Godwin Cottage Auction

On Saturday, June 21, we went to an auction at the Godwin Cottage.

This was for contents of the historic home, although I have since learned that most of the items were not the better ones but some left over stuff. It was pretty obvious that the contents were not all of the original owner's.

The cottage was built after the Civil War and it is well known as an enchanted-looking place that charms visitors to the Town of Fincastle.


This clock was one of the pieces I wanted to see. It had a date of 1819 inside of it.

I do not know how much it sold for as we did not stay for the entire auction and we left before the bidding on this item began.



This desk, I think, was supposedly a Chippendale desk; however, I am not entirely certain of that. There was a Chippendale desk there and this was the only desk I saw. I was told at the auction that someone had placed a phone bid of $10,000 on the Chippendale desk, in any case. Which made it way out of my league. I do not know if there is any truth to that claim, however.


This is the auctioneer, Ken Stanley.



This egg basket was bid out at around $350. Someone certainly must know something I don't. I would never think of paying hundreds of dollars for a basket of any kind.



This picture was by someone named Beyer and painted pre-20th century. It sold for about $500. There were four of them and they depicted local scenes, like the Homestead and Natural Bridge.



This is the Godwin Cottage. The house is for sale; the asking price is over $500,000. The place needs a great deal of work inside. The house has been unlived in, mostly, for the last 10 years and is disrepair.

Endurance

Spirit

Books: Atonement

Atonement
By Ian McEwan
351 pages
Copyright 2001

My book club read this book for May; I am just now getting around to writing about it.

In 1935, Briony Tallis is growing up. She wants to be a writer. She sees a flirtation between her older sister and Robbie, a neighbor boy, and imagines all sorts of things.

Her cousin Lola is visiting along with her two brothers. The brothers run away. Lola, during the night search, is raped.

Briony blames Robbie.

The war comes. Robbie goes to war. Cecilia, the sister, becomes nurse. Robbie makes it home, Briony tries to make amends.

Only... not. It turns out this story is the story Briony has written, and it is to be published after every one dies.

I hate an unreliable narrator. I liked the story up until I realized it was all a lie.

2 stars

Winkin' is Dead

I'm sad to report that my baby fawn was hit by a car about 100 yards from my driveway.

I know there may be many other fawns roaming around here, and it may not actually have been Winkin' (as I named her). But it sure felt like Winkin' in my heart when I saw that little body laying in the road. Since I couldn't tell the fawns apart anyway I will never know.

I really have to stop naming these deer. Every time I do they get me on the inside.

Rest well, little Winkin'. I'm sorry your time was so short on this good Earth.

Thursday Thirteen

1. We have a small garden, about 10 x 10. It is a summer garden only; there isn't enough room there to plant enough for canning or freezing.

2. This year we planted radishes, kale, green beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers, yellow squash, zucchini, cucumbers and marigolds.

3. The marigolds help keep away bugs.

4. The plot is very full, with only room for a hoe between rows.

4. The layout is thus: Row 1: radishes and peppers, Row 2: cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini (in hills, actually), Row 3: tomatoes, Row 4: Peas, Row 5: kale, Row 6: marigolds, and down the side in a vertical, green beans.

6. I wanted to make notes so I can have a better crop next year.

7. The marigolds work well next to the kale, and kale works better in rows than it did last year in hills.

8. Don't plant peas in such a small area. They are too much work for too little return. Plant more green beans instead.

9. The radishes did not come up at all and I believe birds ate the seeds. Next year, consider netting not only 8 feet high around the perimeter to keep out deer but also across the top to keep out birds.

10. Begin using Miracle Grow sooner in the year.

11. Make sure to fertilize extensively this fall with natural fertilizer from the pasture (cow poop!)

12. Consider planting broccoli next year instead of radishes.

13. Next year, try watermelon, too, if there is space! (They are $6 in the store!)


Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.

Books: The Touch

The Touch
By Colleen McCullough
Copyright 2003
Audiobook
Read by Jenny Sterlin

Alexander Kinross, a nobody from Scotland, hits it big in Australia in the mining industry. He sends home for a wife and receives Elizabeth, a 16-year old distant cousin.

She hates him on site and love never blossom. Kinross is old fashioned and wants an heir. His wife has two difficult pregnancies and is advised to never have a third.

Both children are girls; the first, Nell, is learned and headstrong and exactly like her father, and the second, Anna, is brain damaged from a traumatic birth.

Elizabeth is not a very depth-filled character. She chooses to live out her unhappy lot as best she can. Life is difficult for her in spite of Alexander's unlimited wealth.

