Woodbury to Hendersonville:

        Don't tell this: When backing out of Tim's, I ran into the car of Shane, the mystery man staying in the family's spare bed room. His job brought him home to roost in the middle of the night, and he always left for that job when I was not there, so I did not meet him. The bump my rear bumper made hitting his door attracted Robin
who was just returning into the house after saying good bye. You had to look of the damage, a small dent in the already rough and dented texture of the old car. But I found the blue paint where the impact had occurred, though no dent on my car. Anyway, I told her to tell poor Shane I would take care of it if he noticed and wanted a repair!!! She assured me the car was old and cheep. Later I found out that Tim had done the same thing with his car!!! Shane was then asked to leave the car in a different place. Leaving Woodbury, the road east through the mountains, the valleys, across the Ocoa, across the Tennessee, up and over, down and under, the road to North Carolina ran and wiggled, squirmed past rock cliffs, tunneled under oak branches, beside streams and torrents, rapids and lakes. Past McMinnville. Over some country roads to Pikeville, in the Sequache Valley and to Dayton on the the Tennessee River. The rivers follow the valleys here, or rather, formed the valleys between the hill and mountain ranges that tend South-West to North East, pretty
much true for the entire Appalachean system of ancient geology and continent forming wonder of the distant past. Five and six hundred million years past, when a whole continent slammed into our American land mass, then millions of years later, tore itself off, opening up the Atlantic Ocean while leaving a remnant of the old
conglomerate, Ganwana Land, still attached, the lands east of the Appalachians were once so glued to what is now
France, Spain, England, etc. The suture is in those wild places where the Atlanta bomber is supposed to be hiding. It is incredible to think that once you could walk to Ireland from New York. Anyway, after crossing the wide beautiful Tennessee River, on High-way Thirty, there is Decatur, a minute dot on the map. Does every state have one? Anyway, Tim built a house here. I am sorry I cannot see it, he talked so about it. But I did not know which way I would go, and the town is so small, just a dot on my AAA map, but the gas station/convenience store in the midst of an urban center of sorts, indicated that, yes, their would be enough intelligence here to support the Harpers!!!! The Tennessee river runs a strange course. Its head waters are in North Eastern North Carolina, Virginia and West Virginia. It gathers strength and size, picks up the Little Tennessee rushing down from the Smokies, it flows south-west, dipping into Alabama at Chattanooga, loops below Huntsville but makes a comeback and heads north west back into Tennessee, providing a slight chip in the North-East corner of Mississippi, northward through the entire state of Tennessee, joining the Mississippi in Kentucky. Geologists say that Tennessee and northern Alabama was a huge basin that filled in, leaving sediment limestone seen in layers in the road-cuts throughout this central section, and the loopy course of the river defines the east, south and western limits of this mighty earth structure. Onward, under the Interstate 75, to Athens, (one in every state?) to The valley community of Tellico Plains. The wilderness road built on the crest of the Unicoi Mountains, is called the Cherohala Skyway. The brochure in the grim little convenience store at Tellico Plains, tells that the road is named for the Cherokee and Nantahala National Forests, through which it winds. At first, the road courses a mountain stream. At a wide point, I had to stop to see the Butterflies enjoying the wet sands and muds of the banks. Rapids and white water, the highway follows the beautiful Tellico River for several miles. Then up and over the ridges and valleys to about 4000 feet. This was once a Cherokee Indian trading route, says my brochure. Overlooks at high passes, names like Brushy Ridge, West and East Rattlesnake Rock, Beech Gap and Horse Cove Ridge. It reminds me of the sweet woodsy gentile nature of these Eastern mountains I grew up with. Many trips to these parts in my youth. We were so close in our red clay piedmont terrain. Spring in the mountains is best, with streams and waterfalls bubbling and budding, flowering
re-birth all around. You are thankful for the little wilderness that is left.
Undisturbed nature is hard to find. Undisturbed by the "intelligent" species.
Our restless ruin, our stain on this beautiful planet is horrendous. We have mucked up God's rivers with our waste,
polluted the life giving air itself with our fumes. We have destroyed the living spaces of the other species with our
need for space and comfort. Wanton, spoiled, selfish, greedy, we seem to hate the natural world, and try to replace
God's creation with our own, more commerce-friendly, convenient structures. We dam up the rivers so more
humans can drink! So that we can build our cities in places not suited for human habitation. That is the way we
are. We have become a species of nature haters!!! Our present government is the prime example.
 

Many scenes such as this. Reparian springtime beauty in these 1000 ft high gorges.

Dogwood, blooming in the woods is a welcome site of spring in the South.
Finally: Santeetleh Lake and the town of Robbinsville. I am tempted, but finally skip Fontana
Village, and the huge damn featured so prominently in the movie "The Fugitive". Many movies have been made in
these hills, including "The Last of the Mohicans", which had sequences at Chimney Rock and spots near by. I head
up toward Ashville. The road goes through the gorge of the Nantahala, which I have visited with my brother
Maury, who is a regular on the canoe run. He talked me into shooting its world class rapids with him several years
back. I was terrified, but he bravely sang out:
"Down the swirling frothy flue, the fearless Faggart's float.
Not a care inside their heads, just water in their boat",
or something dreadful like that, and I laughed so hard I almost tipped the canoe over. "Paddle, damn it!!!" he
yelled. I saw some rafters. Maury makes fun of the rafters and the rubber duckies, the inflated kayak sort of
vessel. Real men paddle canoes. Period. Have I told you what an absolutist by brother is? Mixed feelings already
about the next part of my trip.

