Dave n Lisa Honeymoon II Day 6 Manchester

We arose and dined in the limitless continental breakfast nook at the hotel, and set off immediately to meet John, whom they call the 'Media Pastor'.  The Community Church is in a mini mall a few blocks from the hotel, just down from the landmark McDonalds.  When we arrived John was talking with a visitor, another pastor on a trek through this now well acclaimed region.  On a quest, perhaps.  As we waited for John, we mused on the brochures on the tables, the art on the walls, all telling the story in one way or another, of the heart songs of those who contend here for the faith.  Recurring themes of achieving the impossible, dreaming and attaining, daring to believe.  The framed photos capturing wondrous beauties of nature...waterfalls, craggy cliffs, rolling green hills, magnificent sunsets...perhaps the way God sees Clay County, minus the power lines, mountain shacks, and discarded furniture.  After spending the next six hours listening to John's stories, I concluded that when God looks at John, he must see a composite of  Rambo with wings or something.

His  point to us was that it wasn't a super spirituality that had driven them into God's presence.  Instead, it was drugs.  The simple version is that so many families, crippled by grief at the loss of their children, and without the heart to go on, came to one another and joined their voices together crying to God.  Simple and stark.  And God came.

What followed was a massive spiritual, economic, and ecological rebirth.  The documentation can be found in their Appalachian Dawn video documentary, and in the records of the Department of Natural Resources, and the documentation of the legal and political systems of the past seven years.  Truly remarkable.

We visited their men's rehabilitation center called Chad's Hope, run by Teen Challenge. I found the trip  symbolic of the path that must be followed by all who are helped there:  a long, arduous, upward, winding, and narrow path leads deep into those hills...just to get there. The same long and narrow path leads back to civilization. Either journey would be impossible at night.

The first film seen by the residents of this nine month program is The Cross and the Switchblade with Pat Boone. It recounts the true story of David Wilkerson's first journey to the inner city to seek out the young people who were dying on the streets. The students who survive in this program are sold out and dead serious, having had an encounter with God.  And they pass it on.

Making it out of those hills before dark became our new goal (our original plan of a morning coffee hour with John and then off to Indy for our final honeymoon evening was not to be!) Although we were enraptured with the fact that Black Bear and other wildlife have been miraculously restored to their natural habitat in those hills, we had no desire to encounter any personally, especially after dark.

We finally arrived at our so-called four star hotel (did I mention that Hot Wire needs a visit with the Better Business Bureau?) around 11 p.m.  The day in Manchester was so worth it (and hurrying off to the worst-hotel-in-my-adult-life experience at University Place would have been so NOT worth it).  Very glad we spent the time in Kentucky, leaving us only a few hours at the distasteful Hotel of Infamy.  I now believe that the Bad Clowns of Asheville may very well have found new jobs at Hotwire.  Glad we were, however, for a decent night's sleep after all, and pumped we were for the pendulum swing back into idyllic honeymoon dreamscape the following morning.  More later.

The Church in Manchester is regrouping for the next long haul.  We join our prayers to theirs to contend for the Kingdom on Earth as it is in Heaven.

D n L Honeymoon II - Day 5

Well fed and cozy in the Baptist mountain refuge, we rested well and arose early for breakfast.  There is no other time besides early for breakfast at Ridgecrest which doubles as a camp and a conference center. We then set outward and upward on  a quest to redo  an episode that left us both  with a difficult memory from the first time we were here…we wanted to make it to the summit  of the royal gorge overlook again…with my new and zoomie pain free hips. Three years ago we had needed that summit..in my mind I was afraid I would never be able to attain it.  At the time I didn’t know what was happening to me…only that I could barely walk anymore, and that it had been  getting worse. 

So off we had gone, to remember what it was like to hike to the top of a little mountain together one last time. Today we would conquor that bad memory…replacing it with the invigorating sensations and rythmes of the trails… the joy of new mobility and the promise of many more lovely years of natural discoveries hiking together.  The view from the top had new meaning…and seemed to complete our chapter.

As we left Ridgecrest  after  award winning angus burgers from the camp grill, we decided it might be worth it to try the Jerusalem Garden one more time.  The elusive Baklava had become more legendary in our palate memories as the days wore on.  We arrived just as the Garden closed yet again randomly … in mid afternoon.  Seeing us at the door the young man opened up for us, and proceeded to give us four large pieces of their delectable pastry since we had come all this way four times…on the house.   We blessed him.   Crunch-BAM-BUTTER and such a captivating  and exotic burst of  spices and honey would provide us with a travel log of Middle  Eastern snacking for our journey to Manchester.