Alexander has a mistress, Ruby, whom Elizabeth grows fond of. This unnatural friendship keeps the book interesting.

Ruby has a son, Lee, whom Alexander hopes will take over his enterprise. Lee only has eyes for Elizabeth, however.

I'll leave you to guess what direction that takes.

The book is well-read, although it took a while to get used to the accent.

A Phone Call

Here is something funny. Yesterday morning my brother called from his cell phone. He is in Myrtle Beach on vacation. After talking a few minutes, he tells me he is on the pier fishing.

"Is your husband's sister down here, by any chance?" he asks.

"Yes, she's there on vacation, too, but I don't know where."

"I thought that was her," he said. He went on to describe her and the boys. He hasn't seen my sister-in-law in about eight years.

"That's them," I said. "How far away from you are they?"

"About 20 feet," he said. "They're on the pier fishing, too."

"Take her the telephone and hand it to her and tell she has a call," I said. "See what she says."

In hardly a breath I heard my brother say, "Excuse me, I have a phone call for you."

"What?" I heard my sister-in-law, Jennifer, say. I was relieved it was actually her and not some stranger. "Who?"

"It's your sister-in-law," my brother said.

"What?" Jennifer said again, then, "Loren!" she exclaimed, which is my brother's name.

I was laughing so hard I could hardly answer when she took the phone. "I didn't recognize him," she said. I tried to stop laughing long enough to tell her everything was fine. My brother came back on the line and said goodbye; I suppose they chatted briefly then.

I thought it was hilarious. And it was so good to laugh that hard.

These Trees Were Our Friends

Even though I have known since early May that loggers were coming to cut down the forest behind me, I was unprepared.

The loggers had been on the far side of the farm for about 10 days. I saw their trucks lumbering across the fields as they moved through gates.

Last week they moved their set-up next door. I look out my bedroom window, and this is what I see:




I was not prepared to feel the trees as they crashed. But the first morning, the vibration came up through my sneakers into my feet. My soul felt sick as I realized what it was.

My friends were dying.



With morbid curiosity, I sat on the deck and watched the trees crash to the ground. The noise was thunderous. First a chainsaw, an engine rev, a mighty crack! And the tree toppled. It's leaves swooshed and the final bang shook the earth.

For 25 years I have haunted these woods. The forest was old, with trees stretched to the sky as high as I could see. I walked these woods when I needed time to think or a moment's meditation. I listened to them sigh in the wind and sing when the rain came down and pelted their leaves. I watched them stretch and bend in windstorms and saw a few break during winter ice.



It is perhaps more difficult for my husband. He has played among these trees since childhood. The woodcutter's machines now sit in the spot where he and a friend built a "log cabin." It had walls about four feet high. It's mostly rotted now, but the memories he retains are definitely good.

He also loves to hunt and these woods have brought him many a deer in years past.

Above you can see my husband as he looks at the tall trees that have not yet fallen to the axe. He estimates that 200 trees will be taken from this patch of wood before the logger leaves.

Below is a road they cut in so they could get into the forest.



Apparently they cut the "pulp" wood from the area first. That goes to Covington to West Vaco, where it is made into things like paper and press board. Other logs go to the sawmill, where they will be turned into lumber. Maybe your house will be built from these trees.



I do not dislike logging. I think it has its place in the system and can work well on managed land. When a wood is timbered and a management plan is in place, then I have no problem with it.

But the loggers leave a lot of mess:



If this is cleaned up and the land restored to something - a field, a new wood - this will not be so bad. If this is being logged just for greed - that I object to. It's not my property so I don't know the motive. We only had permission to walk and hunt on it; we had no say in this.

As you can see below, the trees were quite large. I expect many were at least a 100 years old. Some were probably older.



"These trees were my friends," said the Ent in Lord of the Rings. "You would think a wizard would know better."

Alas, age does not always wisdom bring. Farewell to you, my speechless friends. Thank you for shading me and offering me shelter in my time of need.

I am sorry I am not able to do the same for you.

Mountain Fire Update

The fire on Caldwell Mountain, also known as the Stone Coal Gap fire, appears to be out.

The Forest Service is saying about 820 acres burned. Rainstorms yesterday helped put out the flames.

Asheville v. Roanoke

For many years, I have heard Asheville compared to Roanoke, with Roanoke on the lower end in the favorable column.

Indeed, Asheville does look a lot like Roanoke. The elevation is similar.

The mountains are similar.

The trees are similar.

Asheville is older than Roanoke, though. Asheville was established in the late 1700s. Big Lick's history doesn't go back that far.

