I have been remiss. With eleventy bazillion photos of the Creek House all over this website and also www.maggievalleycottage.com, I didn’t realize I skipped pictures of my hands-down favorite place to be – in the kitchen!
Now, this is not a dream house magazine spread designer gourmet kitchen. Far from it. It isn’t snazzy. But it makes you feel so *welcome*. It’s a cook-in-your-socks kind of kitchen. And after making breakfast in here for the past eighteen years (how in the world did that much time fly by?!) I confess that I never want to spend any time in another drywall ho-hum boring kitchen. I love my mismatched cabinets, hardwood floors, low ceiling beams covered in mugs. The hooks are horseshoe nails fashioned into cup hooks for me by a blacksmith, back when we had one of those in Maggie Valley.
There are treasures in every corner, and little odd places to tuck in another bit here, another bit there. I’ve filled it with things I love to use, and it’s an easy place to work.
So this week, when a very nice lady asked for kitchen pictures, I was stunned to find out that in my many tens of thousands of pictures on my computer, I couldn’t find any of the kitchen! That’s because… wait for it… guess what: when I’m in the kitchen, I’m COOKING, not taking pictures haha!
Without further ado, voila: The Kitchen, before and after…
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.
Ok, I’d like to think I’m fairly intelligent, but have to admit that it took me fifteen years (that’s right, years) to finally figure out that when folks leave here with a picnic basket, it should be a memento of their time in the mountains, not a Made in China purchase. Good heavens. Years.
Yesterday, Larry and I spent a wonderful afternoon with Judy (my bride c. 2012) at the Church Street Craft Fair in Waynesville. Only it’s not on Church Street any more, it’s on Main Street. I think that’s a topic for another day. Anyway. Did I mention that I’m easily distracted these days? Ok. Where was I? Oh yes. Years.
I stepped into a booth and was just transported. Not that kind of booth. I mean, I didn’t go into a time warp or start talking into my shoe or suddenly find myself dressed in a cape and a shirt with a big red S on the chest. Not that kind of transported. I mean a vendor booth at the market – this one filled with the prettiest baskets I’ve seen! Each basket was wonderfully detailed and carefully crafted. Naturally I asked about who made them and the very nice lady in the booth told me that indeed, she had. When I said that they were just exquisite, she actually blushed. Clearly she was pleased, but by way of demonstrating my sincerity, I promptly bought all she had in the size I needed. And I couldn’t be happier about that!
Walking through the remainder of the fair (and what a fair! bluegrass and bagpipes! not at the same time – I don’t know if I’d enjoy that – but the entertainment was great) folks were stopping me right and left to admire my pretty baskets, laced up my arms and held every which way.
So. No more made-in-china baskets. Now, when you get a picnic lunch here, you’ll have a hand-crafted basket, lovingly created by a local artisan. And Miss Laura Ann has burned her initials on the bottom corner of each one: her signature. All the baskets are different, with painted flowers, or braided rope, but all the ones I got have the curled wood at the top, which the artist told me is called a tulip edge. I got completely distracted by that, and we had a nice long conversation about tulips vs lilies vs iris. I probably thought of ‘iris’ because she had a whole row of them worked into one basket in a beautiful blue. Not quite a violet blue, but more like a periwinkle. Like an iris would be. The little Siberian iris, not the bearded ones – those come in oh so many beautiful colors, not just periwinkle blue. I couldn’t get that one because it wasn’t nearly big enough, but oh I did love the Siberian Iris blue colored tulip edge! See there? Distracted.
These are a generous 15×12 and 9 inches tall (plus the handle) and nice and sturdy, so they can hold a healthy-sized picnic lunch, complete with a pie. I do love finding a whole entire pie in the bottom of a picnic basket, don’t you? I mean, that could be distracting for anybody, not just me…
And you can take home your hand-crafted Appalachian artwork basket to enjoy for years. That’s right. Years.
We are, according to the USGS (United States Geological Survey, the official mapping service of the federal government) in both the Appalachian mountains and the Blue Ridge Mountains, which are part of the Appalachians.
