Blue Ridge Country - November/December 2018 - 51

FRIES WELCOME. Small-town charm can change a life.

the Blue Ridge Parkway. We made
good friends there too, including
Tom Adams, who later moved near
Fries. Tom's encyclopedic knowledge
of Blue Ridge natural history made
him a wonderful hiking companion.
No matter where he's taken us, he
seems to know every remote bit of
public trail, and can explain the geologic forces behind every rock face
and identify every wildflower and every bird call.
When Saul and I eventually moved
to Asheville, an awfully long drive
from Maryland, Tom's cabin became
our stopover, and I always hated leaving that tranquil spot. There was no
light pollution, no traffic noise; just
the rippling of a creek and a whippoorwill's call.
Asheville, our home
since the children finished college, was exciting both professionally and culturally. Saul
joined several choral
groups and I wrote books
about gardening and
putting up food. But as
grandchildren arrived,
both Saul and I found
our focus on them, rather than on restaurants
and brewpubs and concert venues.
When we stopped
over at Tom's cabin
on the way back from
Mom's memorial service
and New York City, he
suggested a quick hike before dark.
We drove to the end of a dirt road and
hoofed it 20 minutes through a rhododendron grove to the New River.
And would you believe it? When
we reemerged from the forest there
was a little house we hadn't noticed
before, with a meadow and a creek.
And a For Sale sign. Suddenly the past
snuck up on Saul and me, enfolding
us in warm memories: the farm at
Glade Valley, the sewing circle, the
Camerata. The quiet, the stars. The
richness of country life.
I looked at Saul, he looked at me.
We nodded and smiled. This was the
spot, and it already felt like home.

And would you believe
it? There was a little
house we hadn't
noticed before, with a
meadow and a creek.
And a For Sale sign.

but pine trees! People
didn't say "you," they
said "you'uns."
But it didn't take
long to appreciate
country ways. Glade
Valley School was built
on a working farm,
with cattle, sorghum,
potatoes and an apple
orchard. Students and
faculty pitched in at
harvest time; there
was an antique handcranked cider press
that still worked.
We lived in a house on campus,
and one of the farm staff brought
over a tractor to plow a garden plot
for me. Steep learning curve that, but
the green beans and strawberries were
delicious. I didn't know how to can,
so an Agricultural Extension agent
came over and taught me.
Folks in town were friendly, and
before long I was part of a ladies
sewing circle. Saul and I joined the
Highland Camerata, an amateur
choral group just over the Virginia
border that attracted singers from
the whole region.
Because church was such a big
part of everyone's life there, Saul and

I soon found we were nurturing our
own long-neglected Jewish roots.
What mattered was faith itself, not
the way it was practiced.
And we fell in love with the Blue
Ridge Parkway; access at Milepost
234-on the flank of Bullhead Mountain-lay just three miles from the
school.
As the school shut down we had
to move-fast. We chose the nearest
"big" city, Boone, and along with the
furniture and pots and pans, I packed
up those country ways as well.
I gardened and canned and sewed
and delved into the mysteries of religion. The kids grew up hiking near

NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2018

Blue Ridge Country - November/December 2018

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