Thursday, March 15, 2012

~ Invoking Granddaddy ~


 Southern Appalachian Mts. near Murphy, N.C.

I just got back from N.C., Georgia & Tennessee two nights ago.  Experiencing the South was one of those "wish list" items I've wanted to do for a long time.  And so, Rick and I flew into Atlanta, Ga., rented a car, and drove..............a lot!!!!  Six days to be exact.

We're searching for the "perfect" area for retirement.  I've always been fascinated with the Appalachians mountians, so we picked a spot in N.C. and headed out.  We are working with a realtor, born and raised in Savannah, GA., who now resides in Murphy, N.C.  With our list of homes and properties in hand, we head into his office Friday morning. The realtor has sworn to dedicate two days to us for the hunt, he fulfills that promise beyond measure, he's a super cool guy.  Holler (hollow), after holler we drive.........Rick and I are in complete awe of our surroundings, I've never seen anything more beautiful than these Appalachians.

Beaver Creek House in Andrews, N.C.  Stunning creek-front home.

After two full days with our realtor, we release our realtor to resume' his job.  We obtain a map from the Chamber, figure out our base camp on the map, and pursue looking on our own for the next three days.  Let me just say, this is an exhausting and emotional task we've set ourselves upon.  The Beaver Creek house was a huge let down for me, I can't hardly shake the gloominess.  This home sits on a raging creek, Beaver Creek.  The land the home sits on has historical history, it's a place the Cherokee indians travelled to annually for pow-wows.  The creek is full of trout.  The outside of the home is darling, built in 1900.  The inside..........a "tear down" Rick informs me............I'm in tears!  It's the end of a long day, I'm ready to go back to our cabin, I'm tired and drained.

The next morning, my spirits are lifted, I'm ready to start the search once again, our time is running out.  I step out onto the deck of the cabin we've rented in pre-dawn hours, with my mug a joe.  I take a deep breath, center myself, and call upon my granddaddy for help.  I ask him to guide me on this search, to let me know when I'm "home."  I ask him to show me a sign, send his beloved energy to me.......then the two of us head out.......Rick's arms around my shoulder, he knows my hearts been heavy.

We travel South of town, down near the GA. state line, about 10 miles S. of Murphy.  We drive up a holler called Marrestop, then we veer to our left into another holler called Sourwood.  I'm asking Rick, "where are we going?" His answer, "just driving, checkin' it out."  As we head further into this holler, we see a 4-sale sign on the road, the road heads up a ways, it's called Whittler's Mountain.  We locate the piece of property for sale, it's up on a knoll.  After parking the car in a semi-gravelled driveway, we get out.............I begin to cry........... I can't shake it, I feel something very strong.  I know in my heart that I've been led here by my granddaddy.  I've invoked his guidance, his help, and he's shown me the very spot, I'm home.  The property has million dollar views of the Appalachians,   It's been somewhat cleared so that only the majestic oaks, maples,  white pines and dogwood remain, it's very, very private.  I look over at Rick and one look tells me, he knows what I'm thinking and he feels the same way. 


Sourwood Holler


 


Whittler's Mountain, Murphy, N.C.

We call our realtor the next day, we put in an offer on the land.  As it stands now, we're in the stage of buying that everyone dreads, the countering of price.  What I do know is this, I invoked help from my granddaddy and he's led us here.  My grandfather, he was a whittler, a good one too.  Our family history traces us back to N.C. long ago.  Although we hadn't really thought about building a home in the Southern Appalachians, the excitement of doing so, makes our heart sing!!  The sale will go through, I know this in my heart.

Martin Houses at John C. Campbell Folk School

The Johnsonville Farm House across from Hothouse Creek.
A 100 year old farmhouse we looked at.

Our soul is touched, we leave with a renewed spirit.


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