Tales from Towed Haul

November 4, 2016. After showers and a late breakfast, we hit the road at 11 am, map in lap, looking forward to stopping at every listed attraction on the Parkway between mile marker 260 and 340.   First was Tupelo National Battlefield. This turned out to be a rather pretty monument and two rolling caissons in a small park on the corner of a city block in Tupelo, nestled between a McDonalds and a DIY car wash. It didn’t take us long to confirm that the plaque said exactly what the brochure predicted it would say: the Yankees won, thus clearing the way for Sherman’s supplies to head on down for the well-recorded mischief in Atlanta, but there were terrible losses on both sides of this particular battle (a total of 287 killed, 1,675 wounded and 85 missing).

Next we visited a Chickasaw village site on the Natchez Trace. We had to supply all the 3D with our imaginations, aided only by signage describing in detail what was once there and the 21^st century concrete curb outlines of a small fort and three houses. Had we opted to follow the four-mile hiking path emanating from the village, we reportedly would have met a young “Indian boy” who would point out native plants that the Chickasaws put to various uses, and we would have come out at the Parkway Visitors Center, which we had visited the previous day. Instead, we drove on to Old Town Overlook and the grave sites of 13 unidentified Confederate soldiers on the Old Trace.   We came to realize that many of the listed attractions consist of hikes to or pertaining to things that no longer exist, but are pretty woodland excursions in their own right. When we arrived at Twentymile Bottom Overlook in early afternoon, Brad (snickering with only the slightest hint of irony) suggested that we should stop for lunch, which we did. Over ham and cheese sandwiches, accompanied by a delightful sauvignon blanc from the bargain bin at Holman & Finch at Peachtree Battle (thanks, Scott!), we surveyed the Trace from an unusual height of several hundred feet and solved a most vexing conundrum: where in the heck were the 13 missing cards from the Canasta decks that we keep in the bin over the dining table and which flew down when I opened it, in a cacophony of face cards, jokers and deuces and blew out the door? I finally found them huddled together in a crevasse between the Elvis CDs from our 2014 trip through Tupelo and the stack of postcards and maps from Zion and Bryce Canyon of the same year.

Moving on with palpable relief, we stopped briefly to snap photos of the eight Pharr Mounds, constructed during the Middle Woodland period (circa 1-200 AD) of dirt from an entirely different geographic location. Thereafter, just after crossing the impressive Jamie L. Whitten Bridge soaring scarily over the Tenn-Tom Waterway (a 234-mile long, 300-foot wide canal and series of locks built from 1971 to 1985 connecting the Tennessee and Tombigbee Rivers), we turned sharp right off the Trace to visit Bay Springs Lake, an Army Corps of Engineers lake which is beautiful and quite large. We were particularly taken by the fine campground there, and the many vacant lake-side campsites from which we were invited to take our pick! Even though we had reservations at a different campsite about 30 miles to the north, it was approaching tea time and we were sorely tempted to settle down and blow off the $25 cancellation fee for our reserved camp. We pulled into a gorgeous site and discovered immediately that it had no access to my essential lifeblood: no internet or cell coverage and a big tree blocking my TV satellite.   So, without even unhitching, we tore out of there and headed for J. P. Coleman Campground as originally planned. So glad we did! Here we have a fabulous lake front site (the best one), with full hook-ups and plenty of ethereal amenities. We had a fine Brad-cooked dinner, followed by chocolate ice cream and a satisfying episode of Floyle’s War, Season Two. Stepping outside afterwards for a moonlight stroll with Doris, we gasped to see that the huge tree about 30 feet from our door was covered in thousands of very pale green twinkling fairy lights! It was like being in the Botanical Gardens on a very special members-only tour. No one to share it with but three RVs carrying a small church group from somewhere nearby.

Today, we are planning to overstay our technical welcome at this great campsite, so that we can watch the entire Ga. Tech/Tarheel football game.   We may decide to hit the road if it begins to look hopeless. Go Jackets! Please.

