In the midst of eating my third hard-boiled egg of the morning, I overheard the young couple at the next breakfast table mention to their server that they’d gotten married this past Saturday. 

Taking a sip of my second cup of coffee, my gaze went from the newlyweds to the nearby roaring fireplace, then out the big glass windows onto the picturesque pond on the side lawn of the majestic property. 

By the time this newspaper hits the streets on Nov. 12, it will have been 70 years to the day since Marty McFly was accidentally sent back to the future (1955) in a time machine created by Doctor Emmitt Brown in Hill Valley, California. The film was “Back to the Future,” which just celebrated its 40th anniversary. 

The title of this week’s column is a lyric from a song by rising singer-songwriter Angela Autumn. The melody, “Electric Lizard,” is an incredibly haunting number, especially the solo rendition (just her and guitar) on the EP under the verbiage “Live from NYC.”  

I’ll never get that smell out of my memory. The stench of mud and rotting debris. Most of you reading this will immediately know what I’m referring to — the aftermath of Hurricane Helene in the fall of 2024. And yet, that stench was already in my stored subconscious, seeing as I first encountered it with the aftermath of Tropical Storm Fred in 2021. 

The absurdity of life, eh?   

I’m just sitting here right now at the local laundromat in West Waynesville. Simply observing and reflecting on gratitude, for nothing and everything, and everything in-between. Families sit quietly around me awaiting the wash cycle to end. It’s Sunday morning. Back to work by this time tomorrow. Spend your free time cleaning your clothes.   

Hello from Cabin 152 at the Tryon International equestrian center on the North Carolina/South Carolina border. It’s Monday. Labor Day. And I’ve just spent the last few days attending and covering the annual Earl Scruggs Music Festival. I’m exhausted, but the gratitude remains.  

It was nearing lunchtime. In the midst of putting out the newspaper last Tuesday, I was getting hungry when I realized it was almost noon. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and was still craving eggs, sausage, toast, hashbrowns (with onions) and strong coffee (at least two cups worth).  

Hello from 30,054 feet somewhere above rural Missouri. The Delta flight is currently holding steady at 517 miles per hour. And here I sit once again. In motion, in real time. Onward to the next adventure.  

It just dawned on me, at this exact moment, that my Western journey is over (at least until next time). Currently, I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Nashville, Tennessee, doing some writing and pondering, as per usual. And I’ll be finally headed back to my humble abode in Western North Carolina tomorrow. To note, I’ve been on the road since July 8.  

Iconic guitar riffs eternally burned into the walls of our memory. Songs that have remained the soundtrack to our lives for over a half-century. The sonic grace and stage swagger, the legend and lore of one of rock-n-roll’s greatest six-string aces — Mike Campbell.