More North Carolina photos
Rather than invade the privacy of my newly met distant relatives, I will show you some of my photos from the other parts of my trip.
I love stone structures!
This was my only view of the blue ridges of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
This is the church where the family reunions used to be. It has no air-conditioning, so now the family reunites in other places. Guess the younger folks aren’t quite as tough as Grandma’s generation. Grandma was very tough, and I aspire to be like her in that area!
More about all grown up
While in NC, Mom and I took the back road to the family reunion. I wanted to see the family cemetery, the site where Grandma grew up, the church where the reunions used to happen and any other sight that seemed connected to Mom’s family. We were tootling along a country road, and suddenly I said “WHOA! Did you see that??” It was a house that definitely fit the description of “all grown up” (this was before I met Cousin Don and he used that expression). Check this out:
Imagine my surprise when Mom exclaimed, “That was Aunt Marticia’s house!”
The satellite dish tells me it was probably abandoned in the 1980s.
Here is another way things become “all grown up” in the south:
All grown up
While at the family reunion in North Carolina, I had a most interesting conversation with Cousin Don. He said his dad, Uncle Lank (derived from Langston), managed apple orchards at the Moses Cone estate. It is now a part of the Blue Ridge Parkway National Park (or is it a monument?). There are miles of trails that used to be carriage roads. Cousin Don told me the apple orchards aren’t there any more and that it is “all grown up” so one can’t recognize where the orchards used to be. I thought about it, and asked him what he meant by “all grown up”. He said that the orchards had reverted to the native trees and other growth. I told him that “all grown up” in California means there is now a subdivision or a mall or a freeway where an orchard used to be. Isn’t North Carolina refreshing?? Here is one of the apple barns where Uncle Lank worked:
(told you it was foggy!)
Family Cemetery
Mom and I were creeping down a steep gravel road in a rented car in the fog. I love to explore and see new things, but seeing wasn’t easy in that fog. As we worked our way down off the “mountain” (I am sorry for being such a California mountain snob), I said “grassy clearing up ahead”. Mom said “That’s the cemetery!” Sure enough, it was. I have a sense of awe for a family that maintains and uses its own private cemetery. It seems so personal and honoring to the deceased family members. Have a look at the one in my family:
Okay, I admit. We returned another day for better photos.
This is the centerpiece headstone. The other side has Martha Bob’s name, my knitting-while-reading great-grandmother, AKA “Granny” to her many grandchildren.
I am not a freak
Isn’t that a nice feeling? You go along in life, wondering why you are the way you are, wondering if anyone else has ever done the same things, wondering if you will ever meet anyone else who gets you. . . not that I care about other people’s opinions, but sometimes it does get lonely being so highly individualized. So, there I was in North Carolina, just finding my way along, and learning about family when my Mom told me that my great-grandmother, Martha Bob, KNIT AND READ AT THE SAME TIME!!! This was a huge revelation, an AHA moment, a light going off in my head. I realized at that very moment, if I am weird, it is an inherited trait. If I am special, it is in my genes. All this, and Cousin Hazel has a knitting shop too! 
A Quest
My maternal grandmother, AKA Grandma, was one of 12 children born to Martha Bob and Edward Elisha in the hills of North Carolina. Of the 7 girls, she was the only one to attend and graduate from high school, leave North Carolina, and eventually get her driver’s license! (Such a maverick, that G’ma of mine!) Last week I had the privilege and joy of spending time in the town of Blowing Rock, North Carolina, where she went to high school. The natives call them mountains because it is high and cool for NC, but as a Californian who spends much time in Mineral King, I think of them as beautiful green hills covered in deciduous trees. The town was just wonderful – a Carmel/Mendocino type place whose population swells from 1500 to 20,000 in the summer. Every yard has flowers, every porch has chairs (usually rockers), and every person is as nice as can be. I loved the architecture, the lakes, the trails, the history, the learning of where G’ma grew up, and meeting my Mom’s first cousins.
The school that G’ma attended was only there from 1918 – 1927, so I had to be content with photos o the present structure.
The rock gymnasium was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s.
Gaposis
Back in the day when I used a real camera, a complicated drawing might take 2 rolls of film. Now that the restraint of “wasting film” has been obliterated, I take as many photos as I want! It is such a nice thing to never stop to change rolls. Despite the abundance of images, there are always more needed. That is why there is a large gap in the middle of this drawing.
Here is the right side so you can see a bit more detail. The stone steps are so beautiful that I forget to admire the (unfinished) river!
Mineral King Wildflowers, continued
Mineral King Wildflowers
I own 4 wildflower books. It isn’t enough. There are so many flowers whose names I can’t find. Why does this matter? Given that man’s first job was to name the animals, perhaps I am just following in the foots of my oldest ancestor! Today, let’s look at white flowers whose names I do know.
rein orchis (I know it is weird!)
knot weed (lacy and gorgeous – shouldn’t be called “weed”!)
mariposa lily (with an ant on it)
pennyroyal (just as fragrant as its domestic cousin by the same name)
wild geranium (not like the pelargonium we mistakenly call geraniums)
ranger button