Twentymile Bottom Ovelook

November 4, 2016.  Doris is now 106 or so and still yearns for the open road.  We have become so busy with real life we have not taken the time for an extended Airstream adventure in over a year, having contented ourselves with two and three-day forays not too far from home.  Finally, Doris put her foot down and insisted on a trip of at least a week!  So Brad hopped to.

This time Brad did 100% of the planning and preparation, from choosing the route, to making improvements to the Airstream (a new USB port in the living room, a new DVD player, 6 new tires), to buying the groceries and stocking the pantry.  As we left the farm yesterday morning, Doris and I were completely in the dark about our destination, knowing only that we would be gone a week and were guaranteed DirectTV service on election night.

Four hours after leaving home, we pulled into the Mississippi Welcome Center on I-22, whence Brad emerged with a six-foot long map of the Natchez Trace Parkway, a 444-mile National Park Service scenic drive stretching from Natchez MS to Nashville TN.  Thirty minutes later, we were in the Parkway Visitor Center near Tupelo (about the midpoint) and heading for our first camp site, Trace State Park.  The Natchez Trace is similar in design and scope to the Blue Ridge Parkway (also a National Park), but without the dramatic curves and mountain vistas. The NTP, primarily flat and straight or gently curving, is remarkable for its history; an illumination of human habitation dating back at least 9000 years (think mysterious dirt mounds constructed with great effort for ceremonial purposes) and following a path first laid out by native buffalo on their way to Nashville (though they called it by another name) seeking substantial salt outcroppings, which were then all the rage. This long path meandering through swamps, flat land, rolling piedmont and Blue Ridge foothills later became the most traveled road in early America, used by “Kaintuck boatmen” to walk back home having floated their livestock, crops and manufactured goods by flatboat down the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers to market in New Orleans and Natchez.  Before the advent of steam engines, it was impossible, or insanely impractical, to row back up the river to Kentucky, Ohio, Pennsylvania.  So they walked.  On the trail laid out by buffalo thousands of years ago.  Stalked instead in those days by bandits, and plagued by mosquitoes, poison ivy and pesky reptiles.  It is much easier to traverse the Natchez Trace these days, even though the speed limit of 50 mph is strictly enforced.

So this morning we are setting out on an ambitious voyage from mile marker 260 to mile marker 320, a good day’s journey in which we will stop every furlong or so to explore the MANY sites and hikes of interest along the way.

May 6, 2015.  Yesterday Brad felt 100% better, but still not good enough to explore Asheville.  So I left Doris in charge of entertaining him while I took the monster truck into town to visit the Biltmore Estate.  I have seen it before, of course, but it is always a draw to me.  I love the 3-mile driveway through woodland gardens designed by Frederick Law Olmsted.  The house, as sister Nancy would say, “always ceases to amaze me!” with its 4 acres under one roof, 240 rooms, 43 bathrooms, 4-story wrought iron chandelier in the grand circular staircase, and 70,000-gallon indoor swimming pool in which may have swum (although probably not in synchronous formation) Henry James, John Singer Sargent, Edith Wharton and General John J. Pershing!

To my best estimate, there were about 5,000 guests there yesterday — a Tuesday while school is still in session — which at $63 a pop (excluding expenditures for food, drink and Downton Abby themed tea sets from the gift shop) brings in at least $315,000 per day from the house tours alone — and there are lots of other amenities, such as an inn, a winery, horse-back riding, off-road Range Rover excursions, and things like that.  All these revenues combined appear to be more than adequate to keep this remarkable property running smoothly and attracting tourists for decades to come.  Hats off to the Cecil family who have done so much to keep this landmark piece of history at is prime and opening it up for all to see.

The truck and I made it back to our mountain top aerie just fine at about 3 pm, where I found Doris and Brad enjoying the view and chatting amiably with our neighbors.  We played some cards (I won consistently, as you can see from Brad’s “Queen” sketches on the scorecards).  A drone whizzed and hovered above us.  We cooked hamburgers outside and enjoyed our last evening on this wonderful Airstream adventure.  Time now to head for the barn.  Hope to see you all soon!

