The Garden of Earthly Delights

National Storytelling Festival 2012
Last year we met Mr. Hensley on his front porch overlooking Main Street, Jonesborough (LINK T0 MR HENLEY'S PORCH OCTOBER 2011) and had the briefest glimpse into his backyard paradise. His city lot extends nearly 100 yards back and houses several functional buildings, tree shaded patios and parking spaces available to Festival goers able to negotiate the treacherous entry from the rear street. Mr. Hensley seems to prefer Airstreams as part-time tenants and has made a place for our friend Gerald over the years. THIS MAY END SOON.
It seems Gerald, down to one pretty stationary 34 footer, was faced with missing the Storytelling for lack of a highway-capable  ‘Stream. Now we didn’t catch up with Gerald during the Festival (and I wouldn't want to ruin a good story with actual facts) but this is what I figure happened. 
That 1973 Argosy from Virginia with a lengthy list of deficiencies was not originally offered at an attractive price, so Gerald’s attendance was questionable. Mr. H. offered room and board,  as an evening dinner by candlelight on the shady patio was unthinkable without Gerald’s ebullient grace.
SOMEHOW, shortly before the festival, by means as yet undetermined, perhaps by dark of night, a similar 70’s vintage trailer appeared in Gerald’s accustomed space.
Next morning I happened upon a conversation among some frequent Festival goers, Wally club guys down from their rally in nearby Gray.
“That Gerald’s new trailer?’’
“It’s his usual space…that’s his dog…”
“WHEW!!” 
Yeah….It’s hard to IMAGINE how much neglect it took to get it looking THAT BAD.’’
The Argosy, a little brother to an Airstream, was originally a light brown. Color descriptions often fail us, but the most common descriptor references diapers. This one was green -- at least on top. The AC shroud, awning cover and patches of the roof were a slimy green patina of  mold…the tires looked solid, if not new (Gerald is, after all, not suicidal) and gave promise that it will soon be moving back toward Alabama, one of the few states where it will not be turned back at the border.


Now the beauty of Mr. Hensley’s garden is the beauty of  “found objects” set amongst flowers and  barn siding. The totality is gorgeous and festival goers hurrying from tent to tent often linger along the fence and peer longingly into the welcoming garden. 
No Pictures of Gerald’s new “found Object”  will be found HERE; (We have SOME standards, even if they don’t extend to fact-checking.) I’m sure, if it is not repossessed  by the authorities, the  Argosy  will return to it’s essential beauty and, with a few quirky touches added by Gerald’s loving touch be proudly on the road. Next year, or maybe before, we will see it restored.

Mr. Hensley’s Garden of Earthly Delights

Adult Supervision

National Storytelling Festival 2012
The National Storytelling Festival at Jonesborough TN was the best discovery we made during last years travels.  This year we told everyone who would listen to put it on their Bucket List. At least three did.  We were joined this year by Al’s sister Beth, Cousin Patsy and her BFF Meg.
Now Patsy and Meg require some introduction. Meg has long since been elevated to honorary Cousin through her tireless efforts to herd Patsy along the path of righteousness. On earlier forays into the Southland and so many more we have not witnessed, we thought of Meg as tireless friend, Road Manager and Patsy’s “Keeper.”  On walker or on foot, Patsy is full speed ahead on feet she hasn’t really felt in several years now. She doesn’t eat (unless you count wine and ice cream) and cooks (wonderfully) only for others, doesn’t consult maps, seldom unpacks and never, never passes up an outing. She is energy squared and always on the brink of catastrophic instability.  Meg is her nuclear containment. She protects her from internal and external pressures, gives her fuel when required, and is as solid as eight feet of steel-reinforced concrete.
Both were enthusiastic about the Storytelling, but Patsy was ON FIRE to see Jeanne Robertson, her favorite 5 foot fourteen inch Miss North Carolina,  a frequent voice on Satellite radio and YouTube.
We ate supper quickly but thoroughly and were the first in the tent; We were, in  fact, camped in the tent before the sound man and well before Jeanne arrived early to graciously mix with the crowd.  Of course we needed an autograph and perhaps a picture to show friends…but some of us were a little awed…
Of course Pat wasn’t, and, after running across the tent to ask a 45 year old Road Manager if he was Jeanne’s 75 year old husband “Left Brain”, Patsy figured she wouldn’t be THAT embarrassing, so the dynamic duo went off to greet the giant humorist.