The one thing Asheville has that Roanoke does not is a tourist attraction. When you have 1.4 million people trudging through Biltmore Estate, you are bound to have more money to do things with.

Roanoke, bless her little heart, hasn't anything to draw in the tourists. After all, no one says "I'm going to Roanoke to see the Mill Mountain Star!" when they live in New York City.

Maybe if Vanderbilt had come to Roanoke first, he'd have built here. Who knows?

In any event, Asheville has a thriving creative population that I practically drooled over. It is obviously a very progressive city and based on the revitalization of Grove Arcade in downtown I would say it does its work very well. That old building is now a major shopping attraction in its own right, I understand, although we did not make it there this trip.

I felt like plopping down somewhere and reading poetry. The only other place that has ever happened to me has been on the Hollins University campus. The whole city has that kind of atmosphere.

I also noticed a lack of church steeples. Unlike Roanoke, which boasts a symbol of the devout nearly on every city block, churches were remarkably absent. Or at least for someone who is used to seeing church steeples rising above the horizon in all directions it so appeared.

That is not to say there weren't churches - there were. Several large ones, in fact. But they weren't splashed all over the place like they are around here.

Another thing I found interesting was that the stores, from clothing outlets to restuarants, played oldies music. We went into two malls and not once did I hear that loud hippity-hop garbage spewing forth from the speakers. There were plenty of teenagers roaming about so I don't think it made a whole lot of difference in terms of attracting shoppers, either.

It was a lot easier on the nerves, anyway.

I think Roanoke is too uptight and too wrapped up in itself to ever have a bustling downtown like I saw in Asheville.

Even so, I like this area and it suits me fine. I am a seventh generation settler here so it's pretty much in my bones. But if I ever want to move, I might just have to take another look at Asheville.

Biltmore Village and Trolley

After the WNC Farmer's Market, we headed to Biltmore Village.

Here we have the most expensively built fast food restaurants in America. We ate at the Hardee's. It is very nice inside, too.




(I made sure I took pictures so I can send them to the local zoning people so they can see what actually can be done with good zoning.)

Biltmore Village was built in the late 1890s as the Biltmore home was being constructed. If you guessed that it sprang up as a result of the construction, you would be correct in part. Apparently it was designed to be a prelude to the Estate.

It is full of shops now. We bought some chili bowls.

At 2:10 p.m., we boarded the white trolley for a historical tour of the entire area.

It lasted two hours.

This is downtown Asheville from the interstate.



Asheville has a thriving creative community. Lots of potters and artists there. I remembered that Colleen over at Loose Leaf has a son living there. I even thought of looking him up but then felt too much like a stalker for even thinking it, so I did not.

We left on Sunday. I'm going to write one more entry about this trip - a comparison of Asheville to Roanoke - and then I'll be done.

WNC Farmer's Market

After we left the NC Arboretum, we headed to the WNC Farmer's Market.

Wow.

Now this is a farmer's market!





Apparently about 2 million people shop in this 36-acre market. Most of it is under cover.

The only thing I didn't like was I couldn't tell if the food was locally grown or if it was imported in. Apparently the first truck shed is supposed to harbor only certified farmers, but I sure did see a lot of McCutcheon's jams and jellies there which I know is not grown on all these local farms.

In any event, I don't believe I have ever seen so much produce in one place in my life. It made me hungry just to walk through it.

Mountain Fire II

The fire on Caldwell Mountain in front of me continues to burn.

Estimates have been 100 acres but I think that laughable. Several hundred acres would be more like it. It's burned most of the mountainside.



Above is where the fire was yesterday afternoon as seen from Blacksburg Road.



This is around 8 p.m. on Breckinridge Mill Road.



Yesterday evening, Breckinridge Mill Road (above).

The above is the view out my front door as of this morning.



The fire has burned down the mountain, moving towards civilization. This shot was taken around 12:15 today from Stevens Road, which is about 1/4 mile from my house. The fire has burned so low down the mountain I can no longer see the fire line from my house because of the trees.

The fire has burned unchecked since Wednesday. Reports are a hot shot crew is scheduled to begin work on it today.

NC Arboretum

Saturday morning it was off to the North Carolina Arboretum, located just off the Blue Ridge Parkway and not far from our hotel.

Inside there was an art show of NC farms.



This is James enjoying the art. On the wall, it says, that the number of WNC farms in 1970 was 76,065. By 2002, that number was 12,212.

Outside, we found all kinds of flowers. This is quilt garden. Isn't it lovely?



This is not a moonshine still! This is a raincatcher on the side of the gazebo/entrance structure. The water comes from the guttering and is used on the flowers.