May 4, 2015.  On Sunday morning, we nipped down I-81 and I-26, arriving about 2 pm at a gorgeous campground (Campfire Lodgings) in Asheville that Brad’s brother Tom had told us about.  There are five premium campsites here directly overlooking the French Broad River valley from the vantage of several thousand feet.  We did not get one of those for Sunday night, but it didn’t matter because we just dropped off the Airstream and drove directly to Hendersonville (about 40 miles to the south) to spend the night with my dear cousin Susan and her cute husband Bill. Susan and I are more like sisters than cousins, even though she is A LOT older than I am (just teasing; she is my sister Jenny’s age).   Really, we have all been very close all our lives because our mothers were best friends as well as sisters-in-law.

After a couple of hours catching up on matters of utmost importance, we went for a walk at Connemara, the fascinating but humble former home and goat emporium of Carl Sandberg and his wife Lillian, and then to a fine dinner at Greenwood Barbecue in nearby Saluda NC, where Bill was the well-known star.  This morning, Brad was not feeling well (coming down with a cold), so Susan and I planted about a dozen red geraniums in her back yard and went to visit Camp Greystone, where she, my sister Jenny, and five of my nieces attended camp as young girls.  It is far fancier than Illahee, where I went to camp in nearby Brevard when I was 10.  (Unfortunately, I was using a camera card in Hendersonville that I can’t access today — sorry to miss those pictures here!)

We rousted Brad from bed at 11 and he followed Susan and me to Asheville, where we relocated the Airstream to one of the five premium campsites, ate lunch overlooking the stunning mountains and French Broad river valley (see below), played some Canasta and tucked Brad in for a nap while Susan and I explored the shops and galleries in the village of Weaverville.  It was a grand day for me, other than Brad being sick.  Hoping he will be fine tomorrow.  He and I will chill out here and, if he feels up to it, venture into Asheville.  Susan has to work tomorrow, so we said our tearful good-byes late this afternoon — but they will be at the lake in June, so the tears were less copious than otherwise.

Susan gave me the great blue heron you see below — he is made of bottle caps and motherboards with a sparkplug beak!

May 2, 2015.  Today, on our 23rd wedding anniversary, we were treated to a special insider’s tour of Foggy Ridge Cider by its owner and my old West Point friend Diane Flynt.   (For privacy reasons, I normally do not use last names in this blog, but she is so famous it’s sort of OK — like letting fly the name “Jefferson” when writing about Monticello.)  Diane and her sister Suzanne were schoolmates of mine growing up in Georgia, but neither were in my exact grade. Nevertheless, West Point is a small universe and our memories are intertwined.  (Suzanne happened to be in Pakistan on business this week so we missed catching up with her, sadly.)

Diane and her husband Chuck (whom we met as we were driving out of his driveway as he was driving in, and probably thinks I am a loon for hugging him as he introduced himself formally) have created the most wondrous farm and apple orchard on a mountaintop near Dugspur VA, about 8 miles off the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Their Foggy Ridge Cider has won more critical accolades than J. Paul Getty put together (as Emory would say) — including articles and commendations in The New York Times, Wine Enthusiast, Martha Stewart Living, Food & Wine, Esquire, Garden & Gun and about 100 other food and lifestyle publications.  Diane herself received a James Beard Foundation Award nomination for Best Wine, Beer or Spirits Professional and has been interviewed on CBS Sunday Morning for her creations at Foggy Ridge.

On the drive over there from Hungry Mother, I entertained myself for an hour just poking around the Foggy Ridge website and found, to my delight, a series of Diane’s audio essays aired on WVTF Public Radio in Roanoke.  Several were about her childhood memories  — my favorite of which was about driving aimlessly on country roads.  I am addicted to that myself!  That’s what I do with Daddy even now — the two of us get in my car (he quit diving at 101), crank up the Glenn Miller and get happily lost for hours in the web of country roads in our neck of Georgia and Alabama.  He thinks I’m a genius to find my way home (I haven’t told him about GPS yet).

