All the way from Blowing Rock, NC

If Carl Sandberg’s fog came into San Francisco on little cat’s feet, here in the mountains of North Carolina, it lumbers in a like a bear, slowly but powerfully filling every small cove and valley. With the same color and thickness as the local grits, the fog obscures the magnificent vistas of the Blue Ridge mountains. As I write, the mists have turned suddenly into a drenching downpour. Tropical Storm Fay has reached the high country.

The forecast is rain and more rain over the next several days, and the locals couldn’t be happier. They’re five inches below normal rainfall this year, so the hurricane season is welcomed with typcial Southern hospitality. For the vacationers, however, the rain is not so pleasant. Most of the activities here are outdoors, showcasing the unique attributes of the mountains: white-water rafting, ziplines, and mile-high scenic overlooks. I can’t see past the driveway of our vacation house, and the two-year old I’m vacationing with is whipping into a tiny hurricane herself with all her unspent energy.

We got out for a bit yesterday between raindrops to see the Blowing Rock, a natural rock formation from which the town here gets its name. There is an Indian legend about the rock, which leans out over the Johns River Gorge 3,000 feet below: an Indian princess fell in love wth a brave from a different tribe, but she was pledged to marry another. In her anguish, the young maiden leapt from the rock to kill herself, but the strong winds that whip continually upwards from the valley, blew her safely back up to her beloved’s arms. Now, modern visitors can toss handkerchiefs over the rock and watch them blow back up. Yesteray, for the first time in all my years of visiting the Blowing Rock, it was still. The air pressure was changing for the coming storm, I suppose, but no winds blew, and jumping Indians would have been in big trouble. (There was more wind out on the steel overlook fifty yards away, but it wasn’t around in Olden Days).

Olivia was fascinated by the view from the Rock, and kept stretching her arms out to the farthest mountains in the distance. “I can’t reach it,” she repeated with frutration. Today, I don’t think she would even be able to see it.

We're off to Walmart for sweatshirts and some toys for Olivia, and I have to find internet access (don't even have dial-up here!) before I combust from being cut-off from the world.