And Another

Brother!

That would be Elder Brother of Mine, the one whom HM and I were planning to visit in a final stop en route north (now in an also-easterly sort of way) as we return home from our trip to the warm sunny south.

We get to Elder Brother's house late in the evening and he offers us a bed. It's the one that Monkey (see photo; she's feline) has been keeping warm for us.

What are the odds we have any in common,
Viewer Dear?

This home, too,  shows signs of extensive creativity.  For you see, Reader Dear, this brother, too, is a maker of many works of art.  He's also a grower of figs.  And a genealogist (Note the seven-generation pie chart showing ancestors who were all striving toward his creation and mine!) He's a gardening, tree-growing, marble-and-other-material-manipulating genius.



On our full day with this brother, HM and I enjoy a lunch out with him and his dear wife.

Then we take a drive through the surrounding mountains.  We trot around on the sweet spot where there once was a cabin built by the man whom Elder Brother and I called Daddy, and a great-uncle we addressed as Uncle Joe (though I can attest to the fact that the title of "great" would have suited him well).

It's been long years now since that cabin was burnt to the ground (Alas, arson).  The parcel of land was divided into two.  A grandson of Uncle Joe is now constructing a new house on one portion of the land. 

We tromped around the mountain, checked out the new house (nearing completion). We noted the remnants of a rudimentary residence left there by HM's and my Only Son and his friends a score of years ago (Hippie days on the mountain when it was already a score of years post-Hippie-era).

We noted the damages of an ice storm.  We discussed some form of shelter we could manage to erect or haul in for brief overnight stays on our half of the mountain land.  We reminisced.

I picked up an historic rock, destined to be carted along home with me to my house and to sit somewhere (inside or outside) and whisper to me often, "I'm a native of Afton Mountain; you know the place!"

On our trip through the mountains, our small party also stopped in the tiny town of Batesville, Virginia.

There is a fine country store there, Reader Dear, which you must not miss the next time you are traveling through the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.  It is a delightful and historic little spot, Batesville.  Blink your eyes, however, and you'll miss it!

Batesville, Perhaps in its Heyday

Okay, well, in the interest of getting the HM and I home at last, I'll rapidly say just this:

We spent another night at the home of EB.  Next day, I took this view of the morning mountains from the bathroom window



HM and I said goodbye, goodbye to Elder Brother and Sweetie Pie (see photo, he's canine).


Elder Brother helped to load into our car a table we were taking along.*

I hugged him goodbye.
"Thank you, thank you," I said. " You're in the top two on my list of Favorite Brothers in All the World!"



And then, the HM and I, we drove home.
Yes, indeed, Reader Dear, we found snow on the ground.

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*Yes, yes.  EB constructed that fantastic marble top.**


** Reminiscent of the puzzles our
paternal grandfather used to construct
(wooden, with formica-topped pieces)

One of Grandpa's Puzzles

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