It seems that nowadays everybody (including yours truly) posts everything on facebook. While that’s loads of fun, it does mean that I’ve been blogging there instead of here. I apologize for the hiatus… but if you’re on facebook, join me there! There’s a business page, for Timberwolf Creek, and I have my personal page under my own name for political rants, travel posts, and pictures of my grandkids. And my dog. And my ridiculously handsome husband. So it goes.
Meanwhile, I grabbed this photo in the morning and it just sums up All Things Wonderful about living on this beautiful mountain. Moss and ivy climbing up the side of an enormous tree, ferns underfoot alongside the tumbling stream, an understory of great rhododendron, promising white bouquets in another couple of weeks… It all combines to make a cool, green, quiet space, for retreat, reflection, renewal. You can *breathe* here.
The groom did an amazing job with the weather, for yesterday’s wedding.
I awoke to pouring rain, and trudged through the deluge to collect cake and flowers over in Waynesville. On my way back, windshield wipers just keeping up with the downpour, I noticed an opening in the dark clouds – a perfect circle of blue with white puffy clouds, as if the Artist had decided to paint over the storm. Of course, it was directly over the Creek House, where the ceremony was scheduled. What’s more, it maintained that tiny bit of sunshine right through the wedding.
And although I do delegate responsibility for the weather to the groom, we both offered up a prayer yesterday morning, which was clearly answered. So, thanks, Josh. Thanks, God. Nice work.
Today’s bride requested a bouquet of purple and green. I thought to myself, “Purple and green? How in the world am I going to make that pretty?” Then she asked for a head wreath.
Ummmm, no. I know, I know, all the answers are supposed to be yes. It wasn’t easy to tell a bride no, but I wasn’t comfortable trying something so artistic, and I worried she would be disappointed. Her biggest concern was that she would bring a head wreath and it would clash with the bouquet. So. I told her to bring it. And early in the morning, when the dew was still on the moss, we walked the grounds and chose her ceremony site. She showed me her wreath – beautiful! It was green, wrapped in floral tape, and had two white silk roses, or ranunculus, and bits of silvery lavender heather woven around it. Now here was something I could work with.
None of the fuchsia pinks and red violet or mauve so many people call ” lavender” but the real thing. She wanted purple. The purple you expect in a box of eight crayons. But she wanted it toned down a bit, with that silvery gray. I was on a quest.
At the florist, my big plans came to an abrupt halt. “White hydrangea, for the center of the bouquet?” Nope. Mothers Day was last Sunday. Fresh out. Ok, white chrysanthemums? No way. Same reason. “How about just white roses, then? I’ll need them anyway. I’ll figure something out.” Certainly not, was the snappy response. (I didn’t say snippy, because I’m being polite, here, folks.) Raised eyebrows and a superior tone, words carefully clipped so as to insure I would absorb each one: It. Is. Graduation. Weekend. Ev-Er-Y-One. Wants. White. Rose. Corsages. Gee whiz, lady, I shoulda realized. Not having school-aged children any more, I had actually let that important piece of information slip right by me. (And hey. I didn’t get a white rose corsage for graduation. And -blush- neither did my mother. I’m such a cretin.) Humbled, I threw myself on her mercy and begged, “Can you help? What may I have? The bride wants purple,” and I stopped myself before saying, “and green,” because leaves are green and I didn’t want to push my luck.
In the end, I left with deep purple statice, light purple stock, white alstroemeria (Peruvian lily), eucalyptus, ferns, and a bundle of deliciously silvered purple larkspur… the exact shade of the heather in the bride’s wreath. The silvery green of the eucalyptus picked it up perfectly. But what tickled me most was the pair of roses. Not precisely white, they had been cast aside by the florist as unacceptable for her corsages. She said, offhandedly, “Oh, you could take those,” with a little wave. “They aren’t really white. They are a pale pastel green.” My life rocks.
Today’s bride, Lisa, tells me that a couple of years ago she worried about what her sons thought of Scott. They were all in the kitchen and she said, “I don’t think I’m going to call him anymore.” She turned around and both boys had stopped what they were doing. After a moment, the elder said, “Either you call him, or we will.”
While cutting the wedding cake, she announced, “Awww my sons got me a husband for mother’s day!”
Here are my thoughts re last night’s Italian wine tasting at Frankie’s Italian Trattoria… I’ll start with this: when is the next one?? Because I had SUCH a good time and thoroughly enjoyed it – tasting new wines, presented by knowledgeable people, and good food, in a great space, with a friendly crowd… Definitely repeatable. The highlight of the wine list, for me, was the Ca’ Viola Barbera d’Alba. It stole my heart.
