Downtown Cruisers in Lenoir

Posted on December 2, 2014 by gapperson

By Dustin Swope -2014

The town of Lenoir is one of North Carolina’s best examples of a community that keeps up with the times without cleaving itself into an urban metropole and a suburban sprawl. Residents come off as bright and polite, but there’s no denying that Lenoir is by most accounts a quiet, reserved town. Once a month, however, Lenoir becomes a near-unrecognizable sea of activity as the downtown undergoes a remarkable transformation to host the Lenoir Downtown Cruisers Auto Show.

Normally when you hear crowds, you think of elbow-rubbing that turns into elbow-throwing, small children without the words they need to tell their parents that they want to go home, and of course, sweat stains. The type of crowd that the Lenoir Downtown Cruisers pull together is so far from that uncomfortable image, but I have to say that the October 2014 rally was exceptionally pleasant. The main streets in downtown Lenoir are shut down for the auto show, reserving all roadside parking to put the cars on display and leaving plenty of space for attendees to drift from one eye-catching ride to the next without bumping into one another or causing a traffic jam.

According to estimates from the friendly folks working the event and Lenoir Downtown Cruisers President, Steve Cardwell himself(!), this particularly rally had attracted between 400 and 600 registered drivers looking for some well-earned recognition. Add in the throngs of Lenoir locals, car enthusiasts, and people just looking for a light-hearted saturday among good company, and it’s no surprise that the total headcount for the auto show was approaching 5,000 during peak hour. What was surprising was that all of these people, complete with cars, booths, and the like, could pack this modest little town without it feeling, well, packed!

The key here is the sprawl: Lenoir offers the auto show both sides of nine blocks and three parking lots. This spaces everything out so that each car gets its own stage and a cut of the spotlight, but it also makes for a pretty enjoyable stroll around the area as you make your way along. Not once in over three hours did I see one non-owner touch a show car, and this without one yard of electrified cattle fencing or a hyper-alert owner treating visitors as if they’d come with the explicit purpose of kicking a headlight in. With such a relaxed environment, it was hard not to strike up a conversation with owners about their cars; they can tell when people like their cars, and they always have a great story behind their ride.

Another great thing about the Lenoir Downtown Cruisers shows is that there is no shortage of diversity, in either cars or drivers. If you have your heart set on finding a ‘42 Chevy pickup truck like your grandfather used to drive and show your friends a 2014 Corvette ZR1 like the kind you’re going to buy as soon as you cash your next paycheck, you’re in luck – The two cars will probably be parked right next to each other.

Take a minute to talk to the drivers and you’ll encounter reason after another to keep believing that anything is possible. For instance, a seventy-year old man showcasing a convertible pink ‘74 Cadillac he won in a poker game and a mother of three running the family’s Pontiac Firebird in stock drag races on the weekends would be highlights in their own right at most other events. At the Lenoir Downtown Cruisers shows though, these two characters aren’t just real, and it’s not just that they’re at the same place at the same time. No, this auto show pulls together car enthusiasm that defines families and perforates entire communities, so it should be no surprise that pink Caddy-driving grandpa is drag-racing mother of three’s father in law – Each blazing their own trail in the four-wheeled world, but coming together to share with and celebrate each other here in Lenoir.

The Lenoir Cruisers are definitely one of the most eclectic, open, and mutually appreciative automotive communities I’ve ever encountered, but if you spend enough time at one like I did, you start to realize that people come here to celebrate more than cars; people are here to celebrate what living in a community of family and friends means to them. Once I’d explored every avenue of downtown Lenoir, asking how people came to own their cars and what their day-job was along the way, I sat down at the speaker’s square to enjoy the live music and take in the scene from afar. Even from my stationary viewpoint, there was no shortage of children holding their parents’ hands, couples old and young alike walking together, clusters of kids out for a night on the town with minimum parental supervision, business owners affirming their place in the community, out-of-town’ers visiting Lenoir for the day to spice up their weekend and see a new side of North Carolina, and so on. It was the kind of scene that makes you think about what matters most, and I think that the Lenoir Cruisers auto show makes it very clear what that answer should be.

A Bridge Made to Blossom

Posted on November 20, 2014 by mreilova

By Gina Apperson – 2014

There’s a certain beauty and mystery associated with bridges. When crossing them, we often don’t know what lies on the other side. As emblems of travel, bridges are quintessential parts of any journey, helping us reach our destination quicker and easier. But one bridge in the community of Lake Lure, North Carolina, encourages us to rest and realize that the joy is in the journey itself.

Crossing the Rocky Broad River that runs along Highway 64, the Lake Lure Flowering Bridge, a community pedestrian bridge, brings to life the history, community and natural beauty of the Hickory Nut Gorge in western North Carolina.

