Pickin' Home

Pickin’in the park! Many people who think they know me will be surprised that I was even interested, let alone that I thoroughly enjoyed it and almost danced. It’s an every Thursday thing at Horseshoe Bend Park in McCaysville, and I plan to make it a weekly event. Right alongside the Toccoa River where people paddle or tube by, fishermen wade in and sling fly poles for river trout and people of all ages grill or just picnic while the pickers pick.

I have to admit I have always loved Bluegrass and I even sang along to the old time gospel tunes. Then I walked down to the next pavilion and even more musicians were jammin’ away with real foot-stompin’ music. I couldn’t keep my feet still and my hands clapped happily until one older gentleman motioned me up several times.

            “Oh, no. I don’t know how.”

            “She’ll teach ya,” he responded, pointing to his wife.

Soon, very soon, I will learn mountain dancing.

Many of you have followed my travels and my search for a home. Many have seen the photo of the farm I was looking at and it IS lovely, however it is a rental. Most importantly, it doesn’t have a bathtub. This may be a small thing to some, but it was the deal breaker for me. Since it was a rental, I couldn’t do any modifications, so I would be living for years without a tub. Can’t do it.

I have found a home though. And it will be MINE. It’s obviously smaller than what I’ve been looking at but I can add because it’s MINE. Plan to add onto the porch so that it wraps around and add a fireplace and another room. All in good time, my pretty, all in good time—coz’ it’s MINE. It’s a cute little 2 bedroom on ¾ acres—which I’ve found is plenty—where I can have my chickens, a cow, and a nice size garden.

It’s one of six homes on a dead-end gravel road. Its several hundred wooded acres across the gravel road and wooded acres behind. One way in and one way out. Completely secluded BUT not isolated. This was quickly becoming a concern as I looked at houses on the side of mountains, in the middle of forests, without people for miles. What if something happens? Additionally, neighbors, across a fence are not a bad thing.

                        6.24.11 (Middle Ground)

Sharing secrets over the picket fence

Neighbors become closer

Choosing to embrace differences

Sharing memories, encouraging futures 

~Jules Paige on Writing Our Way Home

So, the move date is July 8. Heading back to Chicago, load up my storage unit, pickup my cats from my daughter’s, and heading south for good. It’s been destined. Everything just fell into place in its proper timing; I just moved over and let it happen.

Once it’s all settled, I can then check with the Blue Ridge Arts Association about writing workshops, check with FLAGG for the same, get knee deep involved with the community gardening organization Feed Fannin, and the Blue Ridge Humane Society. Number one priority is to sit on that porch and write, write, write. The dream is unfolding now that I’ve chased it down!! 

Another really cool thing about the location of this house is that it is right around the corner from all the stuff I started this post with. Actually, a 5 minute drive to go pickin', tubin' and fishin'. 

Tourist Towns

So yesterday, I headed north to McCaysville, Ga. to stop at two places about advertising in their local newspaper. The one, IGA, is a grocery store, and you'd think they'd want to advertise in their local paper, so that the local residents would know their sales. I talked to the owner once and have yet to get her live, no matter how many times I drive the 15 miles to McCaysville.

Just like Blue Ridge, McCaysville is in Fannin County and also on the Toccoa River (which is also the Ocoee River around the corner) where lots of white water rafting takes place. Lots of white water rafting companies up and down the highway. McCaysville's "main street" is full of cute little boutiques, BBQ joints, and souvenir shops. Alas, none of which is for the locals.

I started out yesterday early because I wanted to make the trip north then come back and hit some stores in Blue Ridge. 8:30am I pulled out of the 90 degree driveway onto Highway 5--which was totally empty--at 8:30am. This is nice coming from Chicago where traffic is bumper to bumper at that time, and crowds of people huddle at corner bus stops and on train platforms. Yes, it is nice and yes, it's what I was looking for coming south, but really, it is quite disconcerting. Especially, if you're attempting to do business--or eat breakfast.

Breakfast was my plan because I knew I was in a slow-start area. What the tourist towns fail to realize is that there are people who live in these areas, people who require services just as the tourists, and it would be nice if we (the locals, of whom I am now one) could get some service before 11 or 12 when the tourists roll out of their mountain cabin rentals. I stopped to ask the souvenir guy and he rattled off a couple names, and then quickly corrected himself that they were closed.

"There's the American Diner down the road, but you want a sit down?"

Well, yeah that's what I had in mind. Fifteen minutes and 20 miles later, I got to sit down at Hardees in Ducktown, Tn. By the time I’d eaten, drove back to stop at those places, talk to folks who aren’t the least bit interested in advertising for the locals, I got back to Blue Ridge just in time for lunch—so of course no one wanted to talk business. I don’t know if I’m still internally on Chicago time or if the days here are just shorter. The work days!

Today, I chose to walk around downtown Blue Ridge (90+ degrees with 90+ humidity percentage and no breeze) to stop in at all their cute little boutiques for the tourists. They also were not the least bit interested in advertising for the locals. Do the locals not want to know what your lunch and dinner specials are? Do they not want to know the hours of the used book store, or the music store? Here’s one I don’t understand at all: the feed store, certainly the locals want to know all about this store. Maybe they do, but no one has told the owners yet that it would be beneficial to advertise in the local newspaper.

In the city, not doing print advertising is understandable—everyone uses the internet. This just isn’t so in this small town of 1200 people. Very few have computers let alone internet, and everyone loves their newspaper. How to convince the store owners? They’re locals. Tomorrow I will make follow up calls—a few. Afterward, we’re doing exciting stuff, meeting with old timers to get their stories and some recipes. Recipes are my idea. They will go together nicely with the garden poetry I hope to get from the elementary students at their community garden project. Put it all together in a homey cookbook that can be sold at the farmers market to benefit Feed Fannin. My idea. Pretty good, huh?

Tonight, the temps have dropped, the wind is rustling the leaves, and I’m blogging to document my journey so that I can compile all with some kitschy pictures in a personal essay anthology. Yay me! I'm also hoping I can keep the bedroom windows open without a bunch of little creepy, crawling and flying little critters making their way through the screens. I already hear them tap, tap, tapping.