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.
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…
Our Picnic Package always includes the basket – so that you can take it with you on your travels. We’ve just gotten in our newest edition of baskets: a backpack! These things are SO COOL! The body of the backpack is insulated, and when you unzip the outside section, voila: dishes and utensils.
We think the slip pocket is ideally suited for a trail map…
Take your picnic into the mountains to enjoy in the high country of Western North Carolina. We’ll provide you with directions to some wonderful spots for a picnic –choose from the Blue Ridge Parkway, the historic Cataloochee Valley, the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, or right here at Timberwolf Creek alongside the stream.
Enjoy freshly baked bread (sandwich filled to order) and fruit and cheese and veggies and olives and sweets and beverages and the list goes on… There’s usually a pie in there somewhere… Nothing like finding a whole entire pie in the bottom of your picnic basket 🙂 and of course all the implements you’ll need to enjoy that pie, and the rest of your picnic.
But wait, you’re not a hiker? No worries. The backpacks lend themselves to all sorts of outings. The insulated compartment keeps everything nice, so you can take this on your road trip and have lunch along the way (some of the highway rest areas have really beautiful picnic areas) instead of just hitting another fast food drive through window. Or tuck a book into the front pocket, pack snacks and head for the park. Do you bring your lunch to work? Take turns with a friend, and blow them away when you arrive with this one, filled with your favorite pasta salad and fresh cut fruit and bakery delights. And by all means, surprise your sweetheart with a walk in the mountains, a special bottle of wine, exquisite cheese and crunchy goodies. What a great way to propose…
Picnics at Timberwolf Creek are packed in a picnic basket/backpack for you to keep. Everything you need for a marvelous lunch in the fine country air.
And of course, you can always just use it as a backpack.
North Carolina has an abundance of artisnal cheesemakers, and we have two within an hour’s drive that you can easily visit during your stay with us. Out past Cherokee, is Yellow Branch Farm. They have both cheese and pottery tours (feel free to bring me a piece with that exquisite blue glaze). And stop on the way back to tube down Deep Creek in Bryson City, or take the seven-mile loop hike and see the waterfalls.
Heading east past Asheville, you can tour both Looking Glass Creamery (makers of my all-time favorite chocolate lab cheese) and, if you’re feeling adventurous, continue out to Hickory Nut Gap Farm for you-pick berries and apples to perfect your tailgate picnic. Of course, there are a bazillion little spots to recommend in nearby Asheville, but that’s a post for another day.
Not looking for a day trip, but still want all that fabulous artisnal cheese? No problem! Pop over to Waynesville (ten minutes away) and head down to the Montgomery Street Market for lots and lots of locally made yummies, in addition to all that cheese.
Or just laze away an afternoon upstairs at the Frog’s Leap Public House, with a lovely glass of wine, and a small-plate of local cheese. They usually have four or five… and I usually tell them to put everything on a platter and bring it to me… Now *that* is a fabulous lunch!
Never let it be said that we can’t use humor to end an argument.
I recently posted this on facebook, “Serious advice for the ladies: If you share an office area with your sweetheart, as I do, get a pretty little dish and sit it by your mousepad. Now, get an itty bitty squirt gun and keep it filled. When he pops off with something he *knows* he shouldn’t have said, well… It’s just so satisfying, and you don’t have to say a word. Special note to the fellas: only the women are allowed to be armed. Got it? Good.”
The result was interesting, if predictable: eleven women immediately ‘liked’ it. When I mentioned that I hadn’t seen any men doing the same, one man began a conversation that naturally ended with men having bigger-better squirt guns. I’d just like to point out that it didn’t happen that way at my house, because my husband is (a) remarkably tolerant, and (b) has a well-developed sense of humor and (b.1) self-preservation.
Squirt guns are actually in stock, here. So are bubbles, tiny race cars, magic tricks, and other dollar store toys. You’d think we have small children or young grandchildren nearby. We have neither. What we do have are lots of honeymooners and folks having romantic getaways, who want to take a picnic basket out into the mountains for an al fresco meal in the sunshine. The baskets are filled with sandwiches, chips, fruit, cheese, olives, drinks, and usually a pie. And toys. Always toys.
Typically, that is a pair of squirt guns. Now, I used to put just one in there. Filled, of course! In a Zip-lock bag. And then one day, it occurred to me that once the water was gone, game over! So, I started including two.
In a transcendental moment of BFO (Blinding Flash of the Obvious*) I realized how much more fun it would be to just fill onesquirt gun. The game then becomes one party squirting while the other rushes to figure out how to fill his (ok ok ‘his’ because you know the girl is smart enough to get the full one). Once he’s got his filled, she’s about empty, and the roles reverse. Bam! The game goes on until someone surrenders. Given that this is a romantic getaway, surrenders are likely accompanied by kisses. Now *that* is a great picnic.
Voila. True love, abetted by squirt guns. Who knew.
…
*BFO is a term I learned from Jeremy Robinson, former editor, innkeeper, and self-proclaimed curmudgeon
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.