When the historic 1925 bridge closed to traffic in 2011, it was a childhood memory of Lake Lure resident, Bill Miller, that inspired the idea to transform the bridge into a community garden. After traveling to the Bridge of Flowers in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts, Miller continued to envision the Massachusetts trolley bridge garden, giving him the motivation to create a similar project in the southeast. When volunteers gathered to move earth and prepare plants in April 2013, Miller’s dream, now a vision held by the community, began to bloom.

As we traveled the scenic route of Highway 64, between Chimney Rock State Park and the town of Lake Lure, I remembered my family vacation to Lake Lure in 2010: the time we visited Chimney Rock, hiked to waterfalls and explored the Rocky Broad River, jumping into the stream and eating ice cream outside the Harley Davidson shop. After we drove past the town of Chimney Rock Village, this time, my travel partners, Dustin and Miranda, and I pulled into the west side of the Flowering Bridge around noon. Rainbow petals greeted us and small chair wrapped in flower branches displayed hand-painted signs that invited us to “come and sit a while” in the gardens. We meandered the 155-foot stone path across the bridge slowly, giving us the chance to uncover the beauty rooted in the bridge.

We started off in the Rock and Succulent Garden, one of the twelve themed stone-faced garden beds along the bridge. The orange flowers reflecting sunshine from the cloudless sky attracted a Monarch butterfly, which made Miranda and I run over to snap photos.. Strolling further, we found the Whimsical Garden, full of uncommon plants like Harry Lauder’s Walking Stick with its twisting branches that look like a corkscrew, growing to heights around eight to ten feet. Gnomes and oversized mushrooms keep the other plants and flowers in the garden company: the Flying Dragon plant, Polka Dot plant and the festive Candy Corn plant.

Miranda and I paused in the center of the bridge, leaning on the railing to look where the river meets Lake Lure, the man-made lake created in 1927 with 21 miles of forested shoreline. Turning around, we realized we could also enjoy views of the Chimney Rock monolith in the mountains of the Hickory Nut Gorge upstream. The vistas echoed the wild beauty found on the Flowering Bridge, affirming the bridge’s recent nickname, “The Gateway to Somewhere Beautiful.”

Continuing through the gardens, we arrived to the east end of the bridge where a 1920s period iron gate welcomes visitors with the words, “Lake Lure Flowering Bridge” etched into its arch. Next to the welcome gate grows one of the bridge’s natural treasures: “the rarest of the rare native trees.” The Franklin Tree, with its changing red leaves, was discovered by the famed botanist, John Bartman, and his son, William, in 1765 along the banks of Georgia’s Altamaha River and named after their friend, Benjamin Franklin. The plant disappeared from the wild completely in 1803, but through the efforts of the Bartmans, this member of the tea family survives today. All Franklin Trees planted today trace back to the seeds originally collected by the father and son, making this a truly native plant. Other plants on the Flowering Bridge recognize and honor the past. Two Flight 93 roses, gifts to the Flowering Bridge, grow on the west end of the bridge. These hybrid tea roses were planted to recognize the courage of the men and women on board United’s Flight 93 during September 11.

In addition to the roses and the Franklin Tree, other unique plants of the Flowering Bridge include the North Carolina Wildflowers of the Year. For 2014, the Garden Club of North Carolina, Inc. chose the purple-petaled Hoary Skullcap, a member of the mint family, as the Wildflower of the Year. The flowers’ aromatic leaves give the bridge a refreshing feel, and its long bloom period allows visitors to see its lavender sock-puppet-shaped petals for longer stretches of the year. The oasis of natural art comes together with the partnerships of nurseries, local artisans and construction companies through the nonprofit, Friends of the Lake Lure Flowering Bridge. While the birds, butterflies and plants all converse along the bridge, the community behind it all is an essential element. The Flowering Bridge captured the imagination of Lee Armstrong, who currently serves as a member of the nonprofit’s Board of Directors. Lee and her husband, Mike, embraced Bill Miller’s vision to create the garden from the start. As visitors from more than 40 states and 21 countries have experienced the bridge, Lee notes the light and energy in their eyes as they learn about different plants and dream up new ideas for their own gardens. The bridge also gives a sense of purpose for the residents in Lake Lure and Chimney Rock. Lee calls it the “garden connection,” as the bridge becomes “a beautiful catalyst for collaboration and creativity, for unity and innovation.” The Flowering Bridge connects to Lake Lure’s Town Hall and the Town Center Walkways, making it the perfect center for other business to take root. Since the opening of the bridge, Carolina Moon Coffee Café opened on the east end of the bridge and plans for new developments in the area have taken place. At the same time, the future is blossoming for the bridge itself, with plans to extend the gardens another 200 feet on the west side.

After spending a half hour in the gardens, Dustin, Miranda and I walked back to the car, parked next to Boys Camp Road on the west end of the bridge. Here we noticed the open space for the gardens’ extension, perfect for nature’s artistic touch. Miranda and I turned to get final photos of the bridge and Dustin did handstands in the grassy area by the car. Getting back on the road, we realized the importance of traveling slowly, even if it means stopping on the side of the road, just to experience the land around us. The Flowering Bridge, our first taste of Lake Lure’s mountain air this October, proved to be the place where we could reflect on our memories and relish in our journey.