At Foggy Ridge we reveled in a tasting of the four sparkling ciders and two dessert apple ports.  We opted for a case of the sparkling Serious Cider (most like dry champagne) and the sparkling First Fruit (made with early season American heirloom apples) and several bottles of the reserve Pippin Black (a dessert port cider made only when they have Arkansas Black and Black Twig apples, which is oakey, rich and heavenly).  We have only one apple tree at our Applewood Farm and it happens to be an Arkansas Black!

After the tasting, we visited with Diane who gave us a tour of the orchard closest to her house and we sat on her beautiful patio overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains and swapped stories about home and old friends — especially you, Mardi!  (Jenny and Alyson, you won’t believe this, but Diane knew Coulter!  We were talking about our honeymoon on his farm and she said — are you talking about Coulter Huyler?  We all fell over backwards.)

What a glorious day it was.  Tomorrow we head for Asheville and then to see Susan and Bill in Hendersonville!

May 1, 2015.  We have just emerged from another wilderness experience.  As much as I rhapsodized about running water and wifi in Charlottesville, our next stop was in the heart of darkness.  Nestled about 5 miles equidistant (on tiny switchback roads) from the Blue Ridge Parkway, Natural Bridge Station and absolutely nowhere, is a remote oasis called Cave Mountain Lake.  We arrived there as planned at about noon yesterday, thinking that we would unhook, drop off the Airstream and go tour my alma mater, Hollins College.  But having traveled through the rain forest to get there and found our campsite between two rushing streams just as the sun came out, we decided that the better course was to go for a short hike, down a bottle of sparkling cider and play some board games. By dinner time, we had resolved ourselves to another night without water, electricity, TV, wifi, cell coverage or fellow travelers. We went to bed early and slept like logs in our cozy dry metal tube, as a thunderstorm raged outside.  Brad says that the shape of the Airstream makes it unlikely to be struck by lightning.  Even Doris was not afraid of the thunder, as she usually is.

This morning we did tour Hollins, which is a few miles north of Roanoke, just where I left it.  The ancient campus (but for several recent additions) looked and smelled so familiar after 40 years — the aroma of boxwoods is impossible to forget but oddly hard to call to mind unless you are in their midst.  I took four thousand pictures and showed Brad my room on the second floor of the West dormitory — the exact bedroom that my Aunt Ginny lived in when she was a student at Hollins in 1918!  My Aunts Mary, Frances and Winnie also attended Hollins in the early part of last century, but I think they had different rooms.  It would be quite odd otherwise.

After lunch, we rode the short distance to Claytor State Park, where we thought we had reservations for the next two nights.  But they had no record of us and were completely full.  They suggested that we try Hungry Mother State Park (I am not making this up) near Marion.  We called ahead and were assured that (i) there is a place called that, (ii) it does have a campground, (iii) it is lovely, and (iv) they would save us a site with full hook-ups.  True on all counts.

My friend Diane, whose famous apple orchard we will visit tomorrow, told me of a cool farm-to-table restaurant (The Harvest Table) in Meadowview, which is sort of near Hungry Mother.  We had dinner there tonight and were excited to sample some of Diane’s Foggy Ridge cider.  I tried both the First Fruit and Serious varieties — both delicious! Brad ordered braised duck and I had pulled pork.  Everything on the menu is locally or regionally sourced and just fantastic.  So lucky that we learned about it in time for dinner tonight.  Plus, the restaurant is owned by Barbara Kingsolver — one of my farvorite authors!

