Almost to Black Mountain

January 7, 2009

Greg has been making appointments with people in the Asheville area. Today we were all set to visit Toni De Lisa, a potter, and her husband Gregory Dunn, a tribal mask maker, outside Black Mountain. But first we stopped in to see Mondy Carter who owns and operates the Soulshine Candle Company near town. We knew Mondy back in Milwaukee where he was an actor and did a lot of comedy shows with our pal Anthony Wood. Mondy seems content in his new life here and we hope to interview him and his wife Karen Stobbe before we leave the area.

Then we were off, guided only by our new GPS system, to Toni & Gregory's place way, way, way up in the mountains. I was pretty surprised at how steep the grade was, but felt okay because the roads were in good repair. But then we got off the main road onto a single lane, rough road with dozens of hairpin turns on even steeper grades. Usually I'm the one who's nervous in these situations, but Greg was showing some signs of distress as well. Our 4-cylinder RAV4 was straining with every  curve. We were probably only a quarter mile from their house when we were faced with an extremely narrow road going up what looked like an impossible hill. With no room for error, we parked and tried to figure out what to do. Neither of us had cell phone service. We were stopped near a house with lots of barking dogs defending their territory, which made it even more difficult to think straight. Greg realized that he didn't have Toni's phone number. Then the wind kicked up and it started to snow. That was the tipping point that made us decide to retreat. Although we really wanted to get up there, I don't regret turning back (not an easy feat on that tiny road with horrifying drops on either side.) When we got back to Black Mountain, Greg was able to look up Toni's number in the library. She kindly offered to come down and get us, but we were pretty fried by then. 

When we got back to Asheville, Toni had made arrangements to have us back up (she'd pick us up with her truck). She was going to have us and another artist that we could interview over for a big Italian feast. I can't wait to see the view from her house and I'm relieved that she'll be driving. It's so interesting to visit other people's lives with this project and see what drives them to make huge changes. In this case, Toni & Gregory left a hectic life in Miami behind for life on the edge of the grid. They grow lots of their own food and life a much more solitary life now. My biggest question is: How did a nice Italian-American gal like you end up on the top of this mountain throwing pots?

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.