Other than a flutter of eyelids and a gentle sway of the curtain the house was hushed in sleep. A moment later, more fluttering, a sign that full consciousness was not far behind. Eventually, the eyes open to sunlight peeking in. A shiver runs through the woman. It is unclear if this is from anticipation or the nip in the air that blows gently through the open windows.
She stirs a while longer, slowly letting the morning in. She rises and heads to the kitchen to make her morning coffee. Gazing out the window above the sink, she begins to go through a mental checklist of the last things that need to be done before they can be on their way. The cooler will need to be packed. The plants need to be watered. The dew still glistens on the grass, turning it a vibrant shade of green and pulling her thoughts from her to-do list to the adventure ahead.
The day had finally arrived. The woman and her husband were journeying by car from western North Carolina to West Virginia. Nearly 20 years earlier, the couple had traveled through with their small children, long before cell phones and car navigation. Long before blogs detailing vacation spots with recommendations for where to stay, eat, and play. Back then, the information one found on the internet was limited, and travel was done with direction printouts and paper maps.
This time would be different. There was no planning required to entertain small children for long hours in the car. Blogs had been scoured and the area had been researched thoroughly. They had pored over pictures of the area in amazement and watched videos of hikes and campgrounds both from on the ground and overhead by drones.
And now, their car packed with necessities, they kissed and hugged their three cats goodbye, and pulled out onto the road. Other than some minor arguing from morning crankiness and impatience to get going, both were in good spirits. They were looking forward to stepping out of someone else’s story and writing their own. Underneath the excitement, a mood of melancholy threatened to emerge, as the woman was reluctant to leave her cats. She worried about their happiness while she was away. Each time she traveled, it was so difficult to leave them behind. Occasionally they were able to come along on the journeys, but this was not the trip for them. There would be too much time spent on the road and not enough time to settle into a new place.
They left the Asheville area headed west on Interstate 26 through Weaverville into Madison County and over Sam’s Gap into Tennessee. From there they merged onto Interstate 81 headed north towards Bristol. The man was driving as he was wont to do. He secretly did not trust the woman’s skill behind the wheel. This was ironic because along the curvy mountain roads, the woman would repeatedly grab her door in alarm as the man would abruptly swerve to keep the vehicle on the road. He was so busy looking at the scenery that they narrowly missed a sudden death on multiple occasions. On this particular day, he was looking for bristly locust growing along the roadside. This small upright shrub native only to the southeastern United States and recognized by its purply-pink flowers was a rarity. If you must know, only two were spotted that morning, one by the man, and the other by the woman.
Once they arrived in Bristol, they stopped at the Virginia Welcome Center. The woman needed to stretch her legs, so upon exiting the ladies room, she headed into the main area to look around. An exuberant employee immediately welcomed her, as the sign had warned, and thrust a map of Virginia in her hand. “Where are you headed today?”
“We are headed up to West Virginia,” was the woman’s curt reply. Tired from the road, the woman was not exactly in the mood for the obvious excitement this employee had for her job.
“Where are you coming from? Do you mind if I sign the guest book for you with your zip code?” The questions kept coming and the woman knew if she didn’t make a hasty exit she would be spending her entire afternoon here. Then, as if on cue, the door opened, dragging in another unsuspecting traveler. While the woman was distracted by the new visitor, the employee pressed into her hand a 185 page travel guide and shooed her out the door, already marching over to the older gentleman who had recently entered.
As expected, the man was waiting not so patiently at the car, locked out as the woman had the key in her purse. Being a man, he was quickly distracted and a little too delighted by the new map. They merged back onto the highway, ready to get on with their journey. They soon left the highway behind and made their way through Abingdon on Highway 19 through rolling farmland and boulder dotted fields on the way to Burkes Garden in Tazewell. And oh, what a gift from God that valley was! This magnificent landscape was the reason the couple had decided to make this journey to begin with.
Driving in, one could see out over this high mountain valley, gaze at farmland and homesteads from many years ago. They were taken back to a simpler time, one without modern technology and amenities, of seclusion and farming the land. They drove past an old school house still in use today, churches and graveyards, housing the loved ones of the community from times past. At the top of the valley sat an old post office that had most likely served additionally as both gas station and store.
They did not linger as two hours remained of their journey before they would arrive at their first night’s accommodations. As luck would have it, their navigation system had better ideas for them than a quick route via a speedy highway. It chose to instead take them down the twisty, turny back roads where ancient farmhouses appeared around every curve. Some were thriving with families, others had not been so fortunate and had fallen into ruin. Each was beautiful in its own way and it was soon to be noted by both the man and the woman that despite the lengthy travel, this was the chosen path to Lewisburg.
One more stop had to be made. The Greenbrier is an enormous inn located in White Sulphur Springs, a town just outside Lewisburg.
They were allowed to drive through but were warned by security at the gate that there was a large event going on and to drive carefully to avoid the vintage cars on the property. The woman would have loved to tour inside, but settled instead for a quick drive through. They both appreciated the grandeur of the outside, the small, quaint cottages nestled side by side for guests stays, and other structures that dotted the property.
Before they knew it, they were checking in at the adorable tiny home they had rented for the night. Weary as they were, they decided to venture into town, where they stopped at The Old Red Mill Taphouse and Grill in downtown Lewisburg. There the man enjoyed a savory pot roast that he promptly described as ‘tender as your eye’. The woman chose for herself a lovely country garden pizza and had plenty of leftovers to take along on her next day’s journey. After dinner they wandered along the storefronts for a time, to stretch their legs and window shop. Two places caught their eye and pulled them inside. The first was an old house turned antique store called Brick House Antiques. They roamed from room to room, admiring the contents but leaving empty handed.
The second place was a quaint bookstore housed in a historic building, complete with an inset entryway. A New Chapter Bookstore was a magical place, full of doors to other worlds.
While the woman browsed the rows and rows of books, the man analyzed the structure of the building. He was amazed by the original industrial architecture, how the steam pipes and the electrical fixtures managed to skirt the edges, preserving the ornate metal ceiling tiles. He wondered where the boiler was located (probably in the basement), and was impressed by the stained glass picture of a cat (bookstore cat) because there was no real cat; the owner brought her dog to the store. Meanwhile, the woman couldn’t escape without purchasing a new book and picking up a couple of bookmarks for herself and her mother.
The couple then wandered back to the tiny cottage where they retired for the night. While some might think the place lacked in size, the couple found it perfect in every way. The decor was tastefully eclectic, and it oozed with charm.
Calming colors and cozy patterns and fabrics, antique furnishings, it was fully stocked with everything they needed. It housed a comfortable brass bed, clean bathroom with hot shower, and a small kitchenette with a bar, serving the needs of both the diner and the writer.
