Boone in June

I’ve been living in Asheville for six years this month. The weather in June of 2018 was so starkly different from that of Houston. Once we moved all our stuff into the Hobbit House, we opened the windows. This seemed incongruous with the time of year, but we were celebrating our ability to draw fresh air into the house like they do during the summer in Maine. This year the temps have been more robust in the heat department. Also steamier in the humidity realm. It feels like Houston in April. So, after years of enjoying the month of June in Asheville, I needed to escape for a bit, but not too far. I was finally planning to hit the trail to Boone, which is further north and higher in elevation.

As explorers of old have said, “Because it’s there!” I’d heard that Boone was a cute little mountain town, with cute little mountain town attributes like shops and restaurants along the main street and plenty of hiking and sight seeing. My husband’s cousin lives in Boone and those two guys hadn’t spent much time together in ages. So, it seemed inevitable once I discovered the woman who ran the WNC (that’s western North Carolina to you non-Carolinians) tai chi program I teach, also lived there! Places and people! The allure grew in my mind. The decision was solidified: We were going to Boone!

Asheville people go there with the added attraction of getting to this quaint little town by driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Parkway, as we locals call it, is a scenic drive with few bathrooms along its bucolic pathway. Plan carefully should you decide to make a lengthly trip along this famous road as there are many pull-outs for viewing the peaks, but scant few for urinary relief.

The speed limit on The Parkway is 45 mph with several twists and turns that require normal drivers to slow down to a prudent 20 or so lest they go careening off into that sunset blinding them to the sheer drop off at the road’s edge. One lane going in each direction should be ample for the amount of traffic on a weekday morning in late June. All bets are off in October, aka autumn leaf season, when parking in a Walmart parking lot with a nice view of a nearby mountain peak might give one a similiar experience. The Parkway lanes are narrow with no available “shoulder” area to buffer any evasive maneuvers should those become necessary. Keeping to one’s own lane might appear to be optional, but screaming at the cars coming toward you from the opposite direction to “stay in your lane!” is mandatory. Also, people frequently try to commit suicide by riding their bikes along the shady, twisty lanes, often suddenly appearing around a sharp corner. But you can avoid hitting them from behind if you keep to the posted speed limit and are quick on the brakes. Passing these daredevils requires more patience than is possessed by most people driving in cars.

In our travel research, we discovered via our Parkway map, a town (dot on the map) called Little Switzerland, which was halfway to Boone. Who wouldn’t want to see a place called Little Switzerland. It would probably be the closest I’d get to Real Switzerland. There’s about five buildings in all of little Switzerland, most being on the same property belonging to Little Switzerland Inn. We lunched on their outdoor patio, facing a magnificent view of manicured lawns and flower beds giving way to rows of blue mountains beyond. The restaurant had a couple items I could eat, so I chose the one called Vegetable Stack. It was literaly a stack of grilled veggies piled up like a mountain just waiting for me to topple them into the basalmic dressing on the plate. I liked it so much, I ate it again on the way home from our Boone adventure.

Since there are so many fine places to drift off The Parkway and find some hiking or gawking opportunity, we chose Linville Falls as our next stop. Actually, we mistakenly drove into the town of Linville Falls and had to backtrack further down the road to get back on The Parkway to circle round to the actual falls. Since I was chock-full of vegetable stack, I had some afternoon energy to hike up to the lookout point and then down some stairs to a viewing deck (made of rock) to see the falls, snap a few pics and revel in the coolish air. If you’ve been to WNC and you haven’t seen a waterfall, you have not had the full experience. Second only to digging holes everywhere, waterfall viewing is quite a popular activity in this area. We got a million of them.

When we arrived at our lovely vacation accommodations in Boone, we were greeted by a knowledgeable woman who insisted on sharing every minute of history regarding the restored home of some rich person who built the place where we would be spending the next three nights. Rich people, it seemed built a lot of mega summer houses in these mountain towns, and those who now allow you to stay in them feel obligated to give every excruciating detail of how wonderful these folks were–how they contributed to the region and maybe even supplied the mountains for our viewing pleasure. I felt this should have been an optional tour, but I politely listened to this glamorous tale of the wealthy white people who did stuff long ago. Luckily, they’d prudently built a bathroom since that past era, so I could escape to sit it out.

