A close up of Timberwolf Creek’s asiatic lily ‘Butter Pixie’
Today, allow me to present, for your viewing pleasure, the Asiatic lily named “Butter Pixie”. She melts my heart.
She’s awfully pretty.
Tag: mountain cabin
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Guest Blogger? How about Guest Poet…
This poem was in the room journal, left by our guests this weekend. Made me all misty! But I ask you, how wonderful is this?
Sh.. I have a secret
That I just have to tell
I met a fairy godmother
Into the rabbit hole I fell.She welcomed me with open arms,
And a beautifully mischievous grin.
Then with a wave of her wand,
Showed me where dreams begin.It was a pretty little cottage,
Nestled daintily in the trees,
Quietly offering sanctuary;
A haven for a soul in need.From the first moment I entered
And stepped through the front door,
The feeling of home and comfort
Seeped from every pore.The cheery crackle of the fireplace,
And the soothing rush of the stream,
Invited the body to rest and relax,
And encouraged the soul to dream.And oh my! The fairy godmother knows all!
And her wedding fairy sees too!
Dreams never spoken
Somehow come true.Waving away worries with a magical wand
In her magic I should trust,
And believe in a world filled
With love and magical fairy dust.What more can a bride ask for
Than for a fairy godmother and her crew
To treat her like a princess
And make her dreams come true?Of course this would be true,
How could it be any other way?
When a fairy godmother waves her wand
Poof! A beautifully perfect stay.…
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Appalachian Mountains? Smokies? Blue Ridge?
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.
Glad I could help sort that out for you. 😉
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Horses in the pasture come to greet me
The air is fresh and cool after a good rain. The only sound is coming from the creek. It’s hard to describe how serene it is. You have to just see it for yourself. —Larry
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A Hosta, by any other name…
Ok, maybe you can help. I’ve spent endless hours on Google, trying to identify my hostas. These are the ones I have in abundance, planted in the outdoor wedding chapel gardens… but there are others… I’ve learned more about hostas than I ever dreamed there was to know! Margins and leaf shapes and textures, etc. The variety is astounding. I had no idea! And while discovering that there are something like 10,000 different hostas out there, it came as no great surprise that they are lilies. Because, after all, I do love lilies. (And yes, I know: they’ve been reclassified but I don’t care. They are lilies for me, and that’s a Good Thing, as Martha likes to say.)
I’ve done my best, with names, and invite you to correct me. If there’s a searchable database, where I can enter “hosta, small, narrow leaf, tri-color, wide green margin, white center” that would be fantastic. The best search result has yielded “Fire & Ice” but I’m not convinced what this one is…
But it sure is pretty. 🙂
The next one may be right on target, but again, your assistance is welcome! It appears to be Diamond Tiara, which is ok by me.
And these are just ENORMOUS and fabulous and propagating like mad. Not that they’re sending out runners or anything, just that we started with three and are up to 15! Each one just as impressive at the original.
I think this one’s called Niagara Falls. It truly is amazing. Here is the row of seven, just a couple of days after they were all split. And they are already gorgeous, and look like they’ll need to be split again in the spring!
See what I mean? Fantastic! (This is the driveway to the Black Bear Cottage in the Woods – where we have the Streamsong and Woodland rooms.) The plants have been remarkably forgiving. And where I’m concerned, that’s a Good Thing, as Martha likes to say.
And finally, I have this gold-margined beauty, that’s really come into her own this year. Just couldn’t be prettier. Somebody, let me know her name!
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Daffodils, Lilacs and Hostas – Oh My!
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!
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Keeping my coffee hot…
Ahhhh…. Of course! A lid for the coffee mugs. Why didn’t I think of that? Well, no matter. The folks at Deneen Pottery thought of it for me. And you.I like my coffee hot. Not mostly hot, or a little bit hot, or fairly hot. Steaming, piping, right-from-the-pot hot. Now, it takes me a while to drink a cup of coffee at my desk, sitting at this computer. And I have a really good coffee warmer (which fits my new mug perfectly). It keeps my coffee pretty hot. (Sigh.)
Then one day, I asked Niles Deneen if I could order a few of those lids. They came right away, and wow was I ever surprised! I popped one of those babies on my hot coffee and twenty minutes later, I took a sip and it was still really hot! Not a little, not mostly, not acceptably warm. Well, honey, color me happy!
Larry actually lets his coffee cool a bit before he drinks it. (Horrors!) So he just rolls his eyes at my hot coffee nirvana. That said, if you’re like me, you’ll want one for yourself.
Now, where was I? Oh yes: Ahhhhh….
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October’s Bright Blue Weather
O SUNS and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather;When loud the bumble-bee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And Golden-Rod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;When Gentians roll their fringes tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields, still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October’s bright blue weather.O suns and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October’s bright blue weather.Sometimes, a poem just speaks to you. This one, by Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885), could have been written just for me.