Back in the Mountains

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Miranda Allan – 2014

You can take the girl out of the mountains, but you can’t take the mountains out of the girl.

Nothing sets me on edge like when people criticize rural living. I lived in southeast New Hampshire for eighteen years and I look forward to the day that I will settle there again. I can promise that a country lifestyle is the farthest thing from boring. My hometown (population 4,000) is situated within an hour or two from the mountains, the ocean, and the great city of Boston. Rural communities are plentiful with outdoor activities such as hiking, camping, swimming, boating, rock-climbing, biking, and snow and water skiing, to name only a few. I miss the variety of recreation in the suburbs, so when I found myself in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, I felt like I had found a place where I belonged, though for only a short time.

I didn’t realize that I had been craving the mountain life until I was back in it. The mountains weren’t exactly new to me, but in the best way. I had the unique experience of adding new places to my travels while also feeling as if I was going home.

My sense of newfound nostalgia peaked as my group members and I drove up to Jump Off Rock in Hendersonville. Dustin, our driver, was enjoying the breakneck turns too enthusiastically for me to fully take in my surroundings, but what I did see was comparable to some of the most beautiful vistas I’ve ever experienced. I carry with me a vivid picture of the morning sunlight breaking over a ridge and spilling into the valley of an impeccably rustic golf course. From our vantage point on the road running serpentine along its rim, I could look down onto the oak trees punctuating the greens. Though it was a very brisk morning in the foothills, I could easily see the temptation that draws golfers back to the course time and again.

I also have a great fondness for mountain people. If I may impart a generalization, I think that those who perform good, honest labor tend to be good, honest people. The wonderful thing about the mountains is that usually people visit or live there out of genuine desire to do so. I did not come across anyone in Lake Lure or Lenoir suffering from cabin fever; everyone seemed genuinely pleased to be a local. I’m not pretending that this is always the case; certainly there are those who are stuck in a situation they can’t avoid, but generally speaking the mountains have a higher concentration of content inhabitants and tourists.

Mountaineers are rugged, warm, and utterly lacking in affect. You simply don’t see people putting on airs for each other in a town like Bat Cave. Maybe this is because smaller towns feel more familial. No one wishes to compete with or belittle their neighbor in such tight quarters; it is only logical to treat each other with respect and kindness. Perhaps I’m cheesy (one could make a very strong case that I am) but in my opinion there is a distinction between a municipality and a community. It was my heartfelt pleasure to visit these friendly communities along Highway 64.

Or perhaps it is the vitalizing quality of the mountain air that breeds goodness. I have a longstanding belief (founded on virtually no actual knowledge) that clean, chlorophyll-enriched air is good for the constitution. It’s possible that I’ve read too many Jane Austen novels where Victorian young ladies escape from stuffy sitting rooms to the countryside to improve their health, but the fact of the matter is that fresh air makes me feel cleansed. There is nothing more gratifying than taking pure, brisk air into your lungs when you have been breathing climate control for weeks. So yes, mountain air makes me feel good.

On that frigid morning atop Jump Off Rock, I felt a twinge of that sweet sadness that signals a small wave of homesickness. The tableau may be cliché: a displaced country girl waxing nostalgia as she gazes upon a distant mountain ridge. Still, I would be a negligent travel writer if I didn’t report on my Highway 64 experience in such detail. Honestly, nostalgia is a welcome feeling sometimes. I was happy to be reminded of a thousand childhood memories that could easily have taken place in the foothills of North Carolina, under different circumstances. Home is a plane ride away but I’ll never be more than a short car ride away from the mountains.

Sorrento’s Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Katie Stewart – 2014

As we pulled into the shopping center that houses Sorrento’s Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria in Statesville, Gina and I were skeptical. It was sandwiched between two small shops in a strip mall, and from the outside, it was not clear whether it was even a sit-down restaurant. Our skepticism changed when we walked inside to a nice, modestly decorated Italian restaurant. It had an authentic feel that one might not expect from a shopping center in Statesville, North Carolina.

The walls were decorated with paintings and the lighting was not too harsh or too dim. My favorite touch was the curtains drawn over the windows, blocking the view of the parking lot to give the illusion that we were not in a strip mall restaurant. It seemed that the owner knew that the location was not ideal, but was able to make up for it in atmospheric changes on the inside.

After we sat down, a young waiter with a heavy Italian accent greeted us and took our drink orders. After a long day at the Carolina Balloon Fest, we were starving and eager to eat some great Italian food. The meal began with a salad and bread. The balsamic vinaigrette was house-made and surprisingly flavorful. It was a great addition to the fresh lettuce and toppings. The menu was extensive. The pasta menu alone allowed you to choose the type of pasta with any dish you ordered. I decided on the Caprese with penne pasta, complete with tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella, and fresh basil. The sauce was mild and light, just how I like it. The cheese went well with the dish, blending into the tomato sauce to add a creamy texture to it. And of course fresh basil is a must in a Caprese dish. The pasta had just the right amount of each ingredient and the penne was perfectly al dente.

