Susan and Ellen have never been called “badass” before–they had to ask us whether we meant it in a good way. (When we said it was good, they high fived.)
The legendary Tin and Lint bar on Caroline Street started its life as a speakeasy. After weathering the Prohibition years, it was an institution such that it needed no name…just a lone beer sign winking from its ground-level window.
Rex grew up in Mariposa, a Yosemite Valley town with four hotels, three gas stations, and no traffic lights. Every weekend he’d ride his bike ten miles to buy candy at the nearest corner store. He graduated high school with the same 100 kids from his kindergarten.
The artist who lives next door to us spent childhood summers at her relatives’ farm outside Chute-à-Blondeau, Ontario. She remembers the dizzying vastness of the blonde fields and of the frescoed chapel where they went for Sunday mass.
Hickory Nut Falls flows over the edge of Exclamation Point down 404 feet into the knobbled gorge of the Blue Ridge Escarpment, which separates the Blue Ridge Mountains from the Piedmont.
At this time of year, the Blue Ridge Mountains look like a sunset melted all over them.
Behind the Halloween mask is our new friend Rick, a man of many talents.
Gerti loved the jacket I bought from her today at the Downtown Market–it’s just like one that she had in 1962, the year she left her village outside Munich to come to the US.
Sweeney told us this land was covered with yuccas, 5000 years ago. In those days, he said, we would have floated across the bay on the inflated organs of animals we’d killed, the stomachs and bladders lashed together with sinew or with spruce root, which reached to surprising lengths under the earth.