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The Perfect Coffee Mug
We leaned forward to listen, as one of the ladies prepared to tell us about her requirements for a Perfect Man. He would be tall, she said, and employed. Funny and smart go without saying. She restricted his age to 35-43, and begging your pardon, he simply cannot be a democrat. We sat back and laughed, and discretely surveyed the dining room. Hey, you never know.
So here I am this morning, preparing to tell you about my notion of the perfect coffee mug. Like my friend’s ideal man, it must be taller than round. It must also fit on my cup warmer. Even though it takes me an hour in the morning to savor that first cuppa, I enjoy my coffee scaldingly hot, so a cup that fits on the warmer should have a flat bottom (I’ve no idea what my friend’s requirements are in that area) so that it will actually keep the coffee hot. Most commercial cups, which bore me to tears, have a concave base that doesn’t make contact with the warmer, and I’m back at the microwave every few minutes. That said, it really can’t be a commercial cup. There are just too many really fine potters out there that can make a beautiful coffee mug, and these North Carolina mountains are right smack in the middle of clay heaven.
A brief aside about our clay… It’s so special that Wedgwood China imported it in the 1700s. It was taken to port via the Indian Road (now I-26) to the port of Charleston and shipped to England. Josiah Wedgwood pronounced it remarkable and called it Cherokee Clay. There you are, a special nod to today being Earth Day.
Back to the Perfect Mug. It should have a pleasing appearance, that evokes some uplifting emotion. It should feel wonderful – the handle should be easy to use, your thumb finding just the right place, and the rim should be thoughtfully crafted so you don’t get that aggravating drip down the side. It should be exactly the right size to hold a bit more than a tea cup, but not so large that your coffee’s bound to cool. It should invite you to lean back and wrap your hands around it on a chilly morning. Decorative, certainly, but being decorative can’t outweigh function… like those silly handles your fingers won’t fit in, or square for the sake of being square, or squat, just in case that’s adorable. Flared rims may be unusual, but that’s because they’re difficult to use. As in architecture, form follows function. And it should be hand-crafted. I don’t want to ‘make do’. I want to Enjoy. I want to Savor. I want to Appreciate -both the coffee and the mug it’s in.
I’m just guessing that my friend would also like to find a man crafted here in these Smoky Mountains, with a pleasing appearance, who feels wonderful, and is just the right shape, who works flawlessly and is prepared to help her enjoy a cup of coffee every morning. I hope she finds him. I’ve found my mug.
Here it is.
Made in America. By hand.
In case you’re wondering, our mugs are handmade by the good folks at Deneen Pottery. And the coffee that goes in them is Elida Estate, from Panama. We’ll be happy to send you home with both. Come enjoy your next cup on the porch by the stream, under these tall trees, at Timberwolf Creek.
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Chillin’ with Celebrities…
<snooty>Ahem. It was my distinct pleasure to dine with granddaughter of Maggie Mae Setzer, after whom our fair town was named. Sniff.<end snooty>
Reality? Dee Dee got in touch with me, hoping for a repeat of our first encounter. She was not disappointed, nor was I.
One of the first people to cross my threshold at Timberwolf Creek was Patty Kosier. Patty is Maggie’s daughter -THE Maggie of “Maggie Valley”. I was scared to death and Patty and her husband Claude couldn’t have been kinder and more genuine. By the time they left, we were fast friends. They came every year -and then Claude passed away. Patty got in touch with me from Texas, where she lives, and told me that she wanted to come stay with me for her annual visit to Maggie Valley, but she was nervous about traveling without Claude. Her niece would come with her, just to get her settled in. Enter niece Dee Dee.
Patty arrived, with Dee Dee and her friend, Michelle. It didn’t take too long to do the math, and figure out that if Dee Dee was Patty’s niece… and Dee Dee’s mother was Patty’s sister… that Dee Dee’s grandmother was none other than Maggie herself. Wow! But that wasn’t where the similarity ended. Dee Dee was just as much fun as her aunt had been that very first day. Patty checked in at 3:00. I walked her group over to the little guest cottage… and at 7:00, Larry had to come find me.
There we were, laughing until we cried, cutting up and telling stories, words falling over each other, lots of, “Yes! Yes! That happened to me the same way!” It was one of those Ya-Ya Sisters afternoons, when the fountain of friendship just bubbles over. We all knew we were sharing something special. Nice chemistry, and good feelings all around.
When Dee Dee and Michelle planned another trip out here this summer, it was with real delight that I made plans to meet with them. We decided to meet for lunch up at the Mountaineer, where you can have a glass of wine on the screened porch -very much a ‘summer camp’ kind of place.
Lunch time. Right. Larry just rolled his eyes and smiled when I headed out the door for ‘lunch’. I got back at almost six. Happy, glowing, wide smiles, effervescent with stories and shared laughs -what a wonderful time!
So here it is, evidence of my brush with celebrity: me and Maggie’s granddaughter. Hoo-ah.
Maggie's Granddaughter and Me