The service was prompt until the very end of our meal, when our waiter seemed to get busy with other tables. He offered us dessert – which we turned down because we both ate most of our pasta and plenty of bread – and then did not bring us our check for quite a while. Aside from that, we were both very pleased with our experience at Sorrento’s Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria. The atmosphere was impressive and the food hit the spot after our long day of traveling.

Richard Parr, Hot Air Balloon Pilot

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Katie Stewart – 2014

How many people can call themselves a hot air balloon pilot? Not many. Richard Parr of Pittsboro, North Carolina has been flying planes, balloons, and gliders for 55 years, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon. We found Richard and his friend John sitting in camp chairs next to their truck at the Carolina BalloonFest in Statesville. The annual October festival began in 1974 and each year it draws thousands of spectators to watch the launch of dozens of balloons. After 41 consecutive years, the festival holds the record for being the second longest held hot air balloon event in the United States. The festival has events for three days, including a spectacular Saturday night balloon glow. Each morning pilots fly their balloons into the festival, and in the evening they launch again to fly out of the festival. Gina and I made it to the final launch on Sunday to watch balloons flyout of the festival.

Although we started to feel a bit antsy waiting in the grass for the balloons to appear, it was well worth it to stick around and watch such a magical show. Plus, meeting Richard meant we had an insider’s look at what goes into flying a hot air balloon. When we asked why Richard flies hot air balloons, he gave a simple answer: it’s fun. He gave us some advice that everyone should hear: do what you like. He stressed how important it is to find something we enjoy because we will have fun doing it and it will make us happy. These are wise words worth remembering from a man who has clearly found his passion. He likes to be in the sky, flying towards the clouds, and he enjoys the challenge of navigating in changing air conditions, which can often prove very difficult. Richard explained that balloons are only flown in the morning and evening because wind conditions are more predictable during those times of the day. Pilots are given wind conditions for the day and steer according to the information available to them. Richard always has a print-out of the day’s wind conditions, but sometimes he uses his iPad to see the exact wind conditions when he is in the sky. Richard has two balloons, one for competition and one for passengers, and he flies them in Michigan, Indiana, Texas, and North Carolina. He participates in competitions in which balloon pilots are given a map marked with specific targets. The goal of one of the competitions is to fly in from at least one mile away and drop a small marker on the target. In another competition, pilots are given an area on a map to drop their marker and they must calculate the furthest point from the center. Once they find this point, they must drop their marker so that it is on the edge of the given area, but not outside of it. It sounds complicated, but Richard loves the challenge.

Hot Air Balloon Carolina Balloon Fest

The average hot air balloon is eight stories tall and typically flies at a maximum altitude of 2,000 feet, but Richard has braved heights of 11,000 feet in his balloons. Imagine standing in a hilly field on a beautiful sunny day, surrounded by giant balloons being inflated and taking off one by one. That’s exactly what we got to do at the BalloonFest. Wicker baskets were scattered in the grass, standing as tall as my shoulders, and pressurized fire was being blown into multi-colored balloons. The balloons came in all different colors, and some were even shaped like animals. There was a giant pink flying pig, an owl, and a cat. In the field, the balloons were at all different stages of the preparation process. Some were just being unfolded and laid on the ground; others were nearly ready to take off with pilots and passengers. Every time we turned around, there was another balloon flying away that was laying flat on the ground like a tarp or just half inflated when we last saw it.

Although we spoke to Richard well before the hot air balloons took flight, we saw him again when all the pilots and their crews were preparing their balloons for the final launch of the weekend. His words about finding something fun that we love to do came to mind when I saw him standing in his wicker basket talking to his crewmembers as his balloon inflated. He looked absolutely ecstatic to be at the Carolina Balloon Fest with his friends, doing what he loves.

Richard was a true example of someone who follows his passions and focuses on doing what he enjoys. Seeing him so happy before the last launch of the weekend left a lasting impression on me that I hope I will always remember, along with his advice to do what I enjoy.

Need a lift? Visit Richard Parr’s ballooning company, Mystic Venture, to book a ride.

1841 Café

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Miranda Allan – 2014

On the day my team arrived in Lenoir, we were joined by hundreds of others who make the weekly pilgrimage to the Cruise-In antique car show. For a town that frequently hosts such a massive event, Lenoir has only a few staple restaurants that receive almost as much traffic as Highway 64. My team followed the crowd to the cozy 1841 Café. We did not have far to walk, as the restaurant is conveniently located on Main Street in a central area that is blocked off for the car show.

I was immediately charmed by the building’s up-cycled warehouse feel. The distressed brick walls, cathedral ceilings, worn wood floors, and exposed piping lent an aesthetic of industrialism that was paired nicely with the enormous, colorful paintings by local artists. The furniture was mismatching in a quirky, modern way. Our table was created from an antique door that had been covered by a sheet of glass. I could see the 1841 Café fitting nicely in a trendy Northern town, but at the same time, I appreciated that the restaurant was clearly embedded in local culture.

