PINING FOR SIMPLER TIMES: BENT MOUNTAIN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

The Florin family is at a crossroads.  Actually, it's probably just Mama Florin who is stuck in the middle of the street.  The rest of the family seems to be moving along just as they should be.  We all raise our children to become responsible members of society, to be healthy and independent of us.  And I believe that God has even fashioned something into the DNA of a child that prompts them towards that self-reliance.  If you have raised a child you have undoubtedly experienced what I'm talking about....at about age two....at about age 11....at about age 16.  Sometimes the progression is easy and organic, and sometimes it is downright nasty.  But most kids do learn how to breathe outside of the womb, and most learn at some point that they are not their parents.  Some even learn to respect the wisdom of their doddering aged elders. 

We did have a slight advantage over the rest of the world before thrusting our children into the deep, vast unknown.  Sweet Bent Mountain Elementary School.  The powers that be tried for the last 30 years to shut down the smallest of Roanoke County Schools...which was finally accomplished about a year ago.  

Bent Mountain Elementary wasn't exactly economically feasible in this age where not much is.  But oh, what a model.  When Cameron entered kindergarten in 1997 he joined about 66 other local kids... in the entire school.  The school was not only a microcosm of our Bent Mountain neighborhood such that it is, but actually a pretty good petri-dish for all of American society.  His class of 18 and most every class that followed or came before was completely diverse: racially, socio-economically, religiously.  And...guess what, America?  It completely worked. 

Emma followed into kindergarten the following year, she and six of her best friends.  Her class wasn't quite as diverse as it was much smaller and that skewed the demographic somewhat.  She was the only girl in the third through fifth grades;  because they were so small in number they combined with the class a year younger for some of their subjects..  But for part of the day her class was just six.  Emma was the only girl and she sat in a fancy wing chair while the boys all sat at her feet on the floor.  If you know my daughter you will understand how formative that was to her self-esteem.  She was and always has been "the Go-to girl" and "The Boss".  Of "THE WORLD". 

But good things can't last forever and my children eventually graduated from the fifth grade.  They went on to middle school at small private schools, mostly because both my husband and I moved from small schools to a LARGE public school at the tail end of high school.  Larry and I met and fell in love partly because we found each other in the sea of a huge high school where we both were overwhelmed and somewhat lost, not at all understanding the whole jock, freak, popular, geek thing.  We had come from small schools where we had solidarity BECAUSE of being different people, not lumped into a group of young people who we really had nothing in common with, because we were different.

Anyway, I am completely thankful for Bent Mountain Elementary: for the wonderful teachers who made do with second hand copies (something already on the back) and not so much money for field trips.  For the parents, who not only had to join the PTA, but to hold some major position during their tenure.  For their classmates, who still love one another and will forever, even as they move away from the mountain and pursue their dreams.  I am in a period of reminiscing...as I try to transition into this new phase of empty nest.  I reminisce, and I am very thankful. 

A HOME-TOWN TOURIST IN SOUTHWEST VIRGINIA

It's good to have visitors come to town.  My mom came in for Emma's high school graduation and stayed for nearly two weeks as she was waiting for Cameron's much heralded return from Hawaii, the Ukraine and Turkey.  (If you are my facebook friend you have heard me herald, and herald again. Perhaps heralding to the point of nausea for some of you.  So sorry.  Kind of.)

We had a lot of time to putz together while Emma was gone on a high school graduation trip to Bonnaroo and Cam had not yet returned to the nest.  We played tourist.  One day we meandered through the Taubman Museum of Art in Roanoke, ate lunch at Norah's Cafe and shopped in some of the great art galleries that  pepper almost every corner of our lovely downtown Roanoke.  We ate lunch two days in a row at the Blue Apron in Salem, which is an amazing addition to the great array of restaurants we have in our area.  I had seared fois gras, also two days in a row.  Actually, I am salivating and daydreaming of seared fois gras again as I am writing this.  You've got to try it.  Small portions but there are so many delightful flavors harmonizing in this dish that you can truly relish your meal and have room for dessert, which I rarely eat because I am a freak for savory.

Friday night we hit Oddfellas Cantina in Floyd (have you noticed a pattern yet?) and stayed to listen to some music spilling out into the streets near the Floyd Country Store.  A fantastic line-up of local and regional Appalachian music fills the Store every Friday night, even in the dead of winter.  But the street outside is just as entertaining and completely free of charge.  Last Friday there were no less than six groups of musicians hanging out and jamming together.   A lady with big hair and tight jeans was flatfooting with a farmer who had seemingly forgotten to put in his teeth.  A well dressed couple with a shopping bag from the new Troika gallery sat alongside keeping time with their feet.  A couple of dread-locked Floyd Folk were selling the most beautiful tie-dyes I have ever seen.  A band of young indie types from Nashville were singing for tips across the street before they went in to headline at the Dogtown Roadhouse.

I wish real life was as diverse yet unified as Floyd County.   Not Utopia, of course, we won't see that this side of heaven.  But people respect each other here, and this community is different than most.  Off the gridders live alongside old timers who are neighborly to retirees, even Yankee retirees.    My kind of town.  It was fun playing tourist and showing off a bit.  

