Finding Home ...

There is a coming-home-kinda feeling about a lazy, early North Carolina summer. It’s like your heart is reset in its secret lodge in your chest and it’s back in rhythm. 

There is a strange saying around here that winter lasts for about 4 months, summer lasts for 6, and spring falls on a Tuesday. This feels, quite literally, like the truth! We have very little remembrance of true spring - the blooms are all we know about it. But the heat and most importantly, the humidity, this NC staple, is in a hurry to come back every year. We go from boots to thong flip-flops literally in one weekend.

The first sign of early summer is a blooming Southern magnolia

If you never spent any time in a subtropical climate, it is hard to describe the water in the air. The drips down your chin and under your arms just because you’re alive. You do nothing but sit there, looking at your hydrangeas and you feel a soft bead rolling down your temple. It’s only 10 AM and you can feel the hot air creeping in like a thief ... 

Kitties are lazier than usual, if such a thing is even possible, moving ever so slowly, for fear they’ll waste their energy in a hurry if they jerk around too much. Their eyes are blinking on a delay ... 

One of the must-haves in a Southern home is a screened-in porch, preferably in the back of the house, where no human traffic can bother you or disrupt your God-given peace. Lots of people dream of a house with a nice, deep front porch, but I like that just for the architecture. I would not think of ever using it to sit and take in the world. My world is that of the back yard, facing the woods, and allowing me no human pollution whatsoever - just birds, deer, bunnies, and squirrels. Maybe the occasional snake - because what is NC without its snakes?! 

On a day like today, I sit and melt away in the warm, wet air, and think about life, about what’s important, about where to next. If I learned anything in 50 years, it’s that humans will disappoint and fail, but through failure they will learn, rise again, and move on. I cannot measure my days in human victories or defeats. My beat nowadays is more that of nature, with its untainted beauty, permanence, resilience and steadiness ... Nature and that which is not human is what I seek for thy disappoint the least. 

If the most consequential trip of my life, my South African safari, taught me anything, it was that to find happiness is to be the most you you can ever muster. An impala never wants to be a lion, and a lion never wants to be a leopard. They are authentically who they are and they are the best at who they are because they wish nothing against their nature or against their natural grain. 

Human intelligence is our ticket to progress and to our demise ... Nowadays, I limit myself to what I know is true and permanent - gorgeous, massive hardwoods mixed in with Southern pines, whispering in the faint wind in my forest, finches, cardinals and sparrows having some sort of a quarrel over the shortage of bird seed, blue birds moving on after their first batch of babies have flown the coop, butterfly bushes in full-bloom waiting, patiently, for their residents to move in. 

About 4 years ago this landscape lady promised a scrawny butterfly bush she planted on a rocky hill behind my house will one day take over my yard. Every year since, I doubted her. I think it's finally time.

These are true, honest, solid things. There is no pretense, no lying, and no A.I. Just the pure, verifiable (but not needed to be) source of what is true ... I live for this. I cherish this. It's restoring ...  

Some days, it's hard to pick a favorite ...

I started this blog 20 years ago next month. I started it to document my travels, and I have been blessed with so many. I have lived a truly charmed life, with many opportunities to learn and open my eyes and my heart to a world I never knew would be possible for me ... 

But the one thing I have learned the most is that sometimes the most memorable journeys are not very far from just where you are. Not very far from your home or even from this chair, right here, where I type these words ... Not very far from the lazy kitten sprawled on the chair next to me ... It’s how you look at the world that makes the adventure and not always how many miles you travel ... 

For now, for today ... The world is warm, familiar, and soft, like an embrace of someone kind and trusting. The air is lingering, sticky and wet. The birds are getting lazier and lazier, judging by their fainting songs, as we approach mid-day. The sun is almost on top of me, I feel it and it makes my eyes squint a little, even under the roof of my screened-in porch. The fluorescent blue wasps are buzzing around and the branches are slowly nodding in the light wind. 

The skies are just waiting for some kind of signal to drop buckets on our heads yet again, despite the desperate attempts of the sun to peek through and shoo them away. 

It’s a quiet day in the country. The neighbor’s dog, suffering from some terrible separation anxiety, is the only chatterbox out there - disrupting the peace and the birds’ subdued symphony. He gets tired after a while and you hear him wail and yawn ... 

