First Impressions - Asheville, NC

January 5, 2008. 

Flying into Asheville is one of the most beautiful descents into a city that I've experienced in a long time. Coming from the flat Upper Midwest, the sight of mountains is both exhilarating and a little intimidating. Once inside the airport, I'm met by a huge mural depicting the area as a sea of green bumps with Asheville in the center of the bumps. There are rocking chairs in the airport! And they're not nailed down. People can just sit in rocking chairs while they wait for their planes. This may sound ridiculous, but this alone makes me fall victim to the city's charm within minutes of my arrival.

Outside, it smels good. How does an airport smell good? Now I know what those air fresheners are trying to accomplish when they claim their product is "Mountain Fresh." Yes, even the airport here is mountain fresh.

We're staying in the Montford section of town, which is known both for its stunning Victorian mansions and its small cottages. We're staying at the Morning Glory cottage on Short Street, just a few blocks from the edge of downtown. Unfortunately, busy highways circle Montford and there's a steady hum from the traffic. But I've gotten used to it and it's just ambient sound to me now. Brian Eno should record it. Our landlord, Rebecca Banner, has seen to every last detail for our creature comforts. She assured Greg that we'd always get a good night's sleep here because the bedding is made by a relative's company, Affordable Bedding. Yes, they are incredible beds and Rebecca has donned them with exquisite linens. But I'm a die hard insomniac, so even this little slice of horizontal heaven can't keep me for long.

The cottage is a wee bit tight because Greg and I need separate work stations, but we're figuring things out. Speaking of "wee bit," Greg tried a local beer during our first dinner out - "Wee Heavier," made by the French Broad beer company. It's like a cross between a Guinness and a Riverwest Amber. Very nice, even for an almost-non-beer-drinker like me. We had dinner at Zambra's in town, a cavernous establishment with Spanish and Moorish influences. The tapas menu is extensive. Our waiter looked like a miniature Errol Flynn with a bit of attitude; he was obviously disappointed that we didn't order one of the $100-plus bottles of wine. Although it's on the pricey side, the food is excellent and we wanted to celebrate our  first dinner together in several days. 

Our neighborhood is made for walking; I'm already fantasizing about our next house. But I'm still recovering from getting out of our last house. For the past couple weeks, I've been purging stuff. Hundreds of VHS tapes and audio cassette tapes ended up in the garbage. I shredded barrels of paper, but there was still plenty to go. Greg and I both want to scale down our possessions. I've never lived in one place for so long (12 years), and I'm embarrassed by how much we've accumulated. Now that we're in this small cottage, I hope to get a better idea of what kind of space we actually need to live, work and be creative. I'm resolved to continue the purge from a little "p" purge to a Big P Purge when we get back to Milwaukee.

I love Wisconsin for so many reasons, most of all because of the friends I've made over the last 16 years. But last winter, the 2nd snowiest in the state's recorded history, just broke something inside me. I'm tired of plummeting deep into a depression for several months a year, of cursing the floods of spring, and clinging to our all-too-few days of decent weather. There's always an evening in August, yes August, when I feel a cool breeze that is somehow different from the other cool breezes. It's the one that whispers, "Winter is Coming." It doesn't say that "Fall is Near" or "Summer Is Ending." No. There's a difference when you hear "Winter is Coming" and it's only August.

That August whisper is part of what got Greg and I started with this project. Our Next Thing is also about finding Our Next Town.