The four hour drive to Manchester was on smooth highways that wound around soft, green rolling Kentucky hills.  At the Clay County Line, the roads were becoming narrower, the curves more distinct. 

It was dusk when we arrived at the designated land mark:  the Manchester McDonalds.  I had been trying to pick up any perceptible atmospheric uniqueness from the county line on, as is sometimes noted with transformation communities.  It was indeed there, in the form of a tranqulity much like being at our farm in the evening at that same moment of days end.  We checked in to the only hotel, had dinner at the local Mexican restaurant, watched the Waltons, and slept wonderfully.  Tomorrow we would meet John, our guide to the Transformation history of this American anomaly.  The first, we pray, of many.

Dave n Lisa Honeymoon II Day 4

This morning’s mission:  Brunch on the veranda overlooking the valley (surprise!)  Being a latte kind of girl, I must say I was surprised to be captivated by cup after cup of their coffee with cream.  Perhaps it was because the nice young lady just kept quietly refilling it.  I hadn’t the heart to say no.  Exhale…breathe the sweet air.  Bacon, thick and intricate in its various levels of smoke in the sweet flavor.  The orange juice, also in continuous flow, was flown in INSIDE the oranges and juiced in house for us!  Just for us. 

The star of the culinary layer of this all-senses experience:  the blintzes with blueberry compote...and butter...always sweet creamery butter.  Hurrah.

A short swim, peaceful packing (we are now discussing the obvious and routinely overcommunicating on a regular basis…I love only being surprised by true surprises instead of hidden expectations suddenly unveiled by the stress of a moment).  We took leave of our Inn by packing the car and easing into the real world with a bit of quiet time under an obliging tree resting on the Biltmore hillside overlook. 

Bare feet and breezy grasses with no agenda. 

We decided to re-hike the path on foot that had masqueraded as a bike trail the day before, just to conquer it in our memories for future reference.  Good decision. 

The little stucco French countryside style brooder house abandoned up there on the hilltop was nestled in a tiny meadow.  Tucked  into the woods, it offered  in its shadows relief from the hot midday sun. 

We descended, having trekked the final terrain on our own terms. Goodbye Biltmore…hope to see you in your Christmas regalia.

Next stop:  Ridgecrest Retreat.  The Baptists received us once again at a crossroads in our life.  It was actually fun to go from royalty to kids in a dorm.  The whole setting in its austerity and vertical set up on the side of the mountain was strangely comforting.  Simple.  Go Baptists.

Knowing that we serve the God of second chances, we decided to give Asheville another go.  As three out of the four restaurants we had wanted to visit had been closed the day before, back we went, in broad daylight this time.  No bad clowns would be permitted in this redo.  Chocolate lounge and Jerusalem Garden baklava, here we come!

Asheville began its attempt at redemption with the two elegant turn of the century golden lady statues on the corner where just the night before there had been none.  Ah haa…lady buskers who moved like music box figures when we threw in money.  I had to squeal.  Ok Asheville, tell me more.  Alright, maybe we can find a bit of room just to try hors d’oeuvres at the Market.  Perhaps the white gazpacho and the edamame with soy chili sauce.  (Had to use restraint not to just drink the sauce and lick the bowl. )

One thing led to another.  Chocolate Lounge open…check.  Pot de crème, maple butter cake with smoked maple sugar topping, and jasmine, raspberry, and earl grey truffles to celebrate. 

Good jazz pianist, a practicing portrait student artist, lots of hand holding and strolling, and back to Ridgecrest.  Jerusalem Garden closed again... no worries.  Great day. 

D n L Honeymoon II Day 3 The Challenge Day!

We determined that today would be less leisurely, and was therefore begun with a leap out of bed, a quick reduced Pilates, and a bound down the hill to the bike barn via the creamery, where we fueled up for the day’s activities.  For Dave, a maple pecan pastry, for me two giant ice cream balls…one praline and the other from the original Biltmore recipe (higher butterfat than normal ice cream).  For some reason, the hours of daily hiking and other exercise had already accelerated our metabolisms to be able to eat massive amounts of things  that we would not be able to absorb by any stretch of imagination on a daily basis.  Yeah.