The Great Smoky Mountains is a national park. While we are not physically in the park, we are colloquially in the Smoky Mountains. (USGS actually refers to our area as the Appalachian Blue Ridge.) For instance, Dolly Parton is ‘from the Smoky Mountains’ and sings ‘Smoky Mountain music’ and has an album called ‘A Smoky Mountain Christmas’. None of these refer to the national park, but rather this particular region of the Appalachian Blue Ridge, which is in immediate proximity to the borders of that which Roosevelt declared a national park.
We are, legitimately, in: the Smoky Mountains, the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the Appalachian Mountains, simultaneously.
This also gives credence to why the Appalachian Trail passes by us, from Georgia on its way north, and also the Blue Ridge Parkway’s immediate presence.
So, Great Smoky Mountains, Blue Ridge Mountains, Appalachian Mountains… it all comes together for you here at Timberwolf Creek.
It must be April! The daffodils have already been blooming like mad in an early spring frenzy. The one pictured here is a late-comer (if you can imagine a daffodil being late on the first of April. But isn’t he a beauty, all white and dapper with his pale yellow collar…
His name is actually Loth Lorien, which is ‘the fairest forest of the realm’ in JRR Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings, and is not only home to the Elves, but a place where time stands still… and that’s pretty much what happened to me when I spotted these this morning – I just froze and stared at them for I don’t know how long.
Ah, Spring time…
And the Hostas are coming out nicely, down by the creek – looks like they’ll be enormous this year. Scott came and split the beauties growing at the Cottage and put them all around the property. This one is called American Sweetheart Hosta, and it is a particular favorite of mine. The American Sweethearts and Patriots (similar colors but in reverse, with creamy white margins around a deep green center) are heirloom plants, put here by Colonel ‘Pug’ Pugmire when he built the Creek House in the 60s. We’ve tended and split and shared many of this one’s offspring.
Even the lilacs are putting on an early show for us this year. I did take pictures of the ones already blooming (after pressing my face deep into the middle of them and inhaling their intoxicating fragrance. Not like I couldn’t smell them from further away, but I could, so I did. What luxury! Bliss! -wait a second, what was I saying?) Oh yes. I did take pictures of the full blooms, but this one with the buds just seemed to show the promise of spring better than any of the others, so presented here, for your pleasure… Lilacs in bud:
The lilac is actually another of Pug’s legacies. The one he planted is way down the creek bank, and stays in full shade. It continued to grow, of course, but didn’t reach the sun until I’d been here a full dozen years – I was stunned to come out one morning to the heady scent of lilac and wondered, ‘What in the world?’ Looking far up into the tip-top (about ten feet!) there was a single bloom, and the breeze sent the fragrance sailing. It was downright magical. But everything here is, you know. No big surprise there. It started putting out little shoots that year, and I transplanted two to the roadside beds, where they’d have the afternoon sun. This is only the second year for lilacs out there, and this photo is one of dozens of blooms on that bush! I’m pretty happy about that.
Now, anybody who knows me knows that I am mad for Lilies. Day lilies. Oriental lilies. Asiatic lilies. Tiger lilies. Turk’s Cap and Trumpet lilies and Easter lilies. I love the lilies. All this wonderful stuff in spring is, for me, just the forerunner of summer when the lilies arrive. The day lilies are far earlier, of course, and I have different varieties that bloom from late spring right through the end of summer, but the others – the true lilies – don’t start until late June and continue through August. I was astonished to find that I they are up and out of the ground and growing like crazy!
Stargazer and Casablanca Lilies, already growing in April!
It was a spectacular spring day,
as I wandered with the camera trying to capture bits and pieces to remember…
Here’s the creek – my little bit of paradise.
You can see that even the Rhodies are planning to make a grand entrance,
since they are already budding.
So glad to be able to share this place with all our wonderful guests.
Springtime at Timberwolf Creek
Wishing you all a wonderful spring, and hope to see you here soonly!
Ok, so I bought the teeny tiny itty-bitty micro mini squishy marshmallows to make scones. Because I was buying raspberry chocolate chips for scones, and lemon drops for scones, and cinnamon bits for scones, and I already had milk chocolate chips and graham crackers at home… so when I spotted the teeny tiny itty-bitty micro mini squishy marshmallows, I thought, “Aha! S’more scones!”
