North Carolina found its way into my heart by happenstance. It unfolded
softly over time, in trips to the Biltmore, in the breweries and salt
cave of Asheville, in a girls trip to Charlotte. So when a little Airbnb
with a yurt on a farm nestled in the mountains of Leicester, NC found
it’s way to my iPhone screen, something in me said, “This place. There’s
something here for you.”
Hearing this type of voice is nothing
new to me, the further I’ve progressed on my healing and spiritual
journey. It’s the unearthing of an intuition and higher self that’s long
been ignored, and the more I connected to her and the parts of me I had
lost over time, the more she felt safe to step from the shadows to be
heard; she knew I was finally listening. When I saw just how many
reviews this place had and how they were booked solid for the next 3
months but just magically happened to have the exact last minute
availability for us to visit the exact weekend we needed a getaway,
well, that’s what they call kismet.
So we journeyed the 3 hours
from Chattanooga to Leicester and arrived late on a Friday night. When
we arrived, we all went to bed and as I stared up at the blue glow of
stars of my daughter’s projection nightlight dancing across the ceiling,
illuminating the actual stars peeking just beyond the glass dome
opening of the yurt, calm washed over me. It felt good to escape into
nature, to climb through the trap door of my repetitious everyday
routine and fall into another life. I felt relieved in a sense, to know
that my phone didn’t get service out here. I felt the magic unfolding
all around me and couldn’t wait to explore.
The morning found me
bright and early at 6:00am and arrived in the little pitter patter of
feet across the wood floor and tiny tugs on the blanket from my side of
the bed. “Mama,” Lilly said. “It’s wake up time.”
I can only
describe what I felt that morning, stepping onto the porch of the yurt,
with its little bridge extending over the creek that flowed past, as
something like a bit of a homecoming; a feeling of knowing you are
exactly where you’re meant to be in that exact moment in time. The sun
filtered through the forest canopy in a play of light dancing across the
stream, and I sat on the porch and sipped my coffee from a mug, letting
the rich brown liquid warm me from the inside out, creating its own
magic within my bloodstream, waking me up a little more to the seemingly
ordinary yet extraordinary unfolding around me.
We roamed the
grounds and were greeted by the official welcoming committee: three
precocious dogs with tails wagging in a fierce display of instant
affection. The sweetest and most gentle of the trio was Porter, whom I
can only imagine is an old soul that has known nothing but kindness over
the course of his many lifetimes. I could see it in his eyes and in the
way he was so gentle with Lilly, letting her run her fingers through
his fur, coupled with the occasional playful pull on his ears. Porter
came to greet us every morning, already staking his claim in the middle
of the bridge, and patiently waiting for us to emerge from the yurt,
coffee cups in hand & little Lilly in tow. He was by far one of my
favorite parts about this trip.
As we wandered further down to
the flower garden, I stopped for a photo on the bridge to catch the
sweeping mountains in the background, the meadow illuminated in the
gentle glow that can only be captured in the early dawn; that time of
morning where peace and stillness permeate everything around it and give
your soul sustenance in the form of inspiration. It was in this moment
that an idea came to me. I had been carrying around a little teal
notepad, filled with blank squares of paper and a gilded pen. I knew I
wanted to do something with writing, putting some poetry on paper and
maybe merging my love of photography with my love of language. It was in
that moment that I decided to start my next greatest adventure:
self-discovery and healing through writing.
The magic of this
place just spoke to me and inspired me with its rolling hills, the hops
field dotted with wildflowers, the little yurt in the middle of the
woods that reminded me of Hagrid’s Hut. You can learn a lot about
yourself once you really stop to listen, and so I penned a lot of poetry
that weekend.
We decided to make the short drive from the farm
to the nearest town of Marshall, venturing out in search of baked goods
and a need for further exploration.
Marshall, NC is a sleepy
two-stoplight town you wouldn’t know existed if you weren’t looking for
it. Part of its charm is that this town exists half in the past and half
in the present, progress without compromising its rich history, slow
paced life, and simplicity; like I could blink and turn the entire town
sepia toned, slipping backwards through the years to when it was more of a destination rather than a small
pass-through town.
It feels like stepping back in time as you
wander through the old brick buildings, and it’s in the way the worn
wooden floors creak, like if you tilt your head to the side and really
listen, you’ll hear the stories they have to tell. You don’t need a
compass here - the idea is to just get lost, to just be, to let things
find you. And as we wandered, we absolutely let them.
What found
me was nostalgia, simplicity, and a familiarity I couldn’t place. The
little riverside town pressed up against the French Broad river was
dotted with shops, cafes, and buildings to explore: fresh espresso and
crumbly blueberry muffins at Zuma Coffee, Mad Co brew house buzzing with
excitement and the slight smell of burnt pizza crust wafting through
the air, a used bookshop with that undeniable intoxicating bookstore
smell, and a spiritual shop beckoning me with an array of crystals,
tinctures and tonics, little salves for the soul.
We had only
planned to spend an hour or so wandering the town but got so swept up in
its charm that we lost all sense of time. Don’t believe anyone when
they say time travel isn’t real - it happens when you least expect. One
minute you’re having banana nut muffins at a sidewalk cafe and three
hours later you’re pouring over pages in a dusty bookshop. You blink and
suddenly you’re having grilled salmon drowning in lemon butter at Star
Diner followed by too many glasses of wine at Addison Farms Vineyard,
getting caught in a sudden rainstorm but being so in the moment that you
don’t even care - you welcome the rain and let it wash over you,
cleansed in little pieces of sky.
On our last day, I buried my
feet in the soil, covered up in dirt as the end of summer traveled the
length of my body, pulled me towards the creek where I splashed with my
daughter like I was five again. Porter came bounding into view, wanting
to join in our game. There’s such a clarity of the soul revealed here,
in wet feet on the dew drenched grass, the crisp mountain air, the
simplicity and stillness that flowed all around us.
As night
unfolded slowly, it brought a twinge of crisp air - even a hot July day
can have a chilly night. Fireflies flashed in the hops yard and we sat
on the front porch one last time, waiting for the show to start. The
frogs and cicadas began to sing, the fireflies emerged, the stars glowed
brighter in the night sky as it darkened. The world opened up, her
heart bared like a beautiful prized treasure only for those who
understand the importance of stillness; for those who know that the
greatest secrets of this world are not spoken but revealed in a canvas
night sky of constellations, in the baritone of the wind blowing through
trees, in the brook babbling and bubbling spilling secrets into the
dark; stories in code only those who understand that type of magic can
come to know.
This place has imprinted onto my very being, a
gateway into parts unknown to where I have longed to return. It is a
place where the next part of my journey unfolded, and I’m still not
quite sure where it may lead me. All I know is that I found magic that
weekend in North Carolina, and it was the catalyst for something much
bigger than myself.
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