Just before the big moment, Patsy feared her photographer had disappeared…




…but he was just laughing…and so was everyone else, until far into the night.

Storytelling Family

National Storytelling Festival 2012


The whole 15,000+ audience at the Festival is a community. We learned last year that anywhere –- in the seat next to yours, at the dinner tents, in line for the Port-a-Let !!, someone is likely to share a story.  “Where are you from?”
"Have you been here before?” Sure ways to strike up a conversation, which will lead …. who knows where, but somewhere interesting.
Our little campground has its community:

• THE TEXANS, a group of friends who arrive two weeks early in their big fifth wheels and know all the eating spots.
• NEIL AND  CAROL who are “surrogate Parents” to one of the favorite tellers and a delight in themselves.
• ROSE AND DAVID who share so many threads with our lives and always require an electrical gismo –- makes Al feel so useful.

By Friday the park is busy with Big Rigs, tents, and a fair number of Airstreams, but the time for visiting is limited to a few waves in the morning before the venue opens.  By Monday, we are dispersing with promises to stay in touch and perhaps relay a story or two along the way.
Around Jonesborough on the day before the Festival we meet this beauty.

“I’m 81 years old”, she tells Pat as she tries to help her over the mid-town railroad tracks, “but I still believe I’m 31.” 
She loves her adopted town and comes to shop here to help the local merchants despite the rugged walk.
“You know you can’t buy a bed sheet in this town anymore.  Just  stuff for the visitors; I got to get RID of stuff like that, not buy more.”










Certainly, close liaison with Law Enforcement is essential.



Come along quietly, mam.

The proud new owners of the  





…recounted the six month renovation and preparation for the big first day while the sidewalks and curbs and repaving were finished (hours before the festival began.)

Favorite Interstate ????

If it is even POSSIBLE to have a favorite Interstate highway, ours has to be this section of I-26 between Asheville NC and Jonesborough Tn.  We can remember wandering this area in our hiking days before this road was built –- Iron Mountain, Cherry Gap, the Beauty Spot , Erwin.  The roads were twisty, winding along creeks and narrow bottomland homesteads, and up over gaps to the inevitable trail crossing where any way you walked was UP.   Now we SOAR! Long ribbons of concrete swirling around and over, retaining walls, epic rock cuts swathed in sturdy fencing to retain the boulders that continue to follow gravity. Runaway truck lanes, ”Authorized Vehicles Only”.  Do we apply in triplicate?






















Looking past the concrete, the views are awesome --picture book little homesteads in little openings at the foot of 3000’ drops, a white church its steeple dwarfed by the surroundings. Yesterday we saw this road at its best; the early morning rain left patches of white cloud lifting from the bottoms and drifting through the gaps. The mountains are pristine clean-washed green to the tops and just a tiny of hint of autumn color  facing south. It’s hard to find a scenic pull over while towing a trailer, so Patty was frantically shooting pictures  through the windshield.  
We left the Interstate at Erwin to try TN 81, a narrow two lane with not an inch of shoulder, but there were glimpses of the Nolinchucky River and little traffic.
We found our old campsite at Persimmon Ridge in Jonesborough and set about doing our chores in a light drizzle.  We went to town to get laundry done, update the iPad at Amigo’s Mexican (good wireless, sorry sorry food) and noted a new “fresh Italian” place just opening in the same area: what were we thinking?  We have never found a Mexican place that compares to our hometown favorite, but the chances of stumbling on good Italian are endless…
We moved from Davidson River early because the day promised 24 hours of showers.  It is good to be settled in a few days early for the National Storytelling Festival and extra nice to have the electricity to hold off the damp.  It’s clearing as I write this next day, so we will go off exploring… and come back to see what new neighbors have arrived.