But this morning wasn’t about scones. We were having Cherry Chapelure (my version of oven French toast) with a pecan praline topping, and I had these lovely apples for the fruit course. I really (really) didn’t want to make baked stuffed apples. And the t.t.i-b.m.m.sq. marshmallows were just sitting there… trying to look all innocent… temptation in the making… irresistible…
So, I peeled, cored and sliced the apples. This next step will revolutionize your morning, if you haven’t figured it out already: put the apple slices in a bowl with a healthy splash of orange juice (toss ’em around in it). The OJ will keep them from browning. Now cover and steam them in the microwave until they are just tender. They get a head start on cooking, and it helps them keep their shape.
I sprayed ramekins and layered the apple slices with a sprinkling of t.t.i-b.m.m.sq. marshmallows. Not too many. Just enough to make the apples say ahhh. Then I put graham crackers and vanilla wafers into a big baggie, sealed it shut, and rolled them just like a pastry with my rolling pin, until I had nice coarse crumbs. Added just a hint of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground cloves to the baggie, shook it up, and topped my apples. Then I melted way too much butter and drizzled it over the top. Off it went into the oven to bake with the Chapelure and sausage patties, and voila – breakfast.
This was all packed into the breakfast basket along with cinnamon-vanilla syrup, maple syrup, orange juice, and everything they needed to make a picnic breakfast happen, covered in pretty linens, flowers tied to the basket, and delivered to the cottage door.
And voila. S’more Apples. A new addition to my breakfast repertoire, for sure!
After a request for a ‘plain’ breakfast, and a bit of discussion, guests have had a breakfast basket delivered daily with ‘plain’ food. Today’s was a pretty crystal tray of fresh cut fruit (nectarines, kiwi, and grapes) with no dressing or yogurt or sauce, per request. Frittatas made with eggs and ham, potatoes, peppers, onions and herbs (and a little cheddar because I can’t help myself). Cheese grits, by request, and yes there’s a little jalapeno in there because, well, I’m pretty sure there’s a law about that… And some decidedly un-plain cherry scones. I just love this Southern man to pieces – he wants sweet tea at every meal. How precious is that?
It’s always a pleasure for me to find the BnBFinder innkeeping newsletter in my Inbox. While reading it this morning, I found myself nodding and saying, “Yes, exactly!” Mary has captured the essential difference of hotel vs bed and breakfast -not just in amenities, but in how we view our guests. Even upscale hotels, like the one Mary writes about, simply cannot provide the experience of a bed and breakfast… Their focus groups and market research, and determination to “break into our market” with B&B-styled packages, is completely missing the point. They can’t help it, really. Their focus is corporate and bottom-line, which is of course as it should be. Our focus is on our guests and you just can’t get that at a hotel.
A Note From Mary White –Mary is the President & Founder of BnBFinder
It was more than an “aha!” moment. It was an “Oh my gosh, hit me over the head, how can they not realize moment” when I once again grappled with the question, “Why do guests not realize how special B&Bs are?” The moment I’m referring to happened recently when I attended a conference with my husband held in a very nice and well-known hotel chain. To thank him for being an Preferred Guest, they gave us a card upon check-in entitling us to a free bottle of water at no charge (how generous). We needed to replace the small bottle of water in the mini-bar with the card so we wouldn’t be charged. Then, one evening we wanted to have a cup of coffee in the room. As a coffee snob, I don’t like the powdered creamer provided; so, in order to have milk or cream I would have to order room service, pay for the milk, and add a $4.99 delivery fee as well as a 20% gratuity (an additional tip also would be welcomed). These and similar experiences are all accepted in the hotel world and why, when guests try a B&B for the first time, they are blown away by the value not to mention the personalization, service, amenities and more.
This would be a good time to mention the Better Way to Stay campaign, being promoted world-wide. Tell your friends. Tell your neighbors. B&Bs truly are a better way to stay. And then…. take the time to treat yourself. Come see us. We’ll show you the difference.
