Random Thoughts

Kitchen Memories

/ Clay Team - Looking Glass Realty / Leave a comment

cranberriesThere are few things that conjure up memories of my childhood quite the way cooking does. The simplest things like the smell of bacon cooking in the morning or the perfect summer cantaloupe takes me back to my grandmother’s kitchen in Pine Island, Louisiana where I spent some of my summer vacations as a child. This time of year, though, I wait anxiously for fresh cranberries to show up in the grocery store so I can make my mother’s cranberry bread.  It has been a seasonal tradition in my family for as long as I can remember and now, every loaf I make reminds of those times spent in the kitchen with her, watching and learning, but most of all just being with her.

When I was little, it was my job to go through the bowl of fresh cranberries and discard any that were soft or bruised. Once my mother knew I could handle a knife without severing a finger, I graduated to cutting the cranberries in half and to this day, I remember asking her to help me whenever I had to decide if a particularly large one needed to be cut in half or in thirds.  There was no way I could have know then just how important her guidance and advice would be to me in later years when there was more at stake than a couple of cranberries..

As the years went by, the smell of cranberry bread baking in my mother’s kitchen came to mean it was time to put extra leaves in the dining room table where they would stay until after Christmas because my brother would be coming home from college. In later years he’d bring with him his new wife and I would bring my husband. Eventually our numbers grew some more as the children came along and the holiday season took on a whole new meaning. But just as it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without turkey, it wouldn’t have been Christmas morning without my mother’s cranberry bread.

So much has changed since then. Today we count calories and fuss over fat grams so the meals I grew up on like pot roast and mashed potatoes, the ones that can still bring back memories, are few and far between. And, like most families, parents pass on, children move away, and the world we live in bears little resemblance to what we knew as children. Perhaps that is the reason why certain things from our past ring with such resonance. They remind us of who we are and where we came from.

So today I made this year’s first batch of cranberry bread using the original recipe written in my mother’s handwriting on a card now yellowed with age. For me it’s the official start of the holiday season. I can’t begin to recall how many loaves of cranberry bread I’ve made over my life time, but every time I pour through a bowl of fresh cranberries, looking for the ones that won’t make the cut, I think of my mom and all the holiday seasons that have come before. And just like last year and the year before that, with every turn of my wooden spoon I will be reminded that this annual ritual is more than combining a few simple ingredients to create something delicious. It is a connection to my past that fills my kitchen with familiar smells and my heart with sweet memories.

A perfect day in the mountains…for me.

/ Clay Team - Looking Glass Realty / Leave a comment

I like sitting on my porch on a day like today when the the sky is that perfect North Carolina blue, the sun is warm on my face, but a spring time breeze is still cool enough to require an extra layer.  My preferred spot isn’t in on of the “directors” chairs we head to at the end of the day where we sit and enjoy the amazing view of the mountains and watch the sun set paint the sky in shades of blues and pinks. On days like today I much prefer my spot on the steps off our deck that leads to our back yard.  The wood has absorbed the heat of the sun and it shares it with me as I lean against the railing for support. I put my head back, close my eyes, and let my other senses take over.  We are blessed to live in a place where, on most days, the only sounds we hear are the rustling trees and the birds. On occasion there may be the sound of tires on a gravel road somewhere near by or of a plane passing overhead, but otherwise, this is the quietest most peaceful spot I have ever lived in my 60-some years. 

Here on my perch, I stretch out my legs as much as I can and use my bent knees to support a book or a favorite magazine. On this particular day, my choice is the latest edition of Garden & Gun, a magazine I never would have chosen on my own, based on the name alone. But I received it as a gift subscription last year and can now no longer do without it. The magazine is based in Charleston, South Carolina and its pages are filled with articles, recipes, stories, and all things southern.  I look forward to its arrival like an old family friend.

The sun glares off the white pages and since reading glasses are a necessity, sunglasses are not an option. I don’t mind really. For reasons unknown to me, I enjoy getting familiar with the contents of a magazine before I delve into reading it page by page.  It’s a lot like reading a restaurant menu.  I look at each offering deciding if it sounds like something I might like, how it is prepared, how many calories might be hiding in the dish, and what it costs. I do all this before considering the next item on the menu. Eventually I narrow down my options and make a choice. 

So it is with me and magazines. I love a good book and welcome those times when I can lose myself in a good story. But books pretty much force the reader to start on page one and follow each page in succession lest they lose the story line. Not magazines.  I can start on the back cover and work my way to the front without missing a thing. On this first pass I notice ads but I might be compelled to read an article if it is a short one or holds some immediate interest for me. More than likely I scan it quickly, making a mental note about the subject matter and file until I have the time an opportunity to read it. It isn’t until I have flipped backwards through all the pages that I decide what I want to read first, and not necessarily in any particular order.

One of the many things that I appreciate about Garden & Gun is the writing. The articles are more like short stories that waste no time grabbing my attention and holding it until the last word. Most issues have some story involving a dog so naturally I go there first. Today, though, my attention lingered in the recipe section where a fresh blackberry and peach cobbler recipe caught my eye. Peaches, juicy ripe berries, and luscious tomatoes are the only reason I tolerate summer and this particular recipe recalled me to my mother’s kitchen and summers growing up in the south. Peach cobbler was a staple in our house when peaches were in season. I can still remember the soft bite of a fresh peach swimming in sweet cinnamon laced juice, perfectly thickened and topped with flