Onward to: Asheville, NC

After a few wonderous days in Virginia Beach, VA (and a startling realization of how much I actually am like all the other women in my family, we made our way down to the Blue Ridge Parkway. We stopped off at a fast mart an d were greeted by a sign on the door that stated belligerently "armed guard on duty. Wanna try something? Feelin' lucky tonight?" The interior of the store was equally as threatening. Very blatant remarks about the punishment of shoplifters were strewn about the small metallic shelves. A little startled, I approached the register with my meager bag of peanuts and a crumpled dollar bill. The girl behind the register, however, was as non-threatening as they get. A beautiful teenager, probably no more than 17 years old with dark black hair tied in a bun, and a big toothy smile took my crumpled dollar bill and gave me change. As I left she called after me "ya'll have a nice day!"

We drove on the highway for a bit, and I noticed the mountains ahead. Not like the mountains of new england, these looked like glorified hills from a distance, covered in green with rounded peaks. As we began our ascent into the mountain towns, however, I began to understand and respect their presence. Southern Virginia is Pennsylvania with darker earth- I thought, staring out the window. We kept passing signs with town names, all named after this man named Dan. Who is this ellusive Dan? What exactly did he do that was so deserving of all the references? Danville, River of Dan, Meadows of Dan. Dan Dan Dan. We saw signs for the Blue Ridge Parkway. Just before entering its winding trails, we stopped at a small town for food. Really small. Like almost invisible small. We ate at the most stereotypical mountain town restaurant, and were greeted by a group of young bikers. In the past, I've always feared bikers- I've never been one for the loud noise of it all, but these guys were great, really friendly and nice. We giggled awkwardly as they walked into the restaurant and looked us over. We were about to pull out of town when Maggie noticed she left her purse at the restaurant. After a moment of panic, we returned, once again greeted by our biker friends who claimed they hadn't seen the mysterious missing purse. We scanned the area and finally a friendly old man in overalls and a hat approached us. I made the stereotypical dive for the car, but before I made it into the safety of the front seat he yelled out "I seen your bag!" I got out of the car feeling silly. He smiled. "I gave it to the Sheriff. The lady sheriff, I gave it to her, we didn't look in it or nothin. She went that way." He pointed north. And we thanked him and sped off in search of the lady sheriff. Stopping at the only post office in the area (one post office for two towns) Maggie asked for the sheriff's number, and sure enough, the "lady sheriff" drove to the post office and with a big friendly smile handed over the bag. She told us to be more carefull and laughed as she sped off. We drove back onto the main street, just in time to see our biker friends leave the restaurant. They waved at us as they sped ahead and passed us on our entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Overwhelmed by sun, altitude and the adventure of the missing purse, our climb and descent through the Blue Ridge parkway was uncharacteristically quiet. I dozed off and woke up suddenly to the beautiful noise of the Grateful Dead. Perfect music for a perfect drive. We laughed and pulled off to the side of the road, to look at the mountains and take it all in. Already I was overwhelmed with the sight of the expansive country that lay before me. I was eager to experience it all, the forests, the mountains, the dustbowl plains, the desert, the houses made of tan and red that would tug at my memory of a different home in a different time in New Mexico.. I was hungry for it all. But one moment at a time and at that time we were stretched out on the grass on the side of a mountain, doing handstands and yoga, preparing ourselves for what was ahead, or rather, what was already upon us: adventure.

We reached Asheville, NC. Parking the car in some side street, I once again felt a tug at my heart. Street musicians graced every corner, people dancing to the guitarists, and watching the drummers. Long haired wanderers drinking out of mysterious paper bags in the parks, intellectuals sipping coffee over books by great names like Proust, Vonnegut, Salinger, Cisneros. Bluegrass music seeping out from bars that were painted brightly. Shops smelling of herbs, incense, citrus and tea. I knew instantly why my dear friends I met in Spain loved Asheville so much: it was like a little oasis of culture and life in the east coast desert of dullness. It was a taste of the home we had built with our hearts exactly a year ago. There was nothing spanish about it except for the feeling. And that feeling is like no other. There are no words to describe it. Very few places I've been in the world give off such a positive feeling for me- not necessarily a feeling of home, but rather a feeling of the possibility of home. A dear friend of mine once stated that every person and every place, and everything in this world vibrates at a certain frequency. If we listen to the clues of our lives, he said, we would be pulled- almost instinctively- to a place that vibrates in harmony with ourselves. We will be surrounded by others who (mostly)vibrate at harmonious levels. We will finally feel like we fit, because we do, simply fit. That place is our home. And of course, there is more than one place like that for each person. Hundreds, I imagine- if only we listened hard enough we'd find those places and those people. It goes without saying, of course, that each place is different for each type of person.

I don't mean to use the words "harmony" and "vibration" in the hippy-dippy sense. Those of you who know me know how skeptical I am of people who throw words around carelessly like that. I mean to use those words in the physical sense. If we are made of energy (from food, sunlight, water, etc) that energy must vibrate (think about your heart beat, your breath, etc). Each place is filled with people and animals and plants that are also made up of energy (food, water, sunlight, that helps them physically grow) which also vibrates (even things without life vibrate, that is how you can experience them). My friend's theory (and mine too) is that we are attracted to people, places, things, colors, and other sensory experiences that vibrate at complimentary frequencies.

Anyway, We camped out in the nearby mountains. The next morning, we wandered back into town. We stopped at a local food co-op, picked up some necessities (soy milk is a necessity, and we had no idea where we would find an organic food store in the Bible belt) and headed onward to our next destination: Nashville TN.