There were nine wines, in all. The evening began on a festive note, with a sparkling Bisol Jeio Cuvee Rose Brut – pink prosecco! It was lovely, crisp, not too sweet and with the flavor one hopes for from a merlot/pinot noir blend. It tasted like summer on the porch.
It was followed by a Greco white that did nothing for me – just not my favorite grape, and this one was no different.
Next, a new white (new to me) that startled me into a Wow! What a revelation – and I’m so sorry I didn’t snag a couple of bottles (and am fervently hoping that I find it on the wine list at Frankie’s.) What is this wonderful ‘new’ white? (Stop laughing. I told you it was new to me. I haven’t tasted ALL the wines, yet. But I’m working on it.) Apparently, I’m the last person on the list to drink this wine. When I researched it a bit, I encountered things like, “Italy’s first white wine to gain international repute,” and, “one of the top-ranking Italian whites today.” Well, I am blushing. And I’m also seriously disappointed that I’m so far into my dotage before tasting such a rich white wine. It’s crisp and flinty, with lots of mineral flavor and still manages to deliver lots of citrus fruit. Nicely done! The grape is Cortese, and the region is Gavi, in the Piedmont. This one is Broglia La Meirana. It’s not often (ok never) that I find a white wine I’d drink year-round. I’m a seasonal creature: I want red wine until it’s hot outside and then I want pink or white or sparkling. Chilled. Cocktails? Give me rum or bourbon until summer strikes, and then it’s all about the clear stuff. So. Back to the Piedmont.
Yes, yes, I’d love to be totally conversant with all the Italian wine regions, but I’m not. Oh wait, you aren’t either? Let’s take a peek at a map, then, shall we?
Wow. There are a LOT of regions! A few years ago, I’d have found that completely intimidating…. because I’d have felt responsible to know them all, master them all, and be able to tell you which is the best known wine from each region. Well, no more. Today, I know that honey, it ain’t happenin’. So, having let that go, it just means there’s a multitude of fine wines, just waiting for me to pick a spot on a map and check it out! It’s like *Christmas* out there!
So, today: the Piedmont. Interestingly enough, this region handed over not only this great white wine, but also some of the superb reds that I already know and love from Italy. I just call them the B’s. If I choose one off a wine list, I know that even the mediocre ones will be nice. Barbera, Barolo, Brunello. I’d thought they were Tuscan, but apparently, I’m quite a fan of the Piedmont wines.
Enter into the mix: a taste of Argiano Brunello, from Tuscany. Oh, I was remarkably unimpressed. Lovely on the nose, and the initial taste was no surprise, rich and ripe as promised – and loads of tannins, which I enjoy, and then a beautiful finish. But absolutely nothing in the middle. Like it was hollow. I moved on. (But not before having it pointed out that I’d just dissed a fifty dollar bottle. Oops!)
Back to the Piedmont. Again. The next was Produttori Nebbiolo Langhe. It didn’t start or finish as well as the Brunello, but it had all the middle I was missing! Rich, full, dense, lots of personality. And the more I sipped, the more I enjoyed it. Excellent with food- it didn’t challenge the flavors, but it didn’t disappear in your mouth, either.
Food? Did I mention food? Good heavens: Louis turned out a feast to go with the wines… bruschetta (where he gets flavorful fresh tomatoes in January is a mystery) and olives and cheeses and oh my oh my fresh mozarella drizzled with balsamic vinegar… but I digress. Ahem. Wine.
Because then…. drum roll… I tasted the perfect wine. The Ca’ Viola Barbera d’Alba Brichet 2010 is my wine. (Well, it is now, because I bought some and took it home with me.) It’s not expensive, under $20, and boy it delivers. It’s rich and creamy – if wine were made with heavy whipping cream, it would be in this one. It’s dense, like a port, heavy and tannic, but still balanced. How do they *do* that?! I was over the moon. This wine was downright chewy. Sure, it was fine with the food, but it didn’t need food to complete it. I just love this wine. Did I mention it was my favorite? I may have.
It was hard to yank myself back to the present, and not just keep drinking the Barbera all night, but I moved on to taste the Fossacolle Rosso. Sharing the grapes with Brunello, this was like “Brunello Light”. It was easy, very drinkable, and light, lots of fruit, and most decidedly not empty in the middle. It wasn’t chewy and dense like the Barbera, but rather like the thin viscosity and light body you’d expect in a Beaujolais Nouveau. This is summer’s red wine, when you want something nice on the porch.