BUSY, WITH A VIEW

We have had a very busy month.  My mom arrived, youngest daughter's high school graduation in Roanoke, VA followed immediately by youngest daughter's college orientation in Boone, NC.  Youngest daughter left the very next day for high school graduation trip to Bonnaroo, an infamous music festival in western Tennesee.  She's probably waking up in her balmy six man (girl) tent as we speak, ready for some Allison Krauss or Bruce Hornsby or Bela Fleck or Buffalo Springfield or Mumford and Sons or Eminem.  A very diverse festival.  But not exactly my cuppa tea with 70,000 good friends and neighbors.  Me, I'm a Floydfest girl.  30 miles from home on some gorgeous land adjacent to the Blue Ridge Parkway that seems like a different universe altogether.  With my own shower and my own bed.  Only about 10,000 close friends.  Guess we are getting old.

Later this week our oldest son returns from a whirlwind six months in Kona, Hawaii, Lutsk, Ukraine and various beautiful Turkish cities on the Mediterranean Sea. That I could handle.  I think they have showers in all of those places.

I think everyone will be happy to be back together as a family in a few days.  I surely will be delighted to have all of their sleepy heads tucked into their own beds.  Back into Mama Florin mode making breakfast, but probably not until 10 or so.  Fresh eggs laid by the newest addition to our Bent Mountain kind-of- farm.  17 chickens, about half of them named.  The rest haven't yet told me theirs'.   Precious summer days these last few years before our children start making their own memories with families of their own.  But then someday we might get grandbabies who can come visit us on the mountain and help me gather eggs and name the chickens.  

THE FLOYD CO WAVE AKA PEOPLE ARE FRIENDLY HERE

I was driving up to the metropolis of Floyd earlier today to distribute some fliers (yes, we have land for sale!) and to catch a quick bite for lunch.  I was also searching for inspiration for this blog; something not very hard to come by in these beautiful blooming days of late May.  As I crested one of my favorite hills on the short but lovely half hour drive - we are equidistant between downtown Floyd and downtown Roanoke here on the mountain - I saw Buffalo Mountain looming fearsomely over to the south. 

I love "The Buffalo" as it's known around here, appropriately shaped and especially exotic after you have read "The Man who Moved the Mountain", and consider that not that many years ago Buffalo Mountain was a rough part of Appalachia governed by moonshiner outlaws.  Bob Childress THE MAN as in Who moved the mountain?) was a Presbyterian minister who brought civility to the mountain folk.  The six little rock churches out in the middle of nowhere that he and his congregations built stand today and still preach the word on Sundays.  Read the book if you get a chance.  I think I'll put it on my list of summer rereads.

Well, what I was going to write about when I got detoured by The Buffalo was the Floyd County wave.  People here don't just give you the index-finger-off-the-steering-wheel wave; they full out salute you with the whole handed so-glad-to-see-you variation.  One more thing I love about Floyd County.  Strangers waving at you as you pass each other at 55mph, daydreaming about The Buffalo. 

THE LODGE AND COTTAGES AT PRIMLAND:WHERE THE HECK ARE WE?

We celebrated our 29th anniversary this past weekend.  Since after 29 years we don't really need much in the way of gifts, we tend to like to celebrate with a nice dinner somewhere...and I like to go places that I've not been to before.  The adventurer side of me.  I am always up to try something new, full out realizing that it may not compare to the "tried and true".  But the adventure outweighs the known in my book.  I'm wierd that way.

I had recently heard of a place down the road a bit in Meadows of Dan, about a 45 minute drive up by Chateau Morrisette and the Floydfest site.  Primland.  So I got on their website, was well impressed if not a bit blown away.  I called and was told that if we ate in the more casual Pub then we didn't need  a reservation for dinner on Friday night.  A reservation seemed a bit commital.  Don't like to plan the adventure too much. 

We took the long way up 221, turning left at the only stoplight in Floyd, curving through farmland and colorful little Blue Ridge Mountain towns.  Curving being the key word here.  We were glad that we had taken the old 1998 Diesel Mercedes and thankful that we didn't yet need airconditioning.... because the car doesn't have any.   Larry remarked at some point that he was also grateful that he hadn't taken his big pick up truck Suburban thing, because the rear end of the car wouldn't have made it around the curves in the same lane as the front end.  Curvy.  Curvy road. 

We wound up in Meadows of Dan and found the big stately Primland sign and entrance.  There was a helipad.  Pulling up to a restored log cabin and gated entrance, a well dressed woman with a clipboard popped out and asked of our intentions.  "Do you have a reservation?  Are you here to check in?"  She was perfectly polite as I recounted my conversation with the restaurant staff the day prior.  She put a sticker on our car and let us through the gate.  The drive up to the Lodge was six miles long.  Six miles of Primland.  Wow.  What had we gotten ourselves into?  Feeling a little out of our league, we pulled up to the front of Primland and the valet popped out of the front door.  He greeted us by name and whisked away our little suddenly shabby looking Mercedes. 