It’s another day in The South and, I am fairly sure that even if it’ll bring about change and even eternal pause to so many around the world, it will also bring a new day for those left behind. As life and physics will have it, the world still moves on. And I choose to move with it, when humanity allows, always waiting for the next chapter ... 

Blowing Rock, NC. Mountain Charm. Timeless Flair.

When I lived in North Carolina my first time around, before 2010, because I lived closer to it, Blowing Rock used to be my favorite day-trip destination. I would drive up there for the day from Greensboro, have lunch at The Speckled Trout, then walk about the town, up and down the main street, pop in and out of all the cute little stores, check out the newest local art, try to spot the newest China merchandise that traps any tourist in any American town that sees themselves as a destination, get an ice cream at Kilwins, then head on down the mountain come dinner time. 

A little spot for peace in downtown Blowing Rock: a children's prayer garden

Now, living about an hour  further away, we visit The Crown of the Blue Ridge, as it’s known, much less often. But it still beckons us back from time to time, like it did this weekend. 

These are some of the observations I have made of  an old friend, and of the world as we see it today as we’re travelers through it ... In no particular order ... 

This had to be the least busy holiday weekend I have ever experienced anywhere, but definitely in the North Carolina mountains. We could not figure it out, but all restaurants had open seats (we’re used to driving up there for the holiday weekend and ending up eating fast food or bar food at a bar that still wants people to drink but doesn’t have much to offer by way of food). We hardly needed a reservation anywhere. 

The scenic ride slope at Beech Mountain was almost empty. No lines at all. When we pulled into the parking lot, we counted no more than 20 cars, I’d say. They have three parking lots, but even the one closest to the slope seemed completely empty ... I was sure the resort would be  closed. 

Riding a scenic chairlift in the summer in the mountains is the one activity I look forward to every year. This year, we finally managed to get to it at the very end of summer. It was worth the wait ...

Beech Mountain was open, in fact, but the tavern at the bottom of the slope seemed totally empty, outside of the few occupied tables on their patio. The pub at the top of the mountain had most tables full but the fact that we found a table to sit at at all should tell you they were not very busy. Last time we went, on a non-holiday, summer weekend it was standing-room only both inside and out. There was no one inside this time around. No music playing either, which made it seem even more grim and lonely than the slim crowd. 

Back in the olden, olden days of my trips up the mountain, if I went for an overnight trip, I would equally patronize both Cheeseburgers in Paradise, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint that made a great chicken salad, and The Speckled Trout that made the best trout anywhere on the Parkway. Cheeseburgers in Paradise closed what seems to be a century ago, with the place sitting there, in the heart of downtown, in the busiest intersection of Blowing Rock, empty, falling in disrepair, hurting my soul with every visit, year after year after year. 

But on this trip, it was nice to see that the place took on a brand-new life, and someone loved and cared for the old spot, along other adjacent plots downtown as they now constructed the brand-new and very welcoming hotel Embers. It is where we hung our hats and it was a beautiful experience. The place is clean, welcoming, laid back and full of little gems in the shape of good food, delicious cocktails, and an extremely friendly staff. It was so nice to see history evolving and the town stepping into its next chapter with this new venture downtown. 

The Embers Hotel in downtown Blowing Rock

The Speckled Trout is still as happening as ever - probably the only place where you did still need reservations during this not-so-busy weekend. The wait is still North of an hour for a table and they can only seat you outside with no reservations, and people were taking the outside tables, even when it was pouring out. The trout itself is not what it used to be here - you don’t get a full trout anymore, like in the olden days, and the sides are not just simple baked potatoes, corn on the cob, or steamed veggies ... You have more ‘fancy’ offerings now, like vegan fennel and potato salad, smoked gouda grits, or summer succotash salad. I still visit the place with every visit, just for the good ol’ time’s sake and just because they still serve trout (you’d think they should forever. It’s in their name, after all.) and trout is hard to find, surprisingly, even in mountain towns. 

The cornmeal crusted trout dish at Speckled Trout

Outside The Speckled Trout, the busiest place in Blowing Rock is Camp Coffee Roasters - the line is flowing out into the street at any given time of the day, but those kids who work there know what they’re doing - I thought for sure it would take us an hour to get in and out. It took a bit less than 20 minutes. I guess they time it since you can only park in front of their store for 30 minutes at a time. 

