The Blue Ridge Parkway, as seen from Craggy Pinnacle, Barnardsville, NC
“I cannot endure to waste anything as precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” - Nathaniel Hawthorne
I had Los Angeles friends visiting last weekend. One of them had never seen fall foliage, and lucky for her, it was a postcard-perfect sunny autumn weekend: electric Carolina blue skies popping against the leaves’ rich reds and glimmering golds. In town, the heat from the sun kept the crisp air from turning too cold, but that all changed as we motored 36 miles up the Blue Ridge Parkway to the Craggy Pinnacle Trail.
Let me tell you, it was teeth-chatteringly chilly as we climbed the twisty path, over slick rocks and rhododendron roots, gusty wind blowing so hard that I shivered inside my fleece all the way up. The view from the top was worth it, though, and I smiled watching my west coast friends “ooo and ahh” as they surveyed the panorama of blue ridges, at almost 6000 feet elevation.
As they snapped iPhone photos, I remembered gazing down at these same peaks two years earlier. I had traveled from L.A. on my second scouting trip to Asheville, to make sure I wanted to live here. That day in September 2021 I was so mesmerized by the blue haze over the mountain tops, so buoyed by the hint of mystical energy I have come to recognize as the Asheville spiritual vortex, that I decided then and there to make Asheville my final, forever home.
Feeling grateful, and also desperate to get back to the car and blast the heat
We ended the day at Chai Pani, the James Beard award-winning Indian street food restaurant in downtown Asheville. The climb up to Craggy Pinnacle took less time than the hour-and-a-half wait in line for our meal; the eatery doesn’t take reservations and is hands down the most popular place to dine in the city.
Standing in line outside Chai Pani. We were still about an hour away from our dreams at this point.
Finally seated, we plied ourselves with tamarind margaritas, savory crepes, and a tangy chickpea noodle salad. If you’re wondering if the restaurant is worth the wait, one of my friends swore she would stand in line for three hours for the chance to eat there again.
The bar at Chai Pani
After dropping off my L.A. friends at the airport Sunday morning, I met up with a local friend at Zillicoah Brewery in Woodfin, just north of Asheville. I tried a coffee-infused lager, which I don’t think I ever need to drink again, and I chased it down with a surprisingly tasty vegan pizza.
The brewery sits along the French Broad, and we walked past dogs and babies — which are apparently now a thing at breweries — down to the riverbank to watch the water flow by, ripples glinting under the sun’s gaze.
After stopping at French Broad Chocolate for an emergency sea salt and dark chocolate bar, we drove up to the UNC Observatory to see more fall color…
…and city views.
View of downtown Asheville
Walking up to the observatory, we heard the deep hoots of two great horned owls. They didn’t cooperate by re-hooting when I took a video, but if you listen closely you can hear crickets, and the crunch of fallen leaves under our shoes.
Although I’ve been basking in this fall’s vibrancy, I remember that I didn’t much care for the season growing up. I found the waning heat, and the dying of the light depressing. My birthday is at the end of September, and many adoptees say they get sad on their birthdate because it triggers grief around a multitude of losses: a genetic legacy, a sense of stability, a first family.
I don’t feel sad about being adopted anymore. I can say I wish it hadn’t been the case, because so much of my life was spent trying to divest myself of its burdens, energy that would have been better directed towards building a life with the right people instead of the wrong ones. But I don’t feel the undertow of adoption’s pain anymore. I can see it sometimes, alongside me, but it no longer courses like frigid water through my veins.
Everything I’ve done since I’ve moved to Asheville — buying a home that’s all mine, that no one can ever take away from me, releasing the choke-hold of intergenerational trauma through ancestral lineage repair sessions, creating a new community, writing this blog — have been essential steps on a healing journey.
As the light recedes a little bit each day during this, my first “real” fall in 36 years, I’m not squandering time wishing for spring to come. I’m old enough to appreciate that no one is guaranteed a spring, that the only sane way to live is to revel in the deepening pops of color while they’re here.
so beautiful to read your words here, Virginia
My favorite season hands down. Want to come pass out candy to neighborhood children on Tuesday night?