And after being expertly fitted to our hybrid mountain bikes and helmets in the barn, we were off to the so called ‘bike trails’ of Biltmore estate.  To say that we were surprised by the estate’s concept of bike trails would be a bit of an understatement.  Dave, on the one hand, being  more experienced than I had seen many levels of trail concept and maintenance, from the sublime to the ridiculous.  I, on the other hand, having only the experience of our own sublime Cardinal Greenway in my repertoire, found the Biltmore trail surprisingly close to the ridiculous.  It was the only thing in our heavenly experience there that varied from the overall atmosphere.  In summary, let me just offer the mental image of a third missed trail marking rendering the two of us marooned in the middle of acres of treeless terrain under a scorching sun, with the only hope of return to comfort being located up up up yet another steep and unmarked GRAVEL (did I say grave?) service road.  After this I began to just walk the bike, and we rerouted to the winery sans bikes  to buy gifts.  Oh happy shoppers.

Our shopping bliss was interrupted by the realization that our reservation for high tea at the inn was twelve minutes away, the solution to which was yet another brisk trek up the hillside, this time at a sprint.  Although I ended this ascent with mild resentment toward Dave’s level of triathlete fitness (he was barely breathing hard and I was sucking air, I was at the same time filled with the awareness that just a few months ago I would not have been able to attempt any portion of the day, much less the ascent we had just undergone.    After all, I did keep up with him.  Good hips…Good Father..I love my life.

Within minutes of arriving in the air conditioned hallway of the Inn the two of us were transported into the inner sanctum of elegance, seated now in evening attire, as it were, in front of the floor to ceiling library window overlooking the valley, with a dozen varieties of tea sandwiches and delicate pastries before us. 
We had chosen our teas from a wooden box of a dozen or so from all over the world: Dave’s a black tea and floral blend, mine a black with hint of Mayan chocolate.  

The soft classical music back ground was a perfect foundation for the dropping away of any anxiety that had accrued during the previously lived three hours.  The Vanderbilts would not have wanted their guests to be anxious about anything during tea.  The spectacular favorite:  the key lime scones with lemon curd and Devonshire clotted cream.

We stayed in that library until all had left, sipping and relishing the abundance of our culinary and other blessings, admiring my new ring, reflecting on our times.  Our plan for the evening was to have been a walking and maybe tasting of Asheville at night, re visiting some of our favorite bohemian bistros and the chocolate lounge.  Instead, we  decided to try a new one, and sat down at a table in their outside café.  Momentarily captivated by a lovely gazpacho and chilled blueberry soup, we failed to note until it was too late that the increasing discomfort we felt with the slant of our table was to indicate, as it were somewhat prophetically, the downward turn of the atmosphere during sunset into a spiral of noise and raucous revelry. 

It was the evening of the Bad Clowns of Asheville.  Firetrucks that literally cruised our block over and over for recreation with their deafening engines, groups of young people that were openly not happy, tarots, pendulums, and even a tour bus in which 50 seniour citizens did a drive by shouting at our café.  Intentionally.  Couple it with a very bad so called ‘barbeque’ spare rib entrée, and we retreated shamelessly and swiftly to our 8000 acre getaway, and rested again in grateful bliss.  Bad clowns.  Bad Asheville.  Good  Biltmore.

Honeymoon II - Day 2

We started today slowly with conversation, quiet time, and a view (the one out of our window...all windows  in the Inn have a view...and there is NOT ONE POWER LINE visible in any direction, anywhere.)  Then off down the hill again to the creamery and pastry shop.  For Dave it was a cinnamon roll and raspberry tea, for me hummingbird cake with cream cheese icing.  Great nutritious breakfast.

Next, to the Vanderbilt home and gardens!  We spent the day touring...our favorite was the inner gazebo "Winter Garden"...a greenhouse lush garden sitting area with gorgeous ornate glass detail roof...a true masterpiece.  Imagine being the first family members to arrive when it first opened in on Christmas eve many years ago.  We imagined their little girl eventually running those halls with her five Saint Bernards and her pet skunk.  Eliott would approve.  Big time.

This time we toured the gardens able to go where we wanted, laying new memories of the way things are now, pain free.  A highlight was the stone bridge used in the movie Last of the Mohicans, who's liquid reflection graces the Bass Pond.  

