Just slow your sweet self down

A couple days ago my friend Lexi posted this list of words from other languages that are untranslatable to English.

My favorite, of course, was this one:

The weather this morning was more hiker-friendly today than yesterday, so I got a good dose of Waldeinsamkeit.  But it came with a few other feelings, ones that I'm not able to translate into a single word.  What is the word for "knowing your vacation is coming to an end" or "the feeling of already missing a place you haven't left yet"?  I think the word is simply "blues", but I tried to shake it, knowing I still had one full day of Asheville ahead of me.

I had planned to take a Nia class at 11am, so I chose a short 3 mile trail where I could get in and out quickly and be on my way to dance.  But as I started on the Catawba Falls trail, I knew that this wasn't the kind of hike that should be under any time constraints.  The trail was easy going, but so beautiful that it required many stops for photos and pure awe.  Just slow your sweet self down, I told myself, and don't miss this.

The trail had many river crossings, so instead of trying to navigate the slippery rocks in my hiking shoes, I changed out to my sandals, and sloshed my way through the water.

Check that giant millipede!

I reached the Lower Falls in short time, and met up with a hiker from Raleigh there.  He'd done this trail many times and said, "Well, if you're up for a challenge, you can go up a little further.  If these falls are a '5', the Upper Falls are a '10'."  He said it was another half mile up, and involved a strenuous climb.  Feeling emboldened by my rock scramble up Old Rag last weekend, I thought I could manage.

The first part of the climb involved hauling myself up a steep rock face with the help of a rope, followed by additional climb, with the help of only rock slabs and rhododendron roots.  I took the climb slow and steady.  It was physically demanding and hard work, but when I reached the Upper Falls, I was richly rewarded.

I arrived about the same time as a local hiker and field guide for a wilderness therapy company named Brennan, and we swam in the ice cold pool below the waterfall and chatted on a sunny rock for a bit.  At one point in the conversation, Brennan abruptly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting all around.  "Sorry", he said after his pause, "I like to watch the butterflies."

Brennan at the Upper Falls

After a snack and a nice rest at the falls, I carefully made my way down the steep rock face again, only falling on my ass twice.  A delicate rain started on the hike out, tickling my skin, and nicely cooling me off.

I hit Native Kitchen again for a lunch stop, and as I walked in, the bartender said, "Hey, welcome back!"  I gave her a startled look - she had been working last night but hadn't served me, and must have just remembered my face.  "Oh, wow," I said, "I'm not used to being recognized.  I'm from New York and we all feel kind of anonymous there."  She laughed.  "Of course I remember you," she said.

I ordered a chicken club sandwich with German potato salad and a glass of Cheerwine (a Southern cola similar to a Cherry Coke), and it was just the thing.

Feeling good and tired from the hike, I headed back to the mountain studio and laid out a blanket on the  back porch, read a couple more Ron Rash stories and took a long nap.

I had planned to visit the Biltmore Estate today, but after my nap, I realized I hadn't left myself enough time, so I changed course and wandered the River Arts District instead, where dozens of local artists have open studio and gallery spaces in former warehouses and factories.

For dinner, I made my way to Tupelo Honey, recommended to me both by my New Yorker friends who'd visited the area, and by locals.  At 6pm, there was a 90 minute wait for a table for 4, but as a solo diner, I was able to walk right in and sit at the "Chef's Table" - bar seating that overlooks the kitchen.  The chefs fed me little samples of food they were preparing and entertained me with lots of good jokes. I started with a rosemary-peach lemonade and a biscuit with blueberry jam and tupelo honey.  For dinner, I had a smoked jalapeno-glazed pork ribeye with mac and cheese and asparagus spears, along with a flight of local microbrews.

Chef's Table 

After dinner, I walked a few blocks over to Pack Square, where the concert series Shindig on the Green was wrapping up its summer season.  The "Shindig" is a showcase of Carolina heritage and features cloggers, bluegrass, old time music, and square dance.  A few years ago, I read in the book Geography of Bliss that Asheville is the happiest city in the US, and at this Shindig, this cheer was on full display.  People genuinely love to have a wholesome, happy, good time here.

Finally, so many locals had recommended Bywater to me, that I had to stop in for one drink before heading back up the mountain for the night.  It's a truly special place, and along with Hammerhead's in Louisville, is now among my favorite places on earth.  It's technically a social club, so I paid a $5 lifetime membership fee to get in, but now I can bring you all as guests.  Bywater is an off-the-beaten-path bar up the river and just off the railroad tracks, popular with rafters and tubers.  They like to take a break from floating down the French Broad river and stop here to hang out for a while, and I can see why.  There's a cute bar with a patio, where a killer bluesy rock band was playing tonight, along with a massive yard, featuring a Vietnamese food truck, a fire pit, tons of picnic tables, outdoor games, and just a really sweet summertime happy vibe.  I sampled the locally brewed Green Man Thai Basil Wheat beer, and sat enjoying the cool evening and the fantastic band.