My favorite was the Bonsai garden.




I thought this was a lovely piece of artwork:

Mountain Fire

I had planned to give a daily travelogue of last week's trip to Asheville with no interruptions, but I hadn't planned on the mountain in front of my house catching fire.



The above is what I saw around 2 p.m. yesterday when I went after the mail. Alarmed, I called the sheriff's office and was informed that they were aware there was a small fire on the mountain.




By 6:30 p.m., the fire was no longer small. It had grown quite a bit.




This is what it looked like an hour or so ago. I daresay I will be watching this fire burn for some time.

The mountain is Caldwell Mountain. I have not yet received a report on the acreage burned.

Biltmore Estate

The point of our recent trip was to see the Biltmore Estate.

Neither of us had ever been there.

The Biltmore is said to be America's largest house and I daresay it is. I suppose it is our only palace.

We ventured forth on Friday morning, after having breakfast at Shoney's.

This is a view of Biltmore house from the side:



Biltmore was opened in 1895 after six years of construction. It was built by George Vanderbilt, who died in 1914. He was the grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt, who made his fortune in shipping and railroads.

We were told the grandfather had $100 million when he died, and George's father doubled that in 10 years. That is something like $46 billion in today's dollars.

The Biltmore has acres of gardens:



By the time we spent two-plus hours in the house, which has no air conditioning and thousands of people walking through it, we were too hot to really take in the gardens well.

This is the front door to the estate:



I could not take pictures inside, but the exterior was fair game. I was completely entranced by some of the stone work. Take a look at the detail on this carving:



Inside we saw a couple of Renoir paintings, 400-year-old tapestries, oodles of antique furnishings, and lots of extravagances. In the basement, there is a bowling alley - the servants set the pins up back then - an indoor swimming pool and a gym room. The other half of the basement housed the kitchen, pantry, related rooms and small bedrooms for the help.

The library was several stories and packed full of books. The guide said George Vanderbilt read 3,013 books in his lifetime. He kept a list.

The Vanderbilts had separate his and her bedrooms. In all there are 65 bedrooms and 43 bathrooms.

It took about 35 servants to keep the place up.

The house is about 395 feet by 195 feet, I think we were told. You could put our house in one of the sitting rooms.

The house sits on 8,000 acres, which is what remains of the original 125,000 acres. Mrs. Vanderbilt sold the property to the federal government for $5 an acre and it is now the Pisagh National Forest.

The tour involved a lot of steps (five flights) and I did not see elevators, so I am not at all convinced it is handicapped accessible.

The estate is still in the Vanderbilt family. It has been open to the public since 1930.

After we left the house, we drove to the winery on the property. After a tour there, we ended our day.

Asheville, NC

Last Thursday, June 12, my husband and I headed out for four days in Asheville, NC.

This was our birthday present, a short trip to see something we had never seen.

Thanks to Blogger's new "scheduling" feature, you never missed me, did you? I wrote those book reviews weeks ago!

Anyway, we left around 10 a.m., since hubby had worked the previous day at the fire station. We zipped down Interstate 81 and when the time came to exit to Interstate 77, hubby decided to take I-81 to I-26 in Johnson, TN, instead.

We climbed up, up into the mountains.



I worried mostly about my ear, which regular readers will recall troubles me on occasion. This was the first time I'd been on a mountain elevation in nearly two years because in the past it has caused pain and nausea.

Thankfully, aside from feeling very full for a few hours, my ear passed this test. Whew.

We stopped at this rest center in North Carolina. It was on a very high mountain on I-26:



The rest areas and Welcome Centers in adjoining states make Virginia's efforts at the same look terrible. Probably because they are.

Finally we ventured down into Asheville.

This city is ringed by interstates and bypasses. I suppose you would never have to go into the city proper if you didn't want to.

We stayed at a Fairfield Inn off Exit 33, wherever that is.

This is the room:



We arrived around 3 p.m. Then, despite having been in the car for hours, we drove around to orient ourselves to the area.

We ate at Harbor Inn. There is a similiar restuarant in Roanoke and it has much better food. My whiting was so dry I had to send it back as it was inedible. They made it good with shrimp, so that was okay.

We had an early night.

Next up: Biltmore Estate

Gestapo Land

I feel like I have fallen into Gestapo Land.

Just a few more hours and you'll have to salute simply to cross various borders.

Papers please.

Wasteland of the Free

Donna at Just Me has posted the words to a song that I found very powerful (the words, not necessary the singing of it).

It's called Wasteland of the Free by Iris Dement and it is a good reflection of how I feel about things in the U.S. much of the time.

Take a look.