We walked in the front door and the very helpful manager again greeted us by name and offered us a cup of tea and a lovely place to partake of it out on the veranda.  We were assured that they had made a reservation for us in the pub, and we could enjoy the Inn and eat whenever we felt like it.  Was there anything else we needed?  Wow again.  Where the heck are we?  Why have we never known this place was a mere curvy ride across the mountain?  Who comes here?  People whisked in and out by helicopter? 

The place was so luxurious and the staff well trained and discreet enough not to lurk but instead to anticipate your every need in advance of your knowing that you need it.  We felt like we were in a very fancy private home with an incredibly pampering household staff.  I hear we could have tried the spa, taken a guided fly fishing tour.  The golf course is supposedly one of the best public courses in the United States.  Hunters and fishermen and golfers and spa-partakers.  Something marvelous for all of them.

We were very content to sip our tea on the veranda and take a bite in the pub.   Next time we will make the point to have a reservation and dine in the elegant Elements Restaurant.   But I think Larry will save some money and flyfish from our own Bottom Creek.  Hunt whitetail deer from the hot tub.  (That's another story.)

Check out http://www.primland.com/.  Prepare to be bedazzled. I guess what impressed us most about this whole anniversary adventure is that people pay BIG BUCKS for a taste of the SW Virginia lifestyle we have come to enjoy FOR FREE.    And I am that much more appreciative of my own Blue Ridge Mountain retreat. 

BENT MOUNTAIN HIKE: A CURE FOR WHAT AILS YA

Last Friday morning I was battling a bit of the duldrums, not uncommon I hear for an almost empty nester last semester of high school stay at home mom.  Not uncommon but not to be downplayed.  A little bit hard to be around.  Even for myself.  I was wholeheartedly indulging my INFP personality type. 

Dear friend Beth called early that morning and decided that she and her youngest son Wyatt were going to drag me from the house and up the side of the mountain.  Beth is about 15 years younger than I am and is a triathelete.  A serious runner.  Wyatt is 5 and an experienced Appalachian Trail hiker.  I am a 53 year old who likes to read and laugh at the dog. 

We decided to walk up to a little cabin that we have on the backside of our property, up the mountain.  Larry and I go up there sometimes for little mini vacations, or even drive up there on the 4WD mule on a sunny afternoon for a nap amongst the rhododendron.  I have rarely walked it.  It is straight uphill.
Anyway, the unfazed Beth and Wyatt had never been up to the cabin; and it's fun to show off.  Larry and a friend built it about five years ago from a bunch of gorgeous wood that came out of an old tobacco barn that we own on a piece of land we've got for sale.  Lovely walnut and wormy chestnut and tobacco drying slats for bannister rails.  Rustic yet beautiful.  And did I mention?  Straight uphill.  So we meandered, enjoying the day and the woods full of active springs and wild ferns and lots of rhododendron.  Not quite blooming.  I had hoped to find some ferns still in fiddlehead form; so we could saute some up for lunch.  Not that I ever have, but I've always wanted to.  Kind of like the abundance of blackberries that I never get around to picking each summer.  The locavore heart is there; but sometimes I'm just too lazy. 

We made it up to the cabin.  I was glad for a destination where we could sit for a spell on the front porch.  So private.  Amazingly peaceful.  And just the right amount of exercise to pull me out of my funk.

We headed back down after a bit.  The walk down was a little harder.  Did I mention it was steep?  Going down we had to be surefooted and careful.  Wyatt ran.  We popped out down by the creek and wetlands that are the bottom half of our property.  Larry was down by the road doing something with a backhoe, which was like a magnet to Wyatt.  Of course.  Heavy machinery and little boys.  No wonder all the kids want to play with Larry.  Spott and Huney the lab chased each other around the fields and through the creek.  And Emma?   I guess I'll let her go to college.  I do hear they come back, for holidays and with laundry.   Life is good.   
   

GEE, I WAS HAVING SO MUCH FUN I FORGOT THAT I'M HERE TO SELL LAND

While my daughter and I were down visiting my mom in FL last week, magic was happening in Floyd County. Some of it was captured here, in this photo. We have this unbelievable land for sale that our friend Quigg captured in this piece of art photography. Larry said that actually the sunset was pretty mediocre considering many we've seen up on The Knoll; but the apple trees were blooming and the grass was swaying and the mountains were blue and the day was warm. Larry, Quigg and Annette hung out, playing with the mountain, playing with the camera, and this is what they came up with.  Quigg employed a technique called HDR, which is kind of like time lapsed overlaying of photos, as best as I understand it. 

So... pretty amazing. We bought this piece of property (well we owned part of it, so really we've just completed it) last fall. There is nowhere quite as beautiful that I've seen in all of Virginia, heck, maybe anywhere.

And you can buy it. This is my day job. Selling unique Blue Ridge Mountain properties. I've been having so much fun blogging that I've almost forgotten that I'm also supposed to be selling. Oh well, both are a priviledge and I'm having a ball. Tell your friends. Someone's going to be moving into paradise.