We strolled the paths, the rose gardens, the grape arbors (grapes were sweet!).  Yay for Olmstead, the father of Landscape Architecture.  All peace and tranquillity.

Oh yes, the recurring theme here is truffles:  dark chocolate with delicate fillings that melt immediately.  These have been coming accompanied by various other shortbreads and treats at the end of dinner, on a platter with the message "happy anniversary' scrolled in chocolate ganache.  It happened again tonight.  It is, of course, our duty to eat them.  Alas.

The day was serenely completed by a swim in the romantically lit pool under a moonlit sky.  Someone is an excellent script Writer. Eh?

As I write this we are going through the Cumberland Gap Tunnel on the way to the transformation site in Kentucky.  It reminds me of those chase scenes where the good guys are trying to ditch the bad guys and someone ends up driving for a while on the wall just due to sheer centrifugal force.

Awesome!  A great  big semi is honking...apparently just because he feels happy in here.

Honeymoon II - Day One

We left this morning at 8:00 and arrived at Biltmore around 4.  I slept most of the morning, and engaged in prayer for the Body as I took my driving shift.  Nice and quiet.  I noticed on the road that my anxiety level was very low compared to how it is usually driving on the highway.  I finally realized it was because the trucks were restricted to the right lane, and a reduced speed.   It became evident that they actually meant it, and I soon dropped my anxious expectation that at any minute I would be overrun by, hemmed in by, passed on the wrong side by , or molested in any way by a speeding monster of sixteen wheels and sizeable decibels.  Ahhh…this will be a good day.

As we turned in to the Biltmore estate grounds a quietness settled on us.  That feeling, profoundly related to an all out relaxation response, would become the norm over the next few days.  At the moment I did not realize I would have to traverse some 8000 acres to find my way out of it…of course, never would I have wanted to.

The highlight on the road happened when I just couldn’t wait to go to the bathroom.  We were trying to make it to Berea before we stopped.  It’s a good thing we couldn’t’.  Instead we pulled off at the Kentucky Visitor’s Center, code for the arts and artisan Mecca of the region.   The center displays and sells the work of  the local mountain artists guild.  The richness of the work displayed and for sale there is reminiscent Granville Island Artist Colony in Van Couver in diversity and quality.  They are also, evidently, very serious about their food, as evidenced by their fresh sweet corn pudding and mashed potatoes ‘peeled here this morning’.  Comfort food, great art, beautiful setting…happy surprises.

When we arrived at Biltmore, the Inn on the hill was like entering an elegant, serene, round the clock tea party.  I still find a subliminal relaxation as I exhale thinking about the experience.  We embraced it gladly as our four day residence, and trundled out immediately in our tennis to explore the village below.  We decided to go off the designated path, of course, and opted for the running-straight down-the-hill-through-meadow-and-woods-Dave dragging-Lisa-by-the-hand approach.  It certainly got us there faster…landing us behind the service entrance to the winery.  Much more  exciting that way.

The hike back up the hill to our new home created an invigorating sense of accomplishment.  My new hips were proving to be, as promised, God’s way of providing me the kind of hiking mobility and freedom of movement to which I was accustomed during my young adult years.  The celebration appropriate for such a revelation, and symbolizing our new beginning,  was a meal fit for royalty in Biltmore’s finest restaurant.  Among the highlights were the shiitake crusted filet mignon with espresso whipped potatoes, wilted chard, and Vidalia onion jus, as well as the roasted sweet corn soup, and the goat cheese cake with raspberry merlot sorbetto and berry drizzle.  

Light as a feather.  We felt like guests of the Biltmores themselves.

Our perfect wedding II day ! August 5th, 2011

See the video!
See the lovely photos!
Exquisitly planned and carried out!
Best Holy Smoke Brisket!
Best E & S song!
Best E & E original song!
Best Wedding Song!
Best Best Man!
Best Cattails!
Best beach waltz!
Best lanterns!
Best glow sticks!
Best flowers by tireless and gifted friend!
Best bouquets in mauve and chicory by best V!
Best Torches!
Best sunset with moon arising over the island!
Best dresses and flower girls with graceful motion and captivating smiles!

Best shepherd girl attendant!

Best pastor!

Best Fireworks

Best bagpipe music!

Best singing by E & E!

Best blues dancing by bride and groom!

Best choreographer!

Best true butter cream cake!

Best sorbetto punch!

Thank you Jesus!

I am a real princess!!!

and ......Best prince!