The menu was no exception. Loaded with southern flair, it offered many tantalizing options for dinner. As a vegetarian, I always expect to find only a handful of options to choose from, but if there is some variety I can manage. 1841 Café was special because though it featured the typical amount of vegetarian options, these were more unique and exciting than that of most restaurants. I found myself deliberating at length between the portabella sandwich on a house-made croissant, or the vegetarian grits. I settled eventually on the latter, given that I was in a southern town aiming to experience a genuine southern lifestyle. To top it off, I ordered a side of fried okra. In hindsight, I suppose I was only missing the sweet tea.

Honestly, I was dubious of grits but I ordered them on principle. My meal put these worries to rest. I enjoyed that the smoky cream sauce balanced the mild sweetness of the grits. The soft, grainy texture of the grits complemented the crunch of the vegetables. My fried okra was exactly what I wanted fried okra to be: crispy, crunchy, and perhaps a little slimy to my northern palate. I ate the entire dish, and brought home the rest of my grits. I enjoyed my meal enough to eat cold vegetables and grits the next morning, as my microwave was broken. 1841 Café fully satisfied my hunger for a genuine southern experience.

Meeting Artists in Hendersonville

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Miranda Allan – 2014

Let me preface this profile by saying that we happened upon Hendersonville’s 55th Annual Art on Main Festival unintentionally. That’s not to say that we didn’t do our research before donning our backpacks and slinging our cameras around our necks, because we did. Sometimes things fall through the cracks, but in this case it was a happy accident that we turned a corner onto the right street on the right day and found the fair. In that way it seemed all the more lovely, as if Hendersonville had given us a gift.

It was a cold, bright Saturday morning that we explored the town. On either side of Main Street artists had set up white canvas tents, hunkered together to block the wind like penguins. Over seventy artists had gathered from all over the southeast region to display their work. The tents had three sides, with the open fronts facing the sidewalk. I took a certain pleasure from approaching a new tent, not knowing what type of art it might contain. The artists specialize in materials ranging from glass, ceramics, wood, fiber, paint, photography, jewelry, and mixed media. It was a treat to see a tent filled with supple wooden kitchen utensils next to one that sells glass planters shaped like diamonds. More than a few items caught my eye as possible holiday gifts (wouldn’t my mom be pleased with a left-handed spatula?) but I resisted. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t.

Scattered among the tents were fiberglass sculptures of bears standing six feet tall. Each bear is molded and painted differently by the individual organizations that designed them. The bears are part of a public art display called “Bearfootin’ in Hendersonville.” Each year, locals and visitors alike enjoy the hunt for that cherished hokey photo with their preferred bear. Hendersonville radiates creativity, from the gorgeous murals on brick walls to the colorful displays in shop windows (such as a skeleton bride riding a wicker motorcycle).

After ducking into a few tents, I found a favorite in the work of Joey Sheehan. Joey is a ceramics artist. I have to say, I’m a sucker for homemade pottery. I live for the day that I will fill my perfectly up-cycled farmhouse with locally made tableware and vases. Joey’s pieces fit perfectly with this vision. On a simple wood shelf he had laid out his mugs, bowls, plates, jars, pitchers, crocks, teapots, serving plates, and vases – each more impossibly beautiful than the last. I find ceramic art so appealing because every piece is organic in both form and design. You can’t replicate the same cup twice, but a set of four cups is consistent in their inconsistencies. Joey’s pieces feature two motifs: a spiral much like a nautilus shell, or a tapering zig-zag which is sometimes incorporated into the rings of the spiral design. He displays complete control of his glazing, and sometimes allows different hues within a color family to drip and meld together until the viewer cannot discern where the colors and patterns diverge. The effect is stunning.

I spoke with his wife, Mandy, about his process. Joey uses high-fire clay and stoneware. Typically, he throws onto a wheel but does venture in hand building methods on occasion. After constructing the form of the item, he paints on a white porcelain slip for the first firing. The slip allows him to build designs into the clay that will later be pulled forward with colored glazes. After the initial wood fire, he applies five to ten coats of glaze using a spray-gun. For the second firing, he uses a gas-fired reduction kiln that makes the glaze melt faster. Joey has been creating pottery full-time for about eight years. He graduated Magna Cum Laude in Ceramics at Virginia Polytechnic Institute, with accolades to spare. In XX he renovated and founded a co-operative art gallery. The Asheville Ceramics Gallery co-operative consists of local artists in the River Arts District of North Carolina. Joey’s own shop is called Melting Mountain Pottery.