The view from Camp Coffee Roasters towards The Speckled Trout and Embers hotel - across the street

Before we got up the mountain, we toured a couple of wineries in the Yadkin Valley, and then visited another one in the mountains on our second day. 

The gorgeous furnishings at Castello Barone Vineyards and Winery in Yadkin Valley

We love finding little places that do so much to (almost literally) squeeze the sweetness and the richness out of the North Carolina soil to make good products that illustrate the uniqueness or our landscape and climate ... We love talking to the winemakers who, so proudly, showcase their elixirs. It’s always an experience to be shared. Midnight Magdalena, Castello Barone in the Yadkin Valley and Eagles Nest Winery outside Beech Mountain were new findings for us. Featuring mostly dry wines (North Carolina is humid and wet which typically yields dryer varieties, we learned), they were oases of hospitality and good taste. Eagles Nest is hidden deep into the woods of The Smokies. There is no highway sign for it, and you have to kinda trust your maps to take you there. Once you get there, though, the log cabin feel and the gorgeous landscape will render you shocked, mouth-agape. It’s like coming home. You feel the mountains around you just casting a great, warm hug around you, and welcoming you in. 

The beautiful setting at the Eagles Nest Winery, outside Beech Mountain

The wines here, though, are hardly local, being all raised in California, and just mixed and bottled on site, so they’re  a little bit of a fraud, you can say, but they are good wines, and the place is still worth visiting for a moment of respite, a slice of fresh pizza and a cold glass of wine, even semi-imported/ local ... 

There were some low notes during our trip, too. 

The beauty of the setting at Timberlake Restaurant in the Chetola resort is in stark contrast to the poor service and the lesser quality of the food served there, I am sad to say. Kids working in hospitality nowadays need to learn how to use proper words anymore (doesn’t everyone in today’s age of AI when anything we read or write is filled-out for us?). When I tell a young waitress that my order got screwed up and I list at least three things wrong with it and the answer I get is a friendly, chipper, uplifting “Oh, perfect!” followed by a smile - it makes one wonder if anything is being processed on the other end ... 

The serene and peaceful setting of The Timberlake restaurant

We always notice people with kids, and as childless folks, we notice how from day to day, from year to year, kids are more and more close to monkeys and parents are further and further disconnected from any responsibility of raising them. I always say: stop having them or learn how to parent. Filling up the world with screaming, entitled brats is hardly optimistic for our future. Don’t know. Maybe it’s my aging, ornery self, who knows?! 

Although the whole experience was wonderful, as we partook in good foods, good drinks, and great conversations with strangers everywhere, I think the highlight for me was just being in the mountains. Driving on an empty Blue Ridge was my favorite pastime - just seeing no one coming around the curve, and not being rushed by anyone behind us, looking over the (still) bright, green mountains, half in a smoky mist and half clear, breathing in the strong mountain air from our room’s patio were what we drive three and a half hours for - just to take in the mountains and recharge the batteries for the next season. 

Some things will linger for a while: the new-place smell at The Embers, the sticky floors from busy wear and tear at The Speckled Trout, the inexperience of the staff at The Timberlake, the easy-go-lucky staff at Beech Mountain, the super friendly and jack-of-all-trades bartender, Everett, at The Embers bar, the timelessness of the stores that line the Blowing Rock sidewalks year after year, the smell of pines after the rain, the warm cups of coffee at Camp Coffee Roasters, the friendliest hotel receptionist, Stacy, at The Embers ... and all the screaming kids of the world, too ...

Some things are new, some thing are timeless. The world is a mixed bag of nuts; you take the salt with the sugar and you make a nice snack; but whatever you do, don’t stop getting out there and getting your life going, seeing and learning new things. 

The view from the top of Beech Mountain, after the chairlift ride

Wrightsville Beach, NC

My mind is very fragmented lately. I have struggled to write complete sentences and the truth comes to me in snippets, much like a bulleted list. Without numbers. Without a specific order of events. 

These are my random thoughts on our recent trip to Wrightsville Beach, NC. 

• Hotel beds are the worst. Why do they make them so back-breaking soft? 

• Off-season beach season should be the most popular. Who needs the heat, the noise, the sand when you can have the beach to yourself to roam and any restaurant open with no waiting time? But I guess if this would be the peak season, this all would change?! Hmmm ... 