OK — here it is: the legend of Hungry Mother.  When, some time ago, Indians destroyed several settlements on the New River, a lady named Molly Marley and her small child were among the survivors taken to the raiders’ base, north of what is now the park.  Molly and her child eventually escaped and wandered through the wilderness for days eating berries and such.  Molly finally collapsed, and her child wandered down a creek until he found help.  The only words the child could utter were “hungry mother” (or more likely, I think, “hungry” and “mother” but that is not part of the legend, nor would “Hungry and Mother State Park” roll as easily off the tongue.)  As legend has it, when the search party arrived at the foot of the mountain where she had collapsed, they found Molly dead.  Today the mountain is called Molly’s Knob and the stream Hungry Mother Creek.  When the park was developed in the 1930’s the creek was dammed to form Hungry Mother Lake.   What a lovely story behind this quaint name!  Or maybe not.

April 30, 2015.  We spent the most wonderful 12 hours with our friend Kathie yesterday! She had been at her river house on the Potomac for a rare few days with just her husband David and three grown children.  But she tore herself away early to come down to Charlottesville to give us an insider’s tour of this historic area and their two incredible homes here.

First, we convened at Bethel Hollow, their mountain top farm in Covesville, about 30 minutes south of where we are camping.  Trusting google, we took a scenic shortcut there, which included about 6 miles of a country dirt road and an OPEN FORD across what looked to me to be a pretty good-sized river!  It was about 15 inches deep and flowing swiftly, but we made it across in our monster truck in 4-wheel drive.  (Not sure what travelers in MGs are supposed to do when they get to that part of the road!)  The risk to life and limb was amply rewarded by what lay in store.  Kathie and her husband David found this secluded 100 acre property about 10 years ago and recognized it as the perfect spot for a tranquil get-away about 45 minutes from their home on the north side of Charlottesville.  Over the next 3 or so years, David and Kathie (working together, she pointed out) hand-built the wonderful board and batten cabin you see below and have planted over one hundred vintage apple, cherry and walnut trees there.  Himself a carpenter, Brad appreciated so much the workmanship in the cabin construction, the careful joining of trim, the ancient ceiling beams, and the heart pine throughout.  We felt that we got to know David through his personal mark on the cabin and the farm (and later their house in town).

A quick trip to the famous Covesville Antiques Store (where I found a sort of “open sugar” that I like to collect), and then to lunch at Bodo’s Bagels — a popular eatery in Charlottesville.  From there, we visited Kathie and David’s “real” home, built in 1820, which is on the National Register of Historic Landmarks and, as of yesterday, on the National Register of My Favorite Places.  Bacon’s Castle and Chippokes Plantation (see prior posts) can’t hold a candle to this historic home — nor is it advisable to try, as there is so much old wood!  Seriously, I felt as if I had stepped into a particularly appealing issue of Architectural Digest.  They have managed to retain the breathtaking authenticity of the house and gardens with a comfortable updated abode for raising their three children.  Over the years, David has constructed three guest houses and a barn on the property, including a wonderful cabin using logs from an old double-pen cabin in Nelson County.  I told Brad that it is one thing to read about places like this in a glossy magazine or tourist brochure, but quite another to be welcomed as a quest, getting to stroll though the rooms and gardens, peep in cubby holes, touch things without being behind a velvet rope, and sit on the patio with a cool drink and polite Virginia nibbles.  Plus, David shares my passion for corner cabinets!  They must have 15 or so.  So wonderful.

Next, Kathie drove us 40 minutes through the most beautiful part of the Virginia countryside (I hope it is, or I’m going to need another tongue to hang out) to Montpelier, the home of James and Dolley Madison.  Much like Monticello (but not quite as innovative or grand), Montpelier is a must-see for buffs of American History and people who appreciate great museum shops.  Kathie and I toured the house, while Brad and Doris tried to pick up girls on the lovely grounds.  They are getting ready for some kind of colossal steeple chase here next weekend.  I would love to come back for it!

To cap off the day, we returned to Kathie’s house for dinner.  Having been out of town for a week, she nipped off to some gourmet grocery store and came back in about 10 minutes with the makings of a feast, while we cooled our heels and throats on the patio.  We dined and laughed until almost 11 and made our way back to our tourist court by midnight.  Kathie is so very much like her sister Dickie, who lives in Atlanta and has been my dear friend since 1979, I felt as though I had spent the day with Dickie.   You can’t give higher praise than that.  Thank you, Kathie, for a perfect day!

