Rebellion and we was Union people and the Rebels was too strong here in Cades Cove. Our preacher was obliged to leave sometimes, and thank God we once more can meet."

These deer couldn't have cared less that we were about 60 yards away. They are used to visitors, and know quite well that they own the place!

The cabin of George Washington "Carter" Shields

Yes, that really is a bear in the center of this photo. Yes, that's about the best shot I could capture of it. About 1500 bears live in the park, but for the most part they manage to elude visitors.

George

Just when you think you've seen everything ...

I've mentioned how much I enjoy the street festivals: getting to play dulcimer out in the fresh air, seeing old friends, making new friends, selling CDs, promoting our upcoming events ... people-watching is enjoyable, too, and, in many of the festivals we enjoy dog-watching. Dunedin, Florida, the site of last weekend's festival, is one of the best places to see dogs on parade! It's near a huge dog-racing track, so there are all sorts of rescued Greyhounds to admire; over the years I've also come to recognize the three Chihuahuas who are shuttled around in the baby carriage, the two Boxers, the huge black Great Dane; we saw dogs of all sizes and colors and breeds ... 

So who was the Pet of the Weekend? George, the goose. Yes, that's right. An exceptionally well-trained goose, who evidently thinks he's a person. He was quite a celebrity. He graciously allowed children and adults alike to pet him. He certainly wasn't intimidated by the dogs. He paused, briefly, to check out my CDs ... but his master, who was a few paces ahead, called out, "C'mon, George, you're falling behind!" And George waddled along, squawking under his breath, to catch up.

We're still chuckling.