In a similar vein, came the Colosi Nero d’Avola. I was really expecting a bigger wine from this Sicilian grape. It was quite nice, and I wouldn’t have been disappointed to be served this anywhere, but it was too light for me.
Finally, we tried the Colpetrone Sagrintino di Montefalco. Smack in the center, Umbria delivers a really nice wine. The balance of light body and peppery fruit made it the perfect wine to sip while finishing off that last bit of cheese from the tasting plate.
Now – in the middle of all this pouring and tasting and munching and chatting, the sommelier mentioned to me that she believed the Argiano Brunello had been unfairly judged, and needed to breathe a lot more than it had been allowed. So, here we are an hour later, and she poured me another taste. People! Night and day!! The middle of that wine had finally Arrived. It was a beautiful thing. It was also out of my price range, so I just went ahead and savored the taste. Beginning, middle, long lovely finish, it was all there.
But you know I went back for my Barbera. Ca’ Viola, thou art mine.
Do you like to return to your favorite haunts, or do you seek out new experiences? Do you have an itinerary? Would you rather let the wind carry you where it may?
For a while now, I’ve been toying with the notion of categorizing travelers – not only my guests, but myself and those with whom I travel. Back in my 20s, I was introduced to the ‘four humors’ proposed by Hippocrates, which has been imitated, expanded upon, and reengineered through a complete metamorphosis into sixteen types by Briggs-Meyers. But the fundamental notion of four basic personality types still holds. Even Hippocrates allowed for a blend of primary and secondary traits.
Given all that, I wondered if maybe there were also four corresponding travel personalities… perhaps a combination of more than one type – or even stepping out to try a new type of travel, now and then.
The only ones I was really aware of, in the B&B business, are the folks who return to the same place again and again, versus the folks who will always go somewhere new. Since I am the former and my husband the latter, I wondered at the motivation.
So let’s start with the original four… Sanguine, Melancholy, Choleric, and Phlegmatic. I’ve heard them described many ways. One that made a lot of sense to me, answered the question, “What do they love?” Sanguine: fun. Melancholy: order. Choleric: control. Phlegmatic: peace. Another description I enjoyed (because I am, after all, a Sanguine) put each in a role in a theater. Sanguine: the actor. Melancholy: the stage manager. Choleric: the director. And Phlegmatic: the audience. A list of best/worst traits included… Sanguine: loving/ridiculous. Melancholy: generous/depressed. Choleric: willing/angry. Phlegmatic: thoughtful/withdrawn. Anyway, you get the idea.
In our family, we have examples of each. If I (the Sanguine) lose my car keys, and later find them in the bottom of my purse, I’m so happy to have them! Plus, I found a $10 bill, three peppermint candies, and the phone number I was looking for. It’s like Christmas. Nick (my Choleric son) will tell me that I should always put the keys in the front right pocket so that I’ll know where to find them. Larry (my Melancholy husband) will kindly label the pocket for me. And my Phlegmatic boy Gary will just ask, “Why do all that? Dad has a spare key.”
Ok, so you get the general idea. How does that translate to travel? Ok, bear with me…
I love to travel. Travel brings me joy. And the discovery of new and different places, and learning all about them, that’s fantastic! I travel for the pleasure of travel. And yet… the richest experiences for me are returning again and again to the places I love. We’ve been to Cozumel about twenty times, over the course of our marriage. On our honeymoon, we discovered an out of the way place on the back side of the island, populated only by locals, unknown to tourists. We ordered lobster tails, by pointing at the picture menu. A charming little man, Willie, trotted them out on a tray to our table in the sand where we sat barefoot under a palapas-roofed umbrella. As much I enjoyed exploring all the new places along the way, year after year, my heart would swell as we’d step back into that little restaurant and Willie would come out again to greet us. So. I’m calling the Sanguine version of travel “Norm at Cheers” -you remember the TV show. The theme song was ‘Where everybody knows your name’.
Next, let’s take a look at our Melancholy travelers… They are the Lewis & Clark Explorers, on a quest to organize and document each trip. It’s not about the document at the end, it’s about the planning process and the travel itself – about checking off the boxes. “Oh, let’s go this way. I haven’t driven through that city, yet.” Check. “Let’s try this new restaurant.” And if you ask, “Sure, why?” They’ll tell you, “I’ve been to everywhere else on that street, except that one.” Check. Or, “I’ve never had Chinese-Jamaican fusion food.” Check. The Lewis & Clark Explorer traveler isn’t opposed to indulging a Norm at Cheers traveler by revisiting a restaurant… but it’s a cinch, he won’t order what he had the first time.