        Up this beautiful, familiar valley, and on to bigger highways on ridges. I debate whether to take the Blue Ridge Parkway, but pass the exit so it is on up to Ashville, and highway 74 to Charlotte, I think. But before too long, this 74 is heading toward Hendersonville and Spartenburg! I have taken the wrong branch for my plans, so then I plan for Hendersonville, where I will give my old friends a call. All of a sudden, I am there! Pulling off the interstate onto a road full of every franchise fast food place you have ever heard of: Four Season's Road!
Four Seasons. I meant to ask where the name came from, but at least it must mean that the road is always open, even in bad winter weather!!! ??? Pretty soon they drove up!!
 

I could not grasp this place at the moment of my arrival.

We circled around to the back, encountered some scary dogs, but went inside to a huge comfortable kitchen. I was given another soda and a tour of this splendid place.

Joe has been building other peoples houses for the last 25 years or so, and now he got to build his own. Ideas he had garnered all these years, knowing what he wanted and careful to consult Denise for her input. Every step through the house had stories behind the details. From the wine cellar, which had no wine, shelves of native stone, untouched, built around, to the top of the "light house" with the hot tub and the view of Hendersonville and a big chunk of the Smoky Mountains. Now this is major architecture. I was blown away by the concepts and details. La Corbusier and Frank Lloyd Wright came to mind. Now, I will write at length later, about the Johnson family, who I got to know in the seventies, when I came to live in the place my folks retired. Walter and Charlene, who had come to Long Beach from Lexington, were intensely involved with the community, Resque Squad, Methodist Church, Wild Life Service, the outstanding service giving couple. Their children were just as active and bright, plus, just like the other wild beach kids. Cheryl was already a professional Queen. Having been Miss Strawberry, Miss Blueberry, and now was driving a roadster proclaiming "MISS RHODODENDRON". Yes, Cheryl had the looks and charm, manners and brains, to be the spokesman of choice for all the festivals that take place in North Carolina. Tim, in college, looked like a movie star, and athletic surfer extrodinare. Denise, the wild eyed, sometimes in trouble with school authorities, was a true bundle of creative energy, not missing a trick. One Easter Sunday, She and Cheryl danced an original ballet in church, an interpretation of Jesus and Mary Magdelene. They put it together as a joint operation, encouraged by the pastor Whit Warren, the guiding spiritual force who tried to fuse the energy of the "bad, wild, kids" and the stolid, sour, straight laced "adults" of this divided community. not grasp this place moment of

my arrival. We circled around to the back, encountered some scary dogs, but went inside to a huge comfortable kitchen. I was given another soda and a tour of this splendid place. Joe has been building other peoples houses for the last 25 years or so, and now he got to build his own. Ideas he had garnered all these years, knowing what he wanted and careful to consult Denise for her input. Every step through the house had stories behind the details. From the wine cellar, which had no wine, shelves of native stone, untouched, built around, to the top of the "light house" with the hot tub and the view of Hendersonville and a big chunk of the Smoky Mountains. Now this is major architecture. I was blown away by the concepts and details. La Corbusier and Frank Lloyd Wright came to mind. Now, I will write at length later, about the Johnson family, who I got to know in the seventies, when I came to live in the place my folks retired. Walter and Charlene, who had come to Long Beach from Lexington, were intensely involved with the community, Resque Squad, Methodist Church, Wild Life Service, the outstanding service giving couple. Their children were just as active and bright, plus, just like the other wild beach kids. Cheryl was already a professional Queen. Having been Miss Strawberry, Miss Blueberry, and now was driving a roadster proclaiming "MISS RHODODENDRON". Yes, Cheryl had the looks and charm, manners and brains, to be the spokesman of choice for all the festivals that take place in North Carolina. Tim, in college, looked like a movie star, and athletic surfer extrodinare. Denise, the wild eyed, often in trouble with authorities, was a true bundle of creative energy, not missing a trick. One Easter Sunday, She and Cheryl danced an original ballet in church, an interpretation of Jesus and Mary Magdelene. They put it together as a joint operation, encouraged by the pastor Whit Warren, the guiding spiritual force who tried to fuse the energy of the "bad, wild, kids" and the stolid, sour, straight laced "adults" of this divided community. Walter passed on a few years back, and Charlene sold the place at the beach, and came to live with Denise, now
much married to Joe Crowell, enterprising builder, major contractor and sports car enthusiast. Denise just got her masters degree in drama production and is theater coach at the high school in Hendersonville, and much involved with community theater. Their boys are following in the active, creative footsteps of the older generation. Joe Jr is in college, doing big band sax. Brent, in high school, plays in the band, and Casey is learning trumpet. They go to
road races with Joe, pit crew for his driving mania.
 
 

Brent and Casey Joe brought in Pizza, picking up Brent who was at work in a down-town restaurant. The lights of the town came on as light left the hills. It was all really beautiful, but everybody was tired and went to bed early. The guest room was so comfortable, I tried to read a while, but fell asleep. But as happens, I woke up early and watched the sun rise, or tried to rise, as it was overcast. Joe left for work, and I got some pictures. I found some black and white film, so I got some "art" shots. Soon Casey was up and rummaging for breakfast in the huge kitchen. Then Charleen was up. And I visited with her for coffee. Her quarters are comfortable and quiet, mostly, but the boys like to watch TV with their grand ma! After exchanging e-mail addresses, I hit the road to Cornelius. For my brother and others to see, and the grooms party, the rehearsal dinner at the Duke Mansion that night. I was not looking forward to it very much. Such social occasions are awkward for me, but I knew I could do it.
 
 

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Weddings
2001
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