You Can't Go Home Again...

For about a week, a place much like this was my home. Sarah and I set out on her birthday, July 1st, for North Carolina. By about 8 p.m. we pulled up the steep driveway to a cabin whose name is "Heaven Sent" and spent the week in rustic luxury with her tremendously generous parents (they let me tag along on their vacation!).

As soon as possible, there will be pictures forthcoming, but in the meantime, I'll try to paint a picture with fewer than a thousand words.

The nearest town, Asheville, was an accessible, charming, artsy hodgepodge that felt, at times, like Baltimore, but more meandering. I'm not suggesting that there's a legitimate, sustainable comparison (I barely scratched the surface of the town), but I think that when one is away, one thinks about how the place is like home or unlike home.

Anyway, we took it slow on Sunday the 2nd, but on Monday, set out to do some heavy duty touring of the Vanderbilt estate. This place is huge. What an understatement. After doing the audio tour of the house that is really a small town, we were beat. Sarah's parents got us all some lunch and then we attempted to do the winery tour, but Sarah and I begged off. They decided to bag it too and back we went to that homey cabin that smelled of cedar--it's ambient light made the rooms feel inclusive and warm. We are all avid readers. I would say that between the four of us at least 9 books got read--and that was the one point where the cabin rated less than an A+. That same lovely ambient light I just mentioned was a bit dim for long stretches of reading, but we still made it work.

On Tuesday (the 4th) the illness that Sarah felt hinting at itself on Monday became something real and she was waylaid. It was also the day of sheets of rain and thunderclaps. I went along with my surrogate parents to the Brevard music center to see the Canadian Brass group (Sarah was too sick). We brought her back some medicine, though, and it seemed to help.

Thursday was our big visit to Cherokee for a tour of a model village. In addition to some of the more overtly touristy elements of the reservation, this tour (led by a beautiful Cherokee man and several other tribe participants) was one of the most meaningful, historical experiences I've had. My family have a significant portion of Cherokee ancestry-- enough to be recognized by the nation, but we lack documentation, so it cannot be officially recognized. You only have to be 1/16th Cherokee to be given the nod by the nation, which I find to be extremely generous.

We finished up the day at a German restaurant (Black Forest) which was scrumtuous. I had Veal Oskar (veal with lump crab and hollandaise sauce) as my entree and a hazelnut torte for dessert.

Friday, Sarah and I took off on our own to do some shopping in Asheville and were determined to eat here, which we did. Let me tell you! I finally had shrimp & grits (with a delicate, soft cheese) and roasted red peppers. I sopped up the last bits with my biscuit.

This morning, we set off again, this time for home. And I found that inspite of my declarations to the contrary, I was in no hurry to be back. I could have stayed tucked up in the mountains of North Carolina for a fortnight more.

But I am back. And unpacked. Reacquainted with the facts of my life, and there is a little bit of gladness in it. I can still smell the cedar in my clothes.