• Falling asleep to the sound of the waves. Who needs a noise machine? 

• I still love the cheap t-shirt beach stores where everything is always on sale. You can never have too many cheesy painted t-shirts (for the days when you decide you’re bored enough you want to start painting your cabinets) and too many $1 thong flip-flops. Summer is long in North Carolina. 

• Overheard in a coffee shop (paraphrase): “All I have left is to prepare for class this semester. Which is basically a lot of reading. But it’s kinda odd because all I have to read are heavy books. Like, you never thought you’d ever say ‘boy, I am really pumped about reading this book on ... suffering!’, ya know?!” Laughter follows. (Drift restaurant in Wrightsville Beach)

• The best seafood gumbo vegan outside of the fish is at The Oceanic at the Crystal Pier. Best view in town too, right on the ocean.

• It’s a mystery to me where birds go when we go to the beach. You see all these gorgeous waterfowl photography everywhere from the fancy hotels to your dentist’s office and you’re thinking: “sure, I can do that! Just get out there on the marsh, point and shoot.” Only you can’t. Nope. Not birds at any rate. I watched the sunrise from my 7th story hotel room and there were hundreds of water birds on the beach. I get dressed and get out there to “shoot them up close” ... not a one! Ridiculous! And that curse followed us everywhere else all weekend. Almost. A small pond in the middle of the Airlie Gardens saved the weekend. 

  Finally birds! At Airlie Gardens.

• I have never found so many absolutely perfectly whole sea-shells in a 20 minute walk on the beach. And I didn’t even pick up all the ones we spotted.

• When coming out of The Oceanic, a random gentleman with a zoomy-zoom camera propped up on the railing told us he is waiting to see the launch of a SpaceX rocket somewhere South from where we were standing. Now, we were about 600 miles (more than 8 hours) away from where the rocket was launching, so this sounded highly dubitable, but we decided to wait for the rocket. 

And oh, wow!, were we in for an experience! The rocket, like a crisp white beam of light, came out from low on the Southern horizon and ascended so incredibly fast, leaving behind a thick and luminous train, so long that given the distance we were aware it was from us, might have been hundreds of miles long in the sky.
At one point, we could see it drop its boosters that had propelled it into space, and then the two boosters, like mini-rockets themselves, made their own train of light from the dropping point all the way back towards Florida where they eventually landed.
At some point, it looked like the rocket stopped “writing” on the sky with its white, luminous train, and it kept only a short “tail”, almost like a comet flying high above the water. Although we could not hear the launch nor feel the earth shake, it was still breathtaking. Definitely the highlight of this weekend, regardless of however many successful pictures of birds we might have gotten. 

Sometimes what you get out is not what you go there for. 

When we left our house, we were not too eager to be on this trip, for various reasons. But once seeing this miracle of human engineering, just a token of what is possible once you venture out beyond your front door, you realize that no matter how sad or poorly you feel, as long as your body is still able, you should get out and take in the amazement that the world still has in store for you. 

The synchronicity was moving:

We saw the SpaceX Falcon Heavy on January 15 - a Sunday - outside The Oceanic Restaurant in Wrightsville Beach, NC. The rocket launch had been scheduled for January 14th (the day before) and it had gotten delayed till the following day, for “reasons not immediately disclosed” (if you follow the SpaceX launches, they have a good record of punctuality). We knew absolutely nothing of this, as we don’t follow rocket launches. 

We had come to The Oceanic the day before, but we could not get in because they were too busy, so we decided to come the following day a bit earlier to have a chance at eating dinner there. And a place we picked totally randomly, and a day and time we picked totally by accident paid off in a big, big way. We took the experience as a reminder to stop making plans (or hiding from them) and get out there and embrace life and wonder just as they are: always there, always waiting, always in need of nothing but eyeballs to enjoy it.

The rocket and the two boosters putting on a spectacle as seen from Wrightsville Beach, NC on January 15, 2023. Who needs New Year's fireworks when you can have this?! 

Squirrels, Art, Waterfalls, and So Much More in Brevard, NC

I was flipping through our pictures from our most recent trip to this little North Carolina mountain town called Brevard. The trip was over Memorial Day this year but I have not managed to write two words about it yet. 