Tomorrow, Ingrid and I turn our wheels north and begin our journey home.

What's the word for "the feeling of being a visitor in the happiest place and knowing you have to leave"?

I am so nice to me

Here are a few select things I love about Asheville so far:

1) A pint of fancy local microbrew will set you back about $4.

2) There is a higher concentration of quality street musicians here than any other city I've ever been in (sorry, New Orleans, I still love you).

3) Cell phone addiction is almost non-existent.  Though I think I'm a moderate/average cell phone user in NYC, I have been conspicuously the heaviest texter/time-checker/Facebook scroller everywhere I go here.  There are no cell phones out on bars or restaurant tables, no one texting while walking, no one talking into a Bluetooth.  People here - wonder of wonders - seem to talk.... to each other.

4) When people give you their card, they are not trying to network or sell you something.  They just want to be your friend.  Last night at the contra dance, I met a nice lady named Kaye.  We chatted for a bit, and she said, "Hey, let me give you my card."  The card had her personal contact information and the phrase "Life abundant - Today is the Day!"  I said, "Oh cool, so are you a like life coach or something?"  "Nope," she said, "I'm just a person, and I like to make new friends."  Whelp, I'm just a jaded city slicker.

This morning I set out for a hike I had picked out just off the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The skies were overcast, but I hoped it would pass.  As I drove up the mountain, though, the fog got so thick I could only see about 10 feet in front of me and it felt like a thunderstorm moving in.  Not good hiking conditions, unfortunately, so I wound my way back down the mountain and into town.  I did get a couple snapshots out the car window before the rain started though.  No filter on these, folks.

 


Happily, it's easy to kill many hours in downtown Asheville.  I started with a visit to Battery Book Exchange, a beautiful bookshop that doubles as a champagne bar and coffee shop.  I sat with a cafe au lait and began reading the short story collection "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by local author Ron Rash.

I wandered the shops a bit more, and when it came time for lunch, I decided to go for a healthy option, giving my body a break from the heavy greasy stuff I'd slammed down in Nashville and Louisville earlier this week.  The skies had cleared so I grabbed a sunny seat at the outdoor patio of the vegetarian restaurant, Laughing Seed Cafe.  A jazz trumpeter played across the street, and he was quite good, giving the whole street a romantic ambiance.  I had a hibiscus tea and a "Dragon Bowl", which was a bowl full of nourishing raw vegan bliss (avocado, beet pate, arugula, cabbage, kimchi, etc).

Next up was a visit to Malaprop's, one of the coolest independent bookstores I've ever been to.  They are really a great model for what an innovative, vibrant, essential community bookstore can be.  At every turn it feels as if you are making a discovery, and you want to pile your arms high with books and tchotchkes and gifts.  My favorite thing was this table at the front called "Blind Date with a Bookseller".  The concept was that the staff wrapped a few of their favorites in brown packaging with a few descriptive words written on the front.  Trusting and brave shoppers could take a flyer and purchase a book unseen.  I was so charmed by this idea that I had to play along and selected one that sounded intriguing.

Alas, I have already been on a date with this book.  While we had a nice time a few years back, it wasn't a love match, but I'd be happy to pass along the copy I purchased to an interested reader, or hook someone up with Colum McCann's digits (his 13-digit ISBN, that is... haha, publishing joke).

I hit a few more shops including the historic Mast General Store, and the factory and tasting room for French Broad Chocolates.  The guys at French Broad told me that if I could find a shop in Brooklyn to carry their product, they would supply me with free chocolate.  That sounds like a challenge I should probably take on...

Kudzu Blossom and Scuppernong... what is this stuff?  I do not know, but I will put it on toast and tell you.

Ingrid's first blog appearance!  Isn't she pretty?

I am so nice to me.

At 3:30, I had scheduled an appointment at Shoji Retreat, a Japanese-style woodland spa.  My treatment package included private access to a little hut, with three walls and an open view into the forest canopy, with my own hot tub.  I soaked and napped in the hut, and basked in the divine tranquility of this place.  After an hour to myself, I had an 80 minute aromatherapy massage and facial.  It was blissfully indulgent and I left Shoji feeling relaxed and radiant.

On the way back to the mountain studio, I made one stop at Native Kitchen, a sweet bar with a huge outdoor patio and backyard.  They were featuring a singer-songwriter who played a mean harmonica and covered artists like Gillian Welch, along with playing some of her original music. 

I retreated early to the mountain studio for an evening writing and reading on the balcony with the crickets.

