Back Home
In a fit of spontaneity, Aunt Tudi and I returned to Asheville. We also went to Black Mountain to sing out the A-Frame chalets. There used to be ten of them, but three have been torn down and a Super 8 Motel build in their spot. The house that we used to live in though, Chalet 9, was still there and inhabited by surly hillbillies. Aunt Tudi asked them nicely if we could take a photo of the A-Frame. I was kinda hoping they'd go in, but no! The hillbillies lingered out front and gave us the hairy eyeball until we left. Le sigh.
I don't remember much about the A-Frame nor very much about Black Mountain. There are two mega-memories I hold, though, one of each. The first memory is of our visit to the A-Frame when Granny and Aunt Tudi were considering renting it. There was a mattress in one of the back rooms and I stood on it to look out the window. I was there only a few seconds when I felt something strange upon my legs (I was wearing shorts). When I looked down, I screamed one of those rare blood-curdling horror movie screams that you just don't hear except during Halloween. My legs were black with fleas. I ran into the front room where Granny and Aunt Tudi had to literally scoop the fleas off me. Needless to say, we didn't move in until the house had been fogged. Memory number two has to do with the strange Black Mountain weather. Aunt Tudi, my cousin Marsha, and I were walking home from my Uncle Larry's restaurant when a snow storm came upon us. No, not just a snow storm, a snow STORM. Thunder, lightning, snow. I learned later that this is called Thundersnow. At the time, I called it the Alpaca Lips in so many words.
My old home back in 1975. It looked a lot smaller than it used to. Then again, I'm about two feet taller. It's all about perspective. Please disregard the surly hillbillies infesting my abode of yore.
One of the A-Frames next door to Hillbilly Central.
A terrifying piece of art in the window of a gallery in downtown Asheville.
What most Ashevillians think of the police.
We got home right before 6 PM and I feel like I've had several cans of Whoop Ass opened upon my person.
I don't remember much about the A-Frame nor very much about Black Mountain. There are two mega-memories I hold, though, one of each. The first memory is of our visit to the A-Frame when Granny and Aunt Tudi were considering renting it. There was a mattress in one of the back rooms and I stood on it to look out the window. I was there only a few seconds when I felt something strange upon my legs (I was wearing shorts). When I looked down, I screamed one of those rare blood-curdling horror movie screams that you just don't hear except during Halloween. My legs were black with fleas. I ran into the front room where Granny and Aunt Tudi had to literally scoop the fleas off me. Needless to say, we didn't move in until the house had been fogged. Memory number two has to do with the strange Black Mountain weather. Aunt Tudi, my cousin Marsha, and I were walking home from my Uncle Larry's restaurant when a snow storm came upon us. No, not just a snow storm, a snow STORM. Thunder, lightning, snow. I learned later that this is called Thundersnow. At the time, I called it the Alpaca Lips in so many words.
My old home back in 1975. It looked a lot smaller than it used to. Then again, I'm about two feet taller. It's all about perspective. Please disregard the surly hillbillies infesting my abode of yore.
One of the A-Frames next door to Hillbilly Central.
A terrifying piece of art in the window of a gallery in downtown Asheville.
What most Ashevillians think of the police.
We got home right before 6 PM and I feel like I've had several cans of Whoop Ass opened upon my person.