Seeing all the memories stuck on "pixel paper” I told myself: boy, we surely do pack a lot in a weekend! I think it’s safe to say that both of us are more towards the couch potato side of the spectrum when it comes to how active we are rather than the sprint-like, marathon runner type. However, if it’s accessible by foot (and car), we can manage it! 

We’ve never been to Brevard before, and let me tell you - that fact alone is a rarity for someone who’s lived in or around North Carolina as long as we have. Especially for two mountain lovers like us. One of our favorite bands (The Steep Canyon Rangers) has their roots here - for this reason alone we should have graced them with a visit way before this late. Well, better late than never, they say. 

We rented a small “cabin” (when you see the pictures you’ll know it’s a lot more like a super-modern, Japanese-style hut in the woods) outside of town but within just 15 minutes’ drive from downtown. We drove to Brevard for all the meals and wandered the streets and the many art studios. 

Like any mountain town, Brevard is put on the planet to force you to live your life at a different beat. Your heart rate slows down, you breathe deeper, you are forced to look around and not just see but understand what surrounds you. Everyone that’s been to Brevard will use words like “hippie”, “chic”, “arty”, “unique”, “original” to describe it. 

I’ll share some of the things we found and you’ll be the judge. 

Brevard, in a picture

There is a downtown area along Broad and Main Streets where the soul of the town seems to be: all the interesting shops, art galleries, boutiques, wine bars, bookstore, ice-cream store, etc strung together like a bead necklace. Being a holiday weekend, these establishments were thumping with folks! We tried to find a place to eat dinner our first night in town and we could not find a place that took reservations - everything was booked (and yes, apparently even in a “hippie” town you need reservations when everything is in such high demand!). We ended up in an Irish Pub off the main drag which was just fine, too. 

Above the entrance door of a downtown store - again: Brevard in one picture. (OK! Maybe two.)

In the first art gallery we walked in, one of the painters that provided some of the works was there that day - she lives in Florida but always comes up for the weekend to find inspiration to paint. This year, she said, she has a whole birds series where she paints stylized birds that could be any kind of bird in a rainbow of colors. She chuckled “I don’t want to be too specific about what kind they are and what color they can be. For obvious reasons.”  - she said with a wink. 

I’ll tell you, one of the things that intrigued me about Brevard was all the talk about “the white squirrels”. They have lots of “white squirrel this and that” (stores, streets, etc) in this town. I thought for sure we’d see at least one live white squirrel. But we didn’t see even one ... any kind of squirrel. Not any squirrels, in fact. Not in town. There were a couple around our cabin, brown and bushy-tailed. But no white ones and not in Brevard. As a matter of curiosity: the White Squirrel Shoppe offers “adult cocktails” while you shop. This speaks for the hippie  vibe of the town, I guess: I am used to “no drinks or food in the stores”. Not in Brevard, apparently. 

Outside the White Squirrel Shoppe

There is this store in town that is called “Mantiques” - it’s like “Antiques” but apparently for men only?! That intrigued me as much as it annoyed me, but it piqued my curiosity enough to go in. I kept wondering why did they need to skew their point of view so much towards men? Maybe as a matter of curiosity and to get people intrigued enough to step in?! As if women could not be interested in all-leather furniture, or rough wood dining room sets, or massive walnut china cabinets with antique mirrors. Or as if all men would be into killing things (stuffed wildlife alert at every corner in this store); or as if women would not drink beer and scotch (they had lots of funny signs with both floating around bar stools for sale). Because the store had a viewing room upstairs on the second store where they were projecting the first Top Gun movie that day, they gave free popcorn away to all the customers. Again: shop and eat! They surely know how to please a crowd around here. 

We also found this “other” area of the town called “The Lumberyard District”. It was in the heart of what looked like a neighborhood full of small, old homes mostly ranches made of wood.  Here, we had a delicious, locally farmed breakfast at Morning Social one day, and afterwards we perused the antiques and beautiful lumber pieces at The Underground Salvage Co. - a lumber, antiques, and reclaimed wood store in the district. Our next coffee table might just come from some of the wood my husband picked up in this store. 

The Brevard Lumberyard Event Hall in the Lumberyard District

Funky mural in the Lumberyard District

The vinyl corner at The Underground Salvage Co.