April 29, 2015.  We love Misty Mountain Campground.  All the water you can drink or wash dishes in! Boundless, instant wifi!  A secluded camp site beside a pretty stream!  Five minutes from Charlottesville!  Plus, I learned later, this place is owned by a friend of a friend.  How lucky that we found it and like it.

Yesterday afternoon, we drove the 15 or so minutes to Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s just wonderful home on a mountainside slightly east of C’ville.  For those of you (if any) who have not been there, you should definitely do so before you get too old.   I toured the house while Brad and Doris patiently posed near the museum and walked around the grounds.  (Even in her dotage Doris is a babe magnet, as it turns out, so Brad was perfectly content.) I had forgotten that the entrance hall is filled with goodies Lewis and Clark brought back from their western explorations — so interesting to me now that I know more of the details about that voyage of which Jefferson, of course, was the instigator.  Other details that every one knows, but may have slipped your minds while you were thinking of other things, are that (i) Jefferson spoke, read and studied in seven languages, (ii) he designed and supervised the building of Monticello, largely inspired by the Italian architect Palladian (thus all the Palladian windows), (iii) he later went to France, came home and tore down much of the original house so he could incorporate French-inspired ideas, such as skylights, dumbwaiters, beautiful glass french doors, and space-saving alcove beds, including his famous variation in which his bed divides his chamber from his study.  There are a couple of other interesting facts about Mr. Jefferson.  Someone should write a book about him.

We stopped by the famous Mitchie Tavern and learned, to our disappointment, that it is no longer an active watering hole.  At the gift shop, we bought a six-pack of Thomas Jefferson’s Tavern Ale, one of the “Ales of the Revolution,” and confirmed that all ales are not created equal.  This one was inspired by Jefferson’s original recipe, which called for ingredients from his estate, including honey and rye.  Good!

I have (in the dark of night under the sheets) read a series of mystery books in which the protagonist/amateur detective is the post-mistress in Crozet VA.  We made a point of running through there so I could check it out.  There it was.

After dinner, we played a board game I got at the Monticello museum store — The Royall and Most Pleasant Game of Goose.  The object is to move rocks around the board for 63 spaces, surviving various dire setbacks along the way.  Brad is a natural at this, and won 7 out of 8 games.  We switched to Canasta to make me feel better.

We are heading out now for Covesville VA to meet our friend Kathie at her farm.  It is another beautiful cool, sunny day.

April 28, 2015.  We give Sherando Lake Campground a “10” for sheer beauty (see below), but a “2” for services.  We found that I cannot live without water for three days or without wifi and cell coverage for ten minutes.  So we packed up this morning and decided to find somewhere close to Charlottesville to spend the next two nights. I don’t care if it’s surrounded with water slides and putt-putt golf, as long as it has water and wifi.  I think we’ll try the Misty Mountain Shangrila in Crozet — their web site says they have 102 sites available today with full hookups.

We cruised slowly up the Blue Ridge Parkway to take advantage of the 15 miles to its beginning point, stopping to stroll through a 1840s farm settlement that my nephew David and his resourceful family would love!  Use your imagination to supply some superlatives of your choice to describe the scenes below.  We are stopped now for a picnic at a turnout overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, at elevation 2354, just north of the Humpback Rocks visitor center.  Nothing smooths my ruffled feathers like pimento cheese on toasted dark rye with pinot, gingersnaps and caramel sea salt gelato on a sunny Spring day on the Parkway!

This afternoon, I may run over to see Monticello –it’s been about 40 years since I last was there.  When I was in summer school at UVA (taking astronomy and anthropology), my apartment-mate was a docent at Monticello.  I used to show up for her tours unexpectedly and make her nervous.  She was hilarious.  Tomorrow we will spend the day visiting our wonderful friend, Kathie, and two of her historical properties in this area.  I can’t wait to see her and them and tell you about it!