To Haven or not to Haven

I woke early in Nashville and got myself on the road before 6:30am, knowing I had a 4.5-5 hr drive to Asheville ahead of me, plus a time zone change.  The drive through Eastern Tennessee and the Smoky Mountains was stunningly picturesque, and the drive was relaxed and easy, a nice contrast from trafficky Nashville.

I had wanted to do some volunteer work on this trip, and reached out to the Ashevillage Institute, which runs an urban farming program and natural building school.  I do frequent volunteer work at an urban farm in Brooklyn, and I wanted to get a glimpse of what was going on in this movement in other parts of the country.  The urban farm program at Ashevillage is in its inaugural year, so the garden is still small, but there are eventual plans to acquire more space and expand into a neighborhood CSA when there is enough produce to harvest.  This summer, the garden (and many farmers in the region) lost their seasonal tomato and squash crop due to heavy rains and blight.

 





I helped a farm apprentice named Joey shovel manure compost and dirt into wheelbarrows to transport to new garden beds for herbs and fall greens.  It was hard work and a hot day, but it felt good to get my hands dirty and break a sweat after long hours in the car.  Joey also keeps goats on his property and sadly told me that one of them had mysteriously passed away that morning.  Also, earlier that week, a tree had fallen on one area of the garden in the front of the Ashevillage property, taking out much of what they had planted there and smashing two cars.  Joey and I agreed that if you're a farmer, you have to learn over and over again that so matter how much you nurture and tend and prepare, there will always be those factors which you cannot control.

After we wrapped up our work in the garden, I drove out of Asheville a bit, to a town called Swannanoa, where I'd be staying in this mountain studio for the next three nights.  The road to the studio is steep and narrow, and I had to give Ingrid a few pep talks to give her the confidence to make the climb.  But we arrived to a place of simple beauty and complete solitude.  This is by far the most remote and quiet place I've stayed in yet.  The place comes with an emphatic warning, "Please do not throw anything, anything, anything outside, or you WILL be visited by bears."  Ok, got it.

I was tempted to settle in to the studio and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening just hanging out, but Joey had given me a recommendation that piqued my interest.  Just 15 min from my studio is the campus of Warren Wilson College, a wonderfully unique school that I wish would have been on my radar when I was doing my college search years ago.  It's a liberal arts school where all of the students have a campus job (many of them farming, or in some kind of sustainability practice or outdoor leadership), and where volunteering is a requirement.  It's a beautiful place, with humble yet idealistic intentions for its students.

The College Press

Bryson Gymnasium

Every Thursday night, Warren Wilson hosts a contra dance called The Old Farmer's Ball in its Bryson Gymnasium.  At 7:30, beginners can gather for a quick lesson before the dancing kicks off at 8pm.  In contra dance, there's a "caller" who calls out the moves, and the dances are designed so that you are dancing with people across from you in a line, next to you, and moving down the chain.  The result is a kaleidoscopic swirl of geometric patterns, and a whole lot of people twirling and having a great time.

I tried the first dance and got so dizzy and overwhelmed that I sat down to watch.  Quickly thereafter, one of the experienced dancers, an older gentleman named David, came up to me and said, "Oh, no you don't missy.  You gotta try this.  I'll help ya out."  And he patiently guided me through the patterns.

With a bunch of repetition and lots of guidance and forgiveness from my partners, the moves finally clicked, and I discovered myself having the most most fun.  I danced with 10 year olds and 80 year olds, did the do-se-do and promenade and laughed and spun in this joyful place.



At the end of the dance, David came up to me and asked, "So, how'd ya do?"
"I had the best time!" I said.
"I knew you would," he said.  "You got that sparkle."

Driving back to the mountain studio, a thunderstorm had started and as I wound my way up the mountain road, I came up on a fire truck stopped in the middle of the road.  I suppose when you live on mountain, mountain things happen.  A tree had fallen on a transformer, causing an explosion of sparks and cutting off power to all the homes on the mountain.  Summer Haven Road, where I was staying was blocked, and there was no access, and no estimate to when the road might be cleared and power restored other than "It's gonna be a while."

It was 11pm and I assessed my options.  I could a) sleep in my car in the Warren Wilson College parking lot, b) try to stay out all night at a bar until the sun came up, or c) check myself into a hotel.

I knew a) would be safe but uncomfortable and send my mom and all you concerned readers out there into a fit.  I tried b) but all the bars in Swannanoa were closed and I didn't have the energy for that anyway.  So, I went with c) and checked myself into the Holiday Inn, begrudgingly spending too much money for a few hours of rest.  But the bed was comfortable, the place was clean, and hey, I got free continental breakfast.

Back at the mountain studio now, the road has been cleared, power restored, and I'm ready to get out for a hike.

Meet Me at the Loveless Cafe

When I roll into a city, two of the first questions I need answered are:
1) Where are the best eats in town? and
2) Where's your coolest independent bookstore?

Yesterday, I got the best of both of two cities.