Davidson River Interlude

It just feels comfortable here.  It’s a great campground, laid out on a long flat bottom along the Davidson River among tall Pines and Hemlocks.  Each of the several loops seems its own quiet place with deep paved pads and adequate privacy.  The Camp Hosts are the best we have ever experienced, well trained in people skills and welcoming to all.
After two earlier visits in Spring, we felt right at home and, strangely, less inclined to wander off to the many local waterfalls and other attractions.  We just “settled in.” 
The water is historically low and the trout stocking has been on hold for a couple months  The fish still lurking about are now well distributed and acting wild.  We caught mostly Browns, veterans, with no fins scraped white from living in concrete pens.  It is humbly stated that AL caught the lunch specials until that last afternoon when Patty scored nine great fish in about 20 feet of riffle.  This was, of course, in the Catch and Release water: her new hypothesis:
“These fish can read.  They see those yellow/red diamonds on the trees and they know I have to throw them back.  They learn it in fish school…”
There are  five miles of flat pavement in the campground so we took several training rides to test Patty’s shoulder; so far, so good. Besides the ebb and flow of campers in each loop, we also crossed paths with a white squirrel and a sassy young copperhead basking among the fallen leaves.
On the last night, the predicted rain began.  We were nearly packed and ready, so there were no worries about unsecured gear.  We lay there thinking about all the other rainy nights we had spent under canvas.
“The patter of raindrops on a tin roof has its attractions,” he thought, “but the best part is not having to get up every so often to check for leaks.”
Just to be sure we both moved away from the edges…

Silver Cabin in the Woods

 

When You are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of the shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

…….

                                          --W.B. Yeats 

 

Davidson River NC September 27, 2012

When I was in college (and studying Yeats) and Patty was still in St Louis fending off med students, a torrent of letters flew back and forth.  After years of hanging out together as “just Friends” , we were debating if a life separated by 500 miles was even tolerable and whether a long life together was a workable plan.  It was not an easy conversation given the myriad distractions in our lives, the still liquid state of our individual dreams.  Once, along the way we dreamed together of our older selves growing old in a cozy cabin in the woods, warm fire burning,  snow banked against the door.  All the unsettling dramas of mid life now behind us, we would just be together as we longed to be at that time.  We held onto that vision and  muddled through the many joys and sorrows of mid life and, today, nestled warmly in our cozy Silver Cabin in the woods, it is hard to even consider that bike trails beckon and fish flash in eddies just yards away and we may need to replenish the groceries.  In the quiet woods locations that change every few days and in sunshine and maybe just a little snow, we are together and it feels right.

Airstream of consciousness…

 

Smokemont morning…crisp and dewy…packing up…saying goodbyes…Oconaluftee…strawberry preserves…yum…Friends of the Smokies, re-up…pulling up the Blue Ridge Parkway.. smooth, powerful…transmission temp, OK…Big Witch Tunnel eleven foot ten inches…Thelonious  “Around Midnight”, so cool…35 MPH, not holding anybody back…sometimes 30, bothering nobody…AIRSTREAM, new one, probably 23’, passing ships, Hi brother…

Colors… starting…muted golds…big patch of red Sumac…Green mostly, steep and deep…Higher…Green evergreens…maybe they won’t all die…Rock faces…road cuts and landslides…Balsam Fir…OVER THE TOP

Now down, burned here, many years ago, to the bedrock…scrubby, more rock faces with fringes of yellow and red…rocks weeping and falling down close to the road edge…

Turning here… down 276…new surface…”Unmarked Pavement”…”Loose Gravel”…shoulders dusty…Second gear…winding down…35 MPH, bothering nobody…water is low…sparkles…Davidson River CG…friendly…set up… feels like home…fishing…water low…caught two…dinner…yum…