Roan Rhododendrons

Our North Carolina vacation was just packed with places to go and things to see. My sister in law geeta said we had to go see the flowers of Roan Mountain, so called because of a fancied resemblance in certain lights to the horse of that color. You could have fooled me. Cheyenne too, though she didn't care.Roan Mountain confusingly enough is a town in Tennessee though the parkland is on the North carolina side of the mountain pass the separates the two states. Very lovely it is too.And interesting.

We took a stroll out to the famed overlook that spreads the valleys of Appalachia before your eyes. It was another of those fairy tale strolls in which North Carolina abounds.

Half a mile the sign said and I wondered how fearsome this place might be that they even blaze the trees with bright yellow paint. perhaops they practic arduous winter trekking in these mountains when the trail is invisible and the yellow mark appears like a urine stain at your ankles...some blizzard I thought as I trudged up the hill.

It seemed silly to keep Cheyenne on a leash but I am nothing if not law abiding and there were other people rambling in the opposite direction even though it was late afternoon. It was out here that Cheyenne took it upon herself to take a bowel movement of epic proportions, one of stupendous size that seemed to grow in volume like a science experiment gone wrong, as I frantically stuffed it into a full sized grocery bag carried in my pocket for the purpose. "Let's hope we're alone at the overlook," my wife muttered as we resumed our stroll. "She could have gone deep into the forest, like she usually does, " I grumbled. "I think she fouled the edge of the trail to get back at me." My wife has a terrible sense of smell but my malodorous grocery bag was unavoidable. "At least you'll clear the overlook in a hurry" she said stepping away from me and my leashed dog. "No one will want to be anywhere near you." It was an added burden on an otherwise splendid walk.

High danger area! We were alone happily. I put my congealed burden on the ground like the millstone it was and breathed fresh clean air.

Stay On The Platform! Especially if you are exceptionally stupid. I shouldn't even think that sort of thought out loud, considering the brainiacs I talk to who call 9-1-1. People really do stupid things and I should know all this signposting really is necessary. Ass coverage at the very least when some idiot steps over the rail.

Cheyenne may be "just a dog"but she got the message even though she is illiterate, poor thing.

We stood in silence drinking in the scenery and listneing to the wind rushing up the hill past our ears.I am cursed with an inability to imagine ever believing in the existence of a supreme being dishing out divine justice among humans; consider lately how the money changers in the temple have been making out literally like bandits, however in these sorts of place one would like to imagine the possibility that all this was laid out not by aggressive glaciers in some random act of chance but these hills and valleys appeared to fulfill some higher and myseterious purpose.I looked down the cliff face and figured that most likley not one human foot had ever trodden among the rocks and bushes I could see directly below my own pink Crocs. I was pretty sure I didn't want mine to to be the first.My wife is not fond of heights and empty spaces. I am not either but when the parks service has gone out of it's way to build a sturdy railing and equip it with all sorts of warning signs i feel quite secure enough to enjoy the view.It put me in mind of Alpine Valleys in Europe, all this twisting unevenly shaped fields, cultivated down to the last inch, flowing across the landscape. this could be Switzerland if you didn't know better.Let us not forget we were facing west and the temperature was still in the mid 80s at least.

There was a helpful notice about Roan High Bluff and it's particular ecology.

people as always are the worst threat to the ecology. Messsage received. at least it's not dogs for once. We met an unleashed local on the way back so Cheyenne got to wander at will after that, and of course she didn't go far.

It was getting on for seven o'clock in the evening but we weren't done yet, we driove back to the main road enjoying the fact this whole excusion had cost us a measly $3 and we had had a fine stroll in the woods. Besides there was a new state to add to Cheyenne's growing list of travels.The view from the comfort of the pull out was every bit as good as that off the cliff face.

The highway into Tennessee looked smooth and enticing. We turned our back and heade dfor home and dinner.I got stuck momentarily behind this character and I fell into a reverie behind the wheel thinking back to what it used to be like driving farm equipment in my youth.

I don't miss those days though I'm glad I lived them.

Soon enough the raod opened up a little and he was gone.

And we were headed to Celo on the correct side of the mountains.