The Phlegmatic traveler is an entirely different animal. He, too, is only interested in new places, but couldn’t care less about checking off boxes. (“Boxes? I don’t understand. What boxes?”) His quest is just to see what else is out there. He’s an easy traveler, moving when his party wants to move, but given his own solitary company, he’ll roost in a place for a while, to soak in the ambiance, before moving along to the next. He’s the backpacker in Europe, the retiree with a motor home and no plan, in America. Footloose and relaxed. Our Wanderer, on the poor side, is the hobo. On the wealthy side, he’s a jet-setter. (I wonder if you’ve ever considered the similarities before?)
Enter the Choleric traveler – the Rick Steves/Charles Kuralt of travel, our Tour Guide. They also travel, like Norm at Cheers, for the pleasure of travel. And like the Lewis & Clark Explorer, they like to see it all, even in an organized fashion. But they have an agenda. The Tour Guides aren’t just collecting experiences. They are sorting and sifting through to find the creme de la creme. And they share the knowledge! Nothing pleases our Tour Guides better than saying, “Oh, you’re going There? You absolutely Must stop at this divine little spot.” The Tour Guide is perfectly content revisiting places. For heaven’s sake, why would you skip the very best spots?
Ok, ok, I confess: I’m a sanguine with a Lot of choleric in there. And yes, I’m happy to provide directions to my favorite little restaurant on Cozumel.
What a special afternoon! Ok, it’s like this… Every state in America requires that you obtain your marriage license from the state in which you are to be married. That same license has to be returned to that office, in order to be registered (Register of Deeds) and recorded (Vital Records), and only then can the wedding couple get a certified copy of their license. That certified copy allows them to update drivers license, insurance, benefits, Social Security, etc. We get lots of couples here from out of state – or out of the country – who’ve never even heard of Maggie Valley, never been in this part of North Carolina, or maybe even to the United States, but they loved the pictures (and apparently the zany innkeepers) of Timberwolf Creek, and they come here to us, to be married. After the wedding, they have to mail away to our local courthouse for their official copy of the license, and all that administrative stuff is just in limbo while they wait.
This time, it was a little different. Our very Irish couple (Americans) decided to come on Friday, apply for and get the license, and bring it to us here. We then had a handfasting ceremony, with witnesses, who signed the documents. Our couple then rushed back to the courthouse and registered their marriage! To celebrate the completion of all this running-about, they went on to have a couples massage at Mountain Spirit Wellness, followed by a leisurely dinner out at Frog’s Leap Public House.
The cords are burgundy, gold and green. The burgundy represents romance, partnership, and happiness. The gold is for unity, prosperity, and longevity. The green stands for peace, sincerity, and devotion. And in this case, the cords were all from the bridegroom’s graduations, as he has more than one advanced degree – perfect!
The wedding ceremony (traditional) will be Saturday, no further government intervention required. Voila.
A handfasting is an ancient Celtic custom, which allowed a couple to make a marital commitment to each other, for a year-and-a-day. This was important in places like the rural Scottish Highlands, because it could be many months before you’d see a priest. This way, a couple could be married, and then solemnize their ceremony within the church when the priest arrived later. They wouldn’t be living in sin, and they didn’t have to wait months to be married.
As the handfasting is on Friday and the wedding on Saturday, I’ve explained to the groom that he now is expected to produce a wonderful anniversary gift on *both* dates, for the rest of his life.
He’s ok with that.
And may they live Happily Ever After.
Could my job just be a LITTLE more fun? I think not.
The first of the Casa Blancas has bloomed – I always hold my breath, waiting for these regal beauties. There’s nothing quite like the pure white blooms, so much larger than any other flower I’ve grown. And the scent is divine!
I took the photo below this morning, unretouched, and the white of the lily set the blue sky so deep it’s surreal.
And this – well. This is another angle that just rocked my little world….
I’m trying to figure out this whole word-press blog, thing, so bear with me… but I’mpretty sure that you can click the images for a larger version. We’ll see…
And while this one may have been overshadowed by the arrival of the Casa Blanca, it’s still every bit as welcome. Say hello to the Gold Band Lily.