We loved the dinner on the second night at Marco’s - the trout and mashed potatoes was just the mountain comfort food that could hit the spot! The following morning, the bagels at Sully’s Steamers (steamed bagels never tasted this good!) were amazing! They make you feel like a pig even when you order a vegan bagel with all the fixins’. 

One of the most attractive qualities of Brevard is that it’s located in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains which themselves offer an infinite amount of attractions. So, if you ever get cabin or “city” fever and want to escape - the roads are full of even more treasures ... 

You can chase waterfalls along the mountain roads, as there are many around these parts. We stumbled upon Connestee Falls, Looking Glass Falls (this was impressive but also by far the most crowded), and another smaller waterfall tucked away off of a graveled road about 20 miles long, off of which lots of people just camped in the woods. 

Looking Glass Waterfalls

A short trip to Asheville to the Sierra Nevada Brewery is only 20 miles away. The place looks brand new and offers an informational tour of the brewery (which can be guided or self-guided)  and is complete with one of the best and possibly largest tap bars I have ever seen. They also have a pretty large restaurant with a huge patio in the back - it’s a must-see for anyone who likes beer, food, mountains, and just to have a good time. 

The entrance of the Sierra Nevada Brewery in Asheville, NC

Corner of the fermentation room at the Sierra Nevada Brewery

The tap bar at the Sierra Nevada Brewery

There are many wineries around Brevard, too. Hopping wineries is one of our favorite things to do on lazy afternoons when we have no energy for much else. Sipping a glass of something new and listening to a band, or just looking at the mountains and taking in the vineyards and the roses popping with color is just food for the soul. We stopped at St. Paul Mountain Vineyards and Sawyer Spring Vineyards. They had a bluegrass band from Eastern Tennessee at the first one, and a special flight made of “red-white-and-blue” wines at the second one, since it was Memorial Weekend and all. They told us to “go on google and find out what plant they used to make their wine blue”. We tried, but we never found out the secret. It was kinda mean not to tell us, I guess, but I suppose it’s good to be a bit mysterious. It keeps calling you back. 

The red-white-and-blue wine flight at The Sawyer Springs Vineyards

On the way back home, we stopped for lunch at Burntshirt Vineyards right under Chimney Rock State Park - this is an old favorite of ours. Just like the Sierra Nevada Brewery - they have a beautiful restaurant and good looking tasting bar, too ... People here are so nice, too, that we always come back - it’s almost always on the way from anywhere in the Western mountains back to our house. 

The peach wine slushy at Burntshirt Vineyards

After lunch, we made the drive up to Chimney Park - a first again for both of us - although we’ve seen the park from the highway possibly hundreds of times. In order to climb all the way to the top of this rock, after you made it to the parking lot through the steep, winding mountain drive, you need to walk through a 198-foot tunnel carved in the rock of the mountain that leads to a 258-foot elevator shaft. After you take that elevator up, you have 40 wooden stairs to climb to the top of Chimney Rock. The view is an incredible 360 degree vista of the valley of the Eastern edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I will have to say, we would do this backwards next time: go to the Chimney Rock to work up an appetite and then go down to Burntshirt Vineyards for lunch, instead of the other way around. 

I loved all the amazing things we saw on this trip for the first time, although a stone throw away from us. I also loved how these communities have a sense of timelessness around them - the beauty of nature, the willingness of people to share their land, food, and art with strangers proudly, the permanence of rock and water and forests - it anchors you. It gives you a place to start once you come back home full of renewed energy and willing to see the world with new eyes. 

There is this corner art store in Brevard called Number 7 Arts. Call me nuts, but to me, it brought back memories of Seinfeld, so you know I had to go in! It’s beautiful, clean, and roomy, with generous windows flooding the light in; it is filled with local art treasures. However, what stays with me is this: as we were walking in there, this kid, could have been probably 15 or 16, sporting a jazz hat on his frizzy head was walking out of the place with a couple of his friends and burst into song: “Good Golly, Ms. Molly!” - started snapping his fingers to the beat in his head and did a twirl in the middle of the sidewalk. It made me wonder for a minute what century we are in? And how can a 21st century kid know a 1950’s song so well?! And then I realized: this is what this trip felt like: from here and now into the beauty and newness and oldness of everything timeless. 

Climbing the final stairs towards the top of The Chimney Rock

Views from the top of The Chimney Rock. Click the picture to see the entire album from this trip.