April 27, 2015.  At noon today we arrived at Sherando Lake Recreational Area, a beautiful federal park about 15 miles south of the northern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway.  We will stay here for three nights as we make day trips in the truck to points of interest nearby.   We were surprised to learn that there are no water hook-ups here.  We had to drive the Airstream to a special place to load up with 39 gallons of water.  If that does not last us for three days, we will have to secure everything, hook back up to the truck and drive the 500 yards to fill up with more water.  That process takes about an hour and is a LOT of work.  Therefore, we will be taking showers in the bath house across the way and using water very sparingly.   I think we’ll be able to make 39 gallons stretch for three days.  At least we have a big incentive to conserve.

This afternoon we drove to Lexington VA where I attended summer school in 1973.  I was enrolled in the Virginia Military Institute (VMI), taking a course in archeology, but all classes were held on site at the dig at Liberty Hall, which is in the outfield of the baseball field of Washington & Lee Univ.  I was the only girl in the class, the only one to wear yellow bikini to the site every day, and (I was told) the only one to get an A.  Brad asked if the professor was a fat woman, but I don’t recall any professor.  Using a paint brush in the dirt on the third-base side, I discovered a “possible post hole” which made all kinds of news, and made Daddy so glad that he had paid my tuition for the summer!

Although Lexington is my old stomping ground, I hardly recognized anything.  Many things have shifted and changed in the last 42 years, and in this case, I’m talking about the town itself.  The fancy old Keydet General Hotel, where I ate many a club sandwich with various friends’ parents, is something else now and may even be even out of business – it was hard to tell.  My old apartment building – a beautiful white Georgian landmark in the middle of town — appears to have been torn down.  At least I was not able to find it, and it was quite remarkable.  I did find Lime Kiln Road, where my old boyfriend and four of our friends lived in a house rented to them by The Reverend Frifth, who made frequent sneak visits to make sure there were in fact no girls, beer  or dogs in evidence, per the rental agreement.   I spent a lot of time in a closet there (with Samantha the dog and a pony keg).  The house was still there, but it was surrounded by houses less than 42 years old, and thus had lost some of its rural charm.  The old store down the street (f/k/a Woods Creek Grocery) where we used to stock up on National Bohemian is now a cute little ice cream shop.  Is nothing sacred?  I couldn’t  find any of the old fraternity houses.  Maybe they have collapsed into a keg of iniquity – which would not be surprising, but I wish I could have seen it!

During the regular school year, I actually attended Hollins College (now Hollins University) in Roanoke VA about 50 miles south of Lexington on I-81.  As many times as I hitchhiked up and down I-81 between Hollins and Lexington (gas was hard to come by in the early 1970s due to OPEC shenanigans. and my jacked-up electric blue 1968 Mustang only got 8 mpg), I must have passed the sign to Natural Bridge a million times and never stopped until today!  Brad and Doris and I were thrilled to walk down the 167 steps to the incredible natural bridge!  The arch is 215 feet high, consists of 450,000 cubic feet of rock weighing 72,000,000 pounds and is estimated to be over 500 million years old!   I don’t know about that, but I do have a 1901 photograph of my grandmother with two of her small daughters and a baby nurse having a picnic at the foot of Natural Bridge.  It looks so inviting in the photo and it would be today except that it is a bit more developed (but not all that much).  A brass plaque near the entrance states that the original patent for Natural Bridge was surveyed by George Washington in about  1750, and it was granted to Thomas Jefferson on July 5, 1776, who proclaimed it “The most sublime of Nature’s work.”

We returned to Sherando Lake on the Blue Ridge Parkway, which was so pretty I almost ran out of energy gasping and exclaiming.  The photos are pitiful representations of the glory that unfolds around every curve – and there are plenty of those!  If you have not driven the BRP in the last 10 years, you owe it to yourself to get in the car and head there right now.