"asadi...." wrote


Last weekend myself (a Yankee) and my lifelong friend Gary (also a Yankee)
visited the old north state. He's retired and I am soon to be and we both
have decided we don't like snow and thought we'd look around down south.

capital idea.

Spent the night in Hickory, drove over to Brevard the next day and headed
for Wayno in Gold Hill that night.

Fabulous. Wayno's cousin has absolutely refurbished an entire 1840's gold
mining town, has a nice restaurant (wonderful food) and the old family
homestead is a joy to behold. I told the wife that if I had had my camera
I
would have taken "two" pictures of every room.

very kind of you, john.

You may not believe it but Wayno's a pretty fair guitar player and singer
in
his own right and after way too much imbibing at the restaurant, and way
too
much at the cousin's, we proceeded to the homestead to get serious. I
didn't
know I could drink so much.

i seem to recall a certain, um, smoky flavor to our after dinner
interaction...


One of the most interesting parts of the journey was listening to Wayno
and
Darus caution us about the south. About the feelings towards those damned
Yankees. It's a little different than up here in the north where families
disperse and roots are lost.

Wayno recalls sitting on his Grandmothers knee, with her talking about
when
she was a girl and the Yankees came through. took all the food. Burnt the
crops. Threw dead animals in the wells. . . .and I could see where we
were
being told the truth, that we would indeed meet those who remembered such
things too, and that their hospitality might not be so kind.

it was my great grandmother. she lived to be 101.



I suppose I could have talked about the guy my sister
married. My brother-in-law. Oh, he's a nice enough fellow and we talk and
chat from time to time.

He's got a real funny name. His first name is George. Now let me see if I
have this right, his second name is William. Now his third name is Butler
and his last name...well...it's Sherman, the fourth or fifth or something
like that.

It was his great grand daddy who killed the goat that was thrown it in the
well.

Well, when's a good time to visit you boys in the old tar-heel state
again?

john

this coming weekend, john baker. and bring that friend with you. he
refused far too many shooters for my taste...

what happened was the best thing there is about this damned place. you
get to meet new friends who will always be friends.
\
and if that's maudlin out in idaho, then **** it.


yfitons
wayno (oh; there's no - between tar and heel.)