So last night my yin and I went with my dad and his girlfriend to this place called Turtle Island Preserve, which was set up by this guy named Eustace Conway. Elizabeth Gilbert's first book (The Last American Man, which is neatly sandwiched between her time as a relatively obscure journalist for Rolling Stone and her Eat, Pray, Love superstardom) was about Eustace, and apparently he is also one of the stars of some reality show called Mountain Men on the History Channel.
(This is not beside the point, just backstory.)
We ended up there because my dad and Eustace became friends several years ago after my dad bought a piece of property that adjoined Eustace's 600 acres (or 1,000 acres, depending on who you ask) that crawls down the edge of Watauga County into the Wilkes County, one-time moonshine capital of the world. As much as possible, Eustace attempts to approximate what it was like to live 150 years ago, and he approached my dad about swapping a small piece of land (0.1 acres) so he could more easily ride his horses to an upper pasture. My dad is an accommodating and all-around easy-going fellow and agreed without hesitation. Since then, they have helped one another on several occasions.
Also, Eustace sometimes comes up in the winter to shower at my dad's neighbor's house when it gets too cold to bathe in the creek.
Anyway, Eustace has created this amazing, surreal shangri-la about 45 minutes outside of Boone (or, as his website describes it, "eight miles east") and makes his living by running summer camps, speaking engagements, and charging city slickers to come clean his stalls, clear his land, and do all the manual labor that most of us would do anything to avoid. I swear to god, Mardou, the guy offers an internship in chainsawing.
(Incidentally, when I told my grandfather about this yesterday afternoon, he inquired if he might get a position as adjunct professor. I told him I would look into it...)
You enter through this covered bridge:
The sign above the entrance reads: "The finest of the fine arts is harmony in human relationship."
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As you might imagine, Eustace also attracts a kindly number of hippies, and within minutes of arriving my yin and I ran into our friend who owns the local yoga studio and just got back from two weeks in India. My yin had subbed at the studio the previous two summers, and it was nice to catch up with her since this short visit will likely preclude any stops by the studio.
(This is beside the point.)
Anyway, this was how we first met Eustace:
We spent the next hour walking around and taking in the extent of this place. My dad had told me about Eustace's compound years ago, but I had no idea the scale of the operations:
Giant cantilevered barns:
The sun through the trees:
Chickens running around:
Giant cocks:
(ahem)
Goats, badly in need of milking:
And an inexplicable ark in the sky, possibly in anticipation of another 40 days and nights:
Did I mention he did all this by hand?
Eustace insisted that my dad ride shotgun on a buggy ride:
The main event was a group called Rising Appalachia whose music would be best described as folk bohemian pastiche:
Which was fronted by two sisters with hauntingly amazing voices:
Somewhere along their current tour, they picked up a French hippie (by way of Bali):
Here's what the whole scene looked like from a distance:
I thought it was amazing, but this dog seemed unimpressed:
Anyway, the evening reminded me of you, and I'll leave you with a link (the movie is to big to email) to my favorite part of the evening, Rising Appalachia's opening song, which is a folk song that the sisters traveled to Bulgaria to learn:
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(by request of the artist)
Love and light from us both...
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