Though I was reluctant to leave Joey’s art behind, I ventured onward to a tent manned by George Getty, a retired seventh grade math teacher turned woodworker. He told me that he got into woodworking because he was worried about “dying of boredom.” His shop, Mountain Creek Woodworks, is certainly creative. Like most wood shops, he sells tables, chairs, and cutting boards, but he also has a few specialty projects like lollipop trees, wine racks, and “the world’s most comfortable Adirondack.” George boasts that he has found the perfect proportions in his Adirondack chair – neither too low nor too wide.

I’m a tactile shopper – I run my fingertips over surfaces and around edges as if to get an understanding of the object’s physical essence. George’s art was no exception. I was drawn to his tent by the way the morning light was reflected so evenly on the matte surface of the unstained wood. His pieces felt as soft and warm as they looked. I can easily understand why George was compelled to take up woodcraft in his retirement. He listens to the aromas, colors, and textures of the wood to hear what it wants to become.

“Some want to become a table, some want to become chairs. You have to feel and listen to what the wood wants to do.”

Last, I spoke with Paula Marksbury of Buckhorn Ridge Studios in Athens, Tennessee. Paula specializes in kiln-formed glass works. She started in blown glass in her 20s, and began working as a glass artist fulltime in 2000. Like Joey, her process requires several firings. She uses dichroic glass that is particularly eye-catching in the way it scatters light using two or more colors. She achieves this result by layering the glass three times. The first fire melds hand-cut pieces of glass together; the second fire is used to create texture and expand on the depth started in the first; and the last fire gives the glass its final shape. After the glass has cooled, Paula typically frames the piece in wood or copper of an organic shape.

I was fascinated to learn that the dichroic glass Paula uses was originally developed by NASA. Apparently, this glass is the most reflective type of glass because it uses gold and silver flakes, as well as other metalloids. NASA used the glass in its space shuttle programs to make reflective shields, but eventually switched media because the glass is very expensive. Paula used to go to a manufacturer for her materials but now has her supplies trucked in wholesale from Denver.

Each artist I spoke with differed wildly in their trade but together they shared a common bond: their art and philosophies are influenced directly by nature. Against the backdrop of the mountains, Hendersonville felt invigorated by the crisp air and the vitality of people whose life centers on creation.

Finding a World of Art & Coffee

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Gina Apperson – 2014

A good adventure can only be fueled by coffee. As Dustin, Miranda and I began our journey in the foothills of North Carolina, inspired by the views of Blue Ridge Mountains and the changing leaves around us, one of our first stops in downtown Hendersonville was the coffee shop, Jongo Java. Coming off of Highway 64, we arrived on Main Street, where people were setting up tents for farmers’ markets and Hendersonville’s 55th annual Art on Main festival along the road. Jongo Java was easy to spot, with its lime green signage. We parked right in front of the shop, and walked in to get our first taste of the town.

I first started drinking coffee six months ago when I studied abroad in Spain and traveled around Europe. Since then, as quite the newbie coffee drinker, I tend to equate travel with coffee. I was excited to start our Highway 64 trip with a latte or mocha at Hendersonville’s first environmentally-friendly coffee shop. From what I discovered, Jongo Java not only had a good menu, but also an upbeat community vibe. From the outside, you could tell it was where the locals go.

When I first stepped into the shop, I was immediately inspired. Hand painted art dotted the walls, which were painted with different swirls of green, purple, orange and blue. Several groups of people sat at wooden tables, surrounded by different types of chairs including a yellow salon chair with a hair dryer attached. We first walked around the shop, which was pretty large with two main sections, one up at the front by the counter and one section in the back, where people were quietly working on laptops or reading. A large sculpture of a swordfish hung on a back wall with a stack of used books on a nearby shelf.

After taking a look around, I decided to try some coffee. Jack and Mariah were the two employees working behind the counter. Since I was unsure what to get (like I am at most coffee places), Mariah asked me what kind of flavors I liked. I told her anything with coconut, and then I found their “Tarzan” drink, a chocolate & coconut latte. I ordered it with almond milk, and Mariah looked for coconut shavings in the back of the store to place on top of the whipped cream foaming in the to-go cup. We chatted a little bit, and I learned more about the history of Jongo Java, which has been open for almost five years. Along with its fair trade, naturally grown coffee and espresso, Jongo Java also offers organic yogurt and smoothies made with local fruit. This appealed to me, and looking around the coffee shop, I also realized that the coffee and food isn’t the only fuel at Jongo Java.

Its atmosphere cultivates creative thoughts and a creative community. While Miranda and Dustin explored other spots in downtown Hendersonville, I felt content to sip on my coffee and talk to a retired couple from Florida in Jongo Java. Jack comes by to give them their regular Saturday morning breakfast order. They mention how they love the friendliness of Jongo Java-Jack always remembers their order. Not to mention, the dog-friendly outdoor seating area is perfect for them. This also means the world to Caroline, a young pet boutique owner, who sits at the bar area and orders a small dark coffee that morning.