The name of the place was the Lovill House Inn and it was indeed a nice place…with air conditioning! and close enough to walk into the downtown section of Boone. After sleeping on a super soft mattress (this is not an endorsement of their mattresses, but a rant about how much my back hurt in the morning as I need a super-firm mattress to maintain spinal alignment and I frequently crab about the lack of bed firmness in most of the unique places we tend to visit), we were given a late breakfast. I am an early riser. You may not be. You might be delighted by a 9 am morning meal. I grumbled a bit via both tummy and mouth. All three mornings delivered the best breakfasts I’ve ever eaten. Yes, they were well past when I wished to eat them, but worth the wait.

The kitchen was right next to the dining room. One woman cooked the meal for all five guests who wanted breakfast. Her name is Maria. I practically accosted her when she came to ask if we enjoyed the food. She invited me into the kitchen for a chat about the zucchini gratin, the soy curls, the carrot sausage, the grits and every other thing my plate presented me with those few lovely mornings in this historic house previously owned by somebody or other named Lovill. We did other things besides eat though.

Hiking the next two days was somewhat challenging. One trail was so badly eroded, leaving numerous exposed roots and tons of rock. One section of that trail had a rope strung up in order to traverse some giant boulders otherwise difficult to pass through without this secure hand hold. My lunch date with the tai chi administrator was cancelled, so we did more hiking instead. The views in the Boone area are quite spectacular both at the trail head and up where the mountains spread out like curvy mermaids in an azure sea . A couple more visits to former summer homes of the rich and famous, donated to the common folk for visitation, were situated on superior perches and offered unending views of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Hiking-wise, the place rocked!

Please forgive me for more food news. After our rigorous hike, we missed the lunch hour, arriving back in town around 1:45. Lines for most restaurants were still forming. We back tracked to a breakfast place 15 minutes before closing time, but were welcomed in like long-lost friends. It was Betty’s Biscuits, a newish place gearing up to close for the day. To speed things along, I asked what was suitable for a vegetarian diet. The fried green tomato with pimento cheese on a biscuit was recommended. I practically swooned over this gem, which might have been due to the lateness of the hour and hiking-provoked hunger. I asked if Miss Betty had a cookbook through which I might re-create such a delight. They decided to think that over as it sounded to them like a good idea. I’ll be looking for it. I can tell you my biscuits can’t compare.

Visiting with the relatives was fun and relaxing, especially getting a home-cooked meal I did not have to make. This, topped off with key-lime pie, was made even better by the easy companionship of the two cousins whose grandmothers were sisters or some such connection. I wasn’t really paying attention due to pie-induced stupor. To be invited into someone’s home for a meal is a delightful way of getting to know them even if I can’t exactly remember the family history. A few days later we all dined at a brewery (my husband’s kind of place) and had pizza and beer after which the cousins dropped us off at the inn for our last evening of sitting on the front porch with a drink in hand to watch the world go by.

I can finally say I’ve been to Boone and back and even ran into folks we know when we stopped in for lunch at the Little Switzerland Inn on the way back to Asheville. The excitement did not end there though. As we made our approach to the familiar Town Mountain Road into Asheville, we spotted a small, black animal wandering out into our lane on The Parkway. It took a moment to register this animal as a baby black bear, seemingly unconcerned about the behemoth bearing down upon it. My husband slammed on the brakes (a good skill to have on this road) and barely missed the little tyke. The folks in the car behind us applied the same manic reaction and were able to avoid hitting us as well as allowing themselves a good view of the wooly cub as it ambled into the woods on the other side of the road. Crisis averted, we entered our little stretch of civilization on familiar streets and were happy to remember we had plans with friends for dining out that evening. We welcomed this homecoming.

Happy travels,

Cheryl