This must be the place: 'Honey, we could be in Kansas, by time the snow begins to thaw'

A&E Columns

This must be the place: 'Honey, we could be in Kansas, by time the snow begins to thaw'

The Blue Ridge Mountains. Garret K. Woodward photo

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.

Although summer isn’t technically over for a few more weeks, Labor Day has always been viewed as the beginning of the end of the season. That, and there’s been a slight shift in the night air. It’s got a chill to it, and so have some of the recent mornings, where I walk out the front door in a sweatshirt and boots. Soon my favorite season will arrive, fall.

Thus, I’m tired. Road weary and worn down, but happily. What’s the point of life if you haven’t pushed your body, mind, heart and soul to the brink of adventure and experience, emotions felt and interaction encountered, eh? Why would I want to be fully-rested and never leave my apartment? Why would I want it any other way except for endless treks on the highways and backroads of America? It’s the truth.

The whirlwind that has been my existence since the kickoff to summer (Memorial Day Weekend). As per usual, one can never accurately plan for how the impending summer will unfold. For all you can really ever count on are a few key anchor points of people, places and things scattered about the space between late May and early September. Distant buoys on the high seas of irresponsible enlightenment.

And as the weather person on TV predicts when the foliage will arrive in Western North Carolina, the pumpkin spice lattes return to Starbucks, the advertisements for haunted houses appear on street corners, the posters are plastered up for apple festivals and hayrides in some pumpkin patch, so, too, comes deep, introspective reflection on the summer that is quickly making itself known in the rearview mirror.

A friend, who I hadn’t seen in a while, asked me the other day, “So, how was your summer?” And I replied, honestly, “Well, I hit the road with the intent to put a lot of stuff behind me from a rough last year, and I achieved my goal.” I think of how heavy everything has been in my life, both personally and professionally, since last fall. I wanted to put a lot of that to rest, and I did so, most of which during sunsets while cruising around the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming and Montana.

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And yet, the odometer keeps clicking along in my rusty, musty, trusty Toyota Tacoma pickup truck. Plans already in motion for trips to Knoxville, Nashville, Chattanooga and Bristol over the next few weeks. Music festivals. Industry showcases. As well as watching some football on the weekends with dear friends over cold suds and camaraderie.

The hope is to start to slow down somewhere by mid-October. Fingers crossed and God-willin’, but I know myself well enough, where I say that I’ll let off on the gas pedal for my own sanity, only to immediate get antsy for the open road, the unknowns of beauty in the universe lying around the next corner ready to surprise you at a moment’s notice. It’s all too much to pass up. Maybe by Christmas I’ll tone it down a little bit, get some sleep and stand still for a second. We’ll see.

“Set the gearshift for the high gear of your soul, you’ve got to run like an antelope out of control,” as legendary rock act Phish howls on the tune “Run Like an Antelope.” The melody rings true as I sit here at my writing desk in my quaint apartment in downtown Waynesville. Gazing out onto nearby Walnut Street while thick raindrops fall through the big maple trees in the side yard, another sign of fall moving on in.

Scanning the insides of my humble abode, I notice trinkets from my travels over the past few months. Press credentials from musical gatherings in Colorado, Montana and Utah hanging up on the nearby wall. Used books purchased in dusty shops now sit quietly on the coffee table. T-shirts in my closet acquired along the way. All mementos of a life being lived in real time. Chase after that horizon. Don’t look back.

I look forward to fall. I look forward to hot coffee on cold mornings. I look forward to watching college football with longtime cronies. I look forward to late afternoon trail runs in the mountains as the leaves transform into radiant hues of yellow, orange and red. I look forward to the smell of a roaring fireplace. I look forward to wearing jeans and boots, and gathering mud on those boots amid more fall jaunts.

And as fall gradually makes itself known, I’m thinking back on my favorite moments observed and witnessed this past summer. The trail run I took in the ancient forest just outside of Whitefish, Montana, when the raindrops switched to sunshine by the first mile. That lunch with old friends in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Listening to Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys while motoring through Wyoming.

There was also that delicious Kansas City-style barbecue in a cozy restaurant in a small town in Eastern Idaho. The same place I once called home when I was a rookie reporter in 2008. The same place where I reconnected with beloved faces not seen in years over dinner, genuine laughter and hearty conversation ensuing for several hours.

Or that mountain ridge jog on the outskirts of Telluride, the snowy peaks of the Rockies cradling my exact position, the woods silent and all to myself. Or that happenstance con versation with a stranger-turned-fast-friend over a margarita in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport as we both awaited our flight back to Asheville, to which we’re still in cahoots.

Or simply all of those miles traveled, either physical or emotional. Roaring up and down the road of life. My truck tires need to be replaced soon so do the spiritual batteries within my absolute being, switched out for fresh intents and new ideas for fall shenanigans. The mind runs wild pondering the possibilities of tomorrow and the day after that.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.

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