Multiple people had recommended Sunergos Coffee in Louisville to me, so after I packed up my things at the farmhouse, I made my way there.  I grabbed a cup of the Mexican Chiapas blend, and then headed next door to Nord's Bakery for a doughnut.  Though I was approximately 0% hungry, I heard their doughnuts shouldn't be missed, so I grabbed an apple fritter (my favorite), and (lord help me) a maple bacon doughnut for the road.  Hey, just ask my friend Nancy about the road trip emergency doughnut.  It's a necessity.

I grabbed a table outside Sunergos and sat to enjoy my breakfast.  And while I sat, out of nowhere, like a one-two hit, I got slammed by my first two major road trip/life epiphanies.  I set out on this journey five days ago with a hope that I would wade through some of my mental muck and come out the other side with a bit more clarity, but that moment threw me a couple fastballs and said, "Here you go, Louisville slugger.  You know what you need."  (Epiphanies to be revealed at a later date, when they have been firmly planted and are unjinxable...)  I even had myself a bit of a weepfest right there outside the coffee shop, though I'm sure everyone there thought I was just crying tears of bliss because my doughnut was so damn good.

Before I left town, I had to visit Carmichael's, an independent bookstore that has been open in Louisville since 1978, and has even been successful enough to open a second location.  They've weathered the changing tides of bookselling over the years with their authentic connection to the community and curating expertise.  Though their location is small (I visited the original Bardstown Road shop), the selection is superb and perfectly fits their clientele.  I chatted with bookseller Kelly and the owner Michael for a good long while, and they told me how much they love their Random House reps (duh, John Hastie and Eileen Becker are the coolest!).  They had a phenomenal collection of signed and limited editions of the Kentucky writer Wendell Berry, so I went on a huge Berry splurge, picking up a beautiful hardcover edition of his New Collected Poems, along with some lovely small letterpress editions of poetry printed by Larkspur Press, which include some stunning wood engraving illustrations.

One last stop in Louisville, was at the Blue Dog Bakery, an artisanal bread maker.  Again, not hungry, but I didn't want to miss this local favorite, so I picked up a mini Pugliese loaf for the road.

Then it was time to head south to Nashville.  I always like to read books that are set in places that I'm traveling, so I started the audiobook of Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behavior, a novel set in Appalachia with a strong female protagonist, and I was transfixed for my entire 3 hour drive.  Looking forward to more listening on that one.

Arriving in Nashville right around lunchtime, I routed myself straight to Husk, which came emphatically recommended from my cousins who just moved up to NYC from the South.  The restaurant is set up on a hill in a former mayor's house, which includes gardens surrounding and a carriage house out back.  They source their food locally and have a strong seasonal bent.  I started with the Rutledge Iced Tea, mixed with bitter lemon syrup, lavender, pink peppercorn, and cane sugar and ordered an appetizer of fried green tomatoes with pimento cheese.  For my entree, I chose the seasonal summer vegetable plate, which included a sampling of succotash (asparagus, corn, tomatoes, red beans, summer squash), grits (with roasted tomatoes and peppers and a poached egg on top), green bean salad, and charred okra.  Veggie heaven.

Husk source board

Next I traveled over to Parnassus Books, the wonderful independent bookstore opened by local author Ann Patchett and one of my former Random House colleagues, Karen Hayes.  I loved wandering around their store, and searching for their personal picks, displayed on shelftalkers around the store was like going on a literary treasure hunt.  I purchased a couple of their recommendations and had a chance to catch up with Karen a bit.

After a pretty drive through the historic Belmont neighborhood, I made my way over to East Nashville to check in to my cottage for the night.

I dropped by things and turned right around to head out to the Loveless Cafe, famous for their biscuits and jam and fried chicken.  It's also the site of Music City Roots, a weekly showcase for some of the best folk, rock, country, and bluegrass music, which gets broadcasted live each week.  At the cafe, I had the signature meal with a local amber ale, and sides of turnip greens and squash casserole.

As I was eating, I was surrounded by families, and I started to miss my own.  My family has recently been getting very interested in bluegrass music, and I was thinking of them tonight.  I wished they could be there.  Then, I remembered that Music City Roots live streams their shows from their website.  So I called my momma in Colorado and asked her to be my virtual date.   She tuned in from her home and we watched the show together, texting each other back and forth when we heard artists we liked.  Though I got to see it live and in person, I suspect she had a more comfortable seat.  The show packed in five artists ranging from rockabilly to singer-songwriter to bluegrass, and ended with a lively jam session of "When the Saints" with everybody on stage together at the end.

On my way home, I made one last stop at The Station Inn, known for their bluegrass acts, and caught a bit of the second set of the Nashville Twangcats, which included a phenomenal fiddle player.

Worn out and belly full, I drove back to the cottage and called it a good night.