Outhouse Art

Rivers in North Carolina have odd names. I love "French Broad which conjures up visions of other streams with potential names like say, German Fraulein, Spanish Chica and Italian...well never mind. My North Carolina relatives find my puerile delight in the peculiar names of Appalachia to be a trial but I did marry into the family so I am not their fault.We have North and Little Toes and I wish there were indeed a Mistle Toe River but me chuckling to myself is unattractive so I must cease and desist. However this essay, generated by my interminable vacation jaunt to Asheville and environs, has a more rural flavor to it than most. In years past the rural and isolated nature of this stretch of Highway 80 upon which Celo (pro: see low) Community is located required the inmates to attain a degree of self sufficiency that they instituted a coop store along the roadway and next door the artists and artisans displayed their wares. Like everywhere around here it is a delightful spot. They still sell food and organic products that are much more common now, in bulk even, than they were decades ago at the height of the processed packaged boom years.And because I was educated in an English boarding school I really do have an appalling sense of humor. How could I resist this delight, tucked away in the bushes behind the Coop? Really an outhouse is nothing to laugh about particularly and I see a day when we will all have composting toilets in our homes instead of tossing perfectly good water down the loo in a mad drive to empty the world of drinking water. Cheyenne was disappointed by the amenity as there was nothing to drink.

And apparently I am not alone in my bad taste.

My wife is a patient woman, putting up with my delight at the convenience I had no actual need of, at that moment.

I looked at it and wished I did need it, for the opportunity to sit and reflect on the beauty of creation in one of life's critical moments."Get on with it!" she had shopping to attend to in the craft store.I followed reluctantly, made aware that my footwear clashed with the strident purples and greens of the structure.

So she shopped while Cheyenne and I sat in companionable silence and watched the pick ups roll by on Highway 80.

There was lots to read too as we waited.

Many I have seen before but they still elicit a chuckle, though not as deep as a well appointed outhouse. I particularly liked the new one to me, the silhouette of a portly trucker naked but for his cap posed like those ghastly silhouettes frequently seen on truck mud flaps of naked women. Another quiet afternoon on the banks of the Little Toe River.

Places to go and other things to buy, cold water and gas, ... an unusually trusting kind of purchase.I am trying to remember if I ever saw such a cheerful note in the laid back Florida Keys. I think the short answer to that is "never".

All this mad activity followed by a gentle stroll through the woods to this waterfall where we three sat for a while to contemplate the bounty of western North Carolina.

Walking Ramrod

My wife, on her way to the gym in the morning dropped Cheyenne and I off along the way, on the north side of Highway One. The suburbs of Ramrod:I like this island and why people throw beer bottles along the road I couldn't say.First thing in the morning, in the cool of early morning the dog is full of energy and picture taking suffers as a consequence. Tilted house: Not so tilted house. Cheyenne must have been rooting in the bushes.
The side of Ramrod north of Highway One is a suburb of mixed homes mostly on dry lots, even though there are some canals. There are lots of wooded areas between the houses on this side of the island. Cheyenne takes advantage.
As do people for some extraordinary reason.

Many of the cross streets are gravel roads which gives the island a truly rural flavor. Ramrod is small, some three miles by one mile approximately, in a more or less triangular shape.

It is named for a ship that hit the reef south of here and sank ignominiously. Some people think Ramrod Key is named for sexual deviance but that is more a reflection of them than the island. but I confess I am not completely certain what sort of deviance the name conjures, nevertheless if you want a wooded hideaway there are still opportunities.There are remarkably large homes on these expansive dry lots. Just keep the boat on a trailer and you are never far from salt water. The Florida Keys Aqueduct provides running water for all and that little silver disc is some sort of automated meter reading device. I sued to think being a meter reader driving around all day would be a fine job. It's gone the way of buggy whip making, for the most part.There's always something of interest for a dog on the move.

It doesn't look much like a rottweiler but it has back up.

As usual Cheyenne went her way ignoring all other dogs.

It's a small island but there are miles of streets to wander at will and not much traffic after everyone has gone to work.

Parts of the island are salt marshes surrounded by mangroves. Insect repellent comes in handy.

One of the nicest, most symmetrical poincianas around. This building used to house the medical examiner's office before they moved it to Marathon. I always thought it odd I lived across the Highway from the autopsy center of the Keys.

And so home to our side of the island, forty minutes later. A final twenty minute stump and sniff and we will be home at last.