Today marks one week since I returned to days of habit after my ten-day retreat to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Southwest Virginia. Every time I return to that area, I locate a special sense of soul rejuvenation. This year was a bit different than previous years. Rather than hitting the road for a daily dose of off the beaten path exploratory field trips, I anchored myself to the cabin by the lake for a week.
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Chicken or Egg? I Solved It. /
Seems doubtful that this blog post could resolve the ageless question. Call it scientific or happenstance, but it was interesting that I witnessed both just minutes apart during my recent visit to Paint Bank. All I can really add to this longtime debate is what I actually saw. Seeing it with my own eyes made me a believer.
I’d only been in the tiny mountain town for about fifteen minutes before I was greeted with the wide smile and the southern drawl from the young lady behind the counter of the Paint Bank General Store. She was cleanly dressed all in white, helpful, and quick to answer my touristy questions. She also never missing a chance to flash her pretty smile. As we talked, I spotted my first glimpse of it, sitting on the counter an arms length away. It resembled a sacred stained glass work of art as the afternoon sunlight passed through it.
There it was, in a tiny town with a population count between 146 and 148, depending on which road sign you read. Inside of the general store that claimed to have “a little bit of everything”; and while listening to the beautiful twang of a long drawn out Southern dialect, I discovered the answer to all of those centuries long questions, faiths, and scientific theories. They were red and resting in the one-gallon glass jar at the end of the counter.
It wasn’t more than ten minutes later when I walked upon all of those lovely ladies in the coop out back. They were curious, talkative, and certainly kept a close eye on me. By that point however, I’d already made my discovery and regardless of how persistent and persuasive they attempted to be, I already knew the truth.
The pickled egg clearly came first.
Added Floyd to the List /
We've all heard of CBGB's, the Sunset Strip, Gilley's, and Music Row in Nashville, each responsible for their own personal mark on the music world. Without discrediting any of those famous musical havens, I'd like to also add downtown Floyd, Virginia to the list.
If you have a Friday night free, this is the place to be. Casually parading along South Locust Street with real American small town folk of all ages, listening to real homegrown music in alleys, street corners, park benches, barbershops, and wherever else a tune can be shared. Floyd is as genuine as it gets.
When I arrived, I'd planned to spend about an hour or so, just for the experience. Nearly six hours later, I walked to my car with a bounce to my step and the sweet touch of southwest Virginia on my soul.
As I left the small mountain town with a population of 432 that evening, I was convinced of a few things that I wasn't aware of when I arrived hours before the sunlight faded. Real people. Real music. Real life. Damn right… Floyd is a musical Mecca.