Caroline is also a regular at Jongo Java, which is two blocks away from her business, Wag! Pet Boutique, which she started after college at Virginia Tech. She tells me about the other regulars at Jongo Java. Rachel is an artist. Tom is a writer. Bill is a musician. And Bob is a Wells Fargo financial advisor. They frequent the coffee shop and chat about all things from religion, to politics, from jokes to pure existence. Caroline notes the diversity in the group and the diverse culture of Hendersonville in general: people are from rural countrysides to suburban areas or southern cities. As we chat in Jongo Java, dads with their young kids come into the shop and older couples enjoy sitting in the sun by the plants in the window.

This may be my favorite thing about exploring Hendersonville: its authenticity. I felt welcomed in the coffee shop, into this community without borders, that embraces the unique, the different and out-of-place. This is the place where customers hang their personal coffee mugs on the wall. Art is accepted, whether its a drawing of coffee on a sheet of loose leaf paper or a canvas painting of bright honeydew-colored combat boots. Jongo Java is a jungle of stories, art and ideas that not only brighten the room, but energize its people. Spun in its web of artful treasures and coffee masterpieces, I not only sit in Jongo Java, I feel all of Hendersonville.

I leave Jongo Java empowered for the journey ahead. Dustin, Miranda and I take to the streets of Hendersonville, passing by multiple bear sculptures decorated for a charity auction. We see the streets full of art pieces as the cool wind blows. Then we get back into the car after we finish touring the farm and art markets. But before we head out of town, we drive two blocks away from Jongo Java to stop in the middle of the street in front of Caroline’s pet boutique. I jumped out of the car to take a peek inside. While I am not a pet person, it was interesting to see how Caroline set up her business out of college and to see how she turned a passion into a living community. A man named Ben was supplying homemade pet treats for the store and a variety of unique collars and pet accessories lined the walls inside. I thanked Caroline for all her help in making Hendersonville feel like home for the short time we were there.

Getting back in the car, I finished the last of my coffee and plugged in our next destination into the GPS on my phone. As we drove towards Bat Cave on Highway 64, my thoughts still lingered with scenes from Hendersonville. I found myself missing the coffee shops I discovered in Europe. Jongo Java would fit in perfectly with them. Its coffee served with a side of stories was my catalyst for living openly on our Highway 64 trip, welcoming the day to come.

Apple-y Ever After: Bat Cave’s Old Cider Mill and Gift Shop

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Miranda Allan – 2014

Bat Cave is the Old Cider Mill. The Old Cider Mill is Bat Cave.

Joann D’Ambra, who has been churning out apple cider and running the Applesolutely Gift Shop with her husband, John, for nine years, proudly boasts that “you’re in downtown Bat Cave in my store.” The D’Ambra’s shop sits perched at the bank of the Broad River (broad in name only; the river quiets to a sweet babble as it floats by), at the top of the town’s busiest three-way intersection. If Highway 64 takes you through town, you are practically required to stop in at the Old Cider Mill, especially if you’re not willing to brave the actual cave full of bats to which Bat Cave owes its name. There is simply no better way to pass a crisp October morning than watching John’s crew press apples and browsing through the goods in Joann’s shop.

When my team visited, the employees were in costume – for though it is the first week in October, Halloween comes early to a place called Bat Cave. In fact, bat décor can be found at any time of year. Faux-bats hang from the eaves and jack-o-lanterns peek out from behind the pillars of the old building. Dried ears of corn mingle with cartoon Draculas. A life-sized inflatable Batman perches above the “Applesolutely Gift Shop” sign. Fall and the apple season bring a special life to the store. The D’Ambras enjoy a busy season from spring to late fall, and then they receive a welcome respite in the winter months. I was very grateful for the opportunity to visit the Cider Mill during peak season. The shop wears its autumn clothes very, very well.

It was converted from a historic post office, and was renovated only to be consistent with codes rather than infringe on the integrity of the building. When the D’Ambra’s took over the Mill in 2005, townspeople voiced their concern for the building’s history. John and Joann were careful to respect their wishes. In fact, they proudly display a drawing of the original post office, which bears tribute to their efforts in keeping it alive. Joann also brought us out back to a storage room, where we were treated to the sight of the antique post office boxes. Originally used to sort mail, Joann now files one item from each batch of artisan goods that she sells. She likes looking back on the treasures that have brought color and art to her shop over the years. As an outsider looking in, the sheer volume of things in this dusty wooden grid floored me. Joann has represented many local artists in her time as shop-owner. She herself is a talented jewelry artist, drawing inspiration from seemingly insignificant materials such as a branch in the road or up-cycled aluminum.

Both the exterior and interior of the store are decorated from top to bottom with curios and memorabilia. Pages of descriptions could not do justice to the way goods burst forth from all angles, as if vying for attention. From under the porch a rainbow wall of apples greets visitors and within the shop, I lost myself among jewelry of Joann’s own creation, vintage wooden children’s toys, and canned preserves – all from local artists and farms. A closer observer might notice a jarred delicacy labeled innocently, “Pickled Baby Bat.” There’s no cause for alarm, however; the jar contains only a vinyl bat meant to keep shoppers alert. As Joann puts it, “I’m batty!”

John and Joann are more than shopkeepers; they are like honorary parents to the children of Bat Cave, a town of 176 people. Before they are even of legal working age, children come asking for work. Joann tells them she needs to ask their parents, but if they earn good grades and stay out of trouble they can someday operate the beloved apple press themselves. When their workers eventually grow up and move on, John and Joann are happy to be in attendance at their graduations and weddings. Though they do not have children themselves, the D’Ambra’s consider all the local children who have worked with them through the years to be their adoptive family.

Serena, a lovely young woman sporting a floor-length crushed velvet gown and sanguine contacts for Halloween, is one of these lucky youths. “They’re family,” she says of John and Joann. It’s plain to see the camaraderie and affection amongst the staff. Sure enough, I felt myself gradually being adopted and mothered in my time at the Old Cider Mill. The open-heartedness of the good people we spoke with was plain to be seen.

It would appear as if that goodness carries over into the inhabitants of Bat Cave. Visitors often ask Joann if she carries the many decorations from outside into the shop for safekeeping at night. Joann is happy to report that thieves have never given her any trouble. Locals respect that the D’Ambra’s establishment has given a name to Bat Cave, and anyone who has met the D’Ambra’s would never wish them harm. Stories like these make me a feel a little more secure; it’s nice to know that we share the world with some truly benevolent people.

This brings me to the cider-making process. The sight of bushels stacked on bushels of apples was lovely to behold. The cider press, an intimidating and fascinating beast of a machine, is fired up several times a day and visitors are welcome to watch. The staff all put in their hands (even a woman in an air cast!) to help make fresh cider out of only apples. That’s right: there is no sugar, no spices, no formula. Apples vary by juice content, sweetness, crispness, et cetera and each batch requires a different number of apples. Apple varieties peak at different times, and so any given batch of cider will reflect these unique tastes. No two batches are alike, but I can testify to the deliciousness of the cider I sampled. It tasted pure, like the mountain river that flows past the mill, and sweet, like the scent of October air. Only a Dixie cup of the D’Ambra’s cider was enough to turn me against store-bought cider for life. There is no parallel to fresh cider made from local apples. The leftover pulp from pressed apples is fed to cows on nearby farms, perfectly completing the circle of sustainability honored at the Old Cider Mill.

And what kind of apples do the D’Ambra’s prefer? John goes for the sweetly sour Jonagold apples, while Joann enjoys a sharp Mutsu.

A Night at Cedarwood Inn

Posted on November 19, 2014 by mreilova

By Dustin Swope – 2014

Just five minutes south of Hendersonville proper and tucked away in a network of quiet residential backroads, a collection of homestyle cottages await discovery by the weary traveler searching for a more authentic lodging experience. Plenty of people have a favorite lodge that they return to every season, but I’m here to say that the Cedarwood Inn and Event Room should be everyone’s first choice. I only had the pleasure of one night’s stay at Cedarwood Inn, but I can already tell that the mass-produced franchise lodging with towering neon signs just can’t compete.

The Inn sits on a plot of land about three acres large and features thirteen spacious rooms and five full-kitchen cottages, each with their own carport right outside the room’s door. On our visit, my two colleagues and I stayed in one of the regular rooms with a rollaway bed delivered for yours truly. We enjoyed a moment on the porch in front of our room before turning inside to find a delightful marriage of cleanliness and simple comforts.

The beds – all three of them – felt genuine and cared for, like that of a guest room in a home rather than overnight lodging. Coupling that with A/C that actually does what you ask it to (I’m looking at you, Holiday Inn) and the natural silence of mountain country, I dare say that I slept more peacefully at the Cedarwood Inn than I do most nights in my own apartment. Technology takes a supporting role rather than center stage, consisting of a modest, but modern mounted television, mini-fridge, and microwave – unless you also count the wi-fi, which you should because it’s shockingly fast and included with your room! Personally, we barely used the wi-fi because Cedarwood makes it so easy to have a perfectly nice time offline, but it was nice to know that it was there if we needed it.

Stepping out of your room at the Cedarwood Inn first thing in the morning is an experience all of its own. The wind rushing through tall trees and songbirds calling out to one another take turns breaking the sleepy quiet of the country. Crunch across the gravel to “the event room” where the front desk is and you find the shining star of the Cedarwood Inn – and no, I’m not talking about the exceptional home-cooked breakfast spread. Karen Orbaugh, the proprietor of the Inn, is one of the most sincere people one could ever hope to rent a room from. She spends 30 minutes or so preparing breakfast before it officially opens, but after that she spends the rest of her time sitting down and sharing breakfast with her guests. Forget comparing her to other lodging owners, Ms. Orbaugh is an exceptional hostess who completed my experience of Cedarwood as a home away from home… just a little better.

Whether it’s in-season or off, the Cedarwood Inn should be at the top of your list when visiting the Hendersonville area. True to their claim, my stay left me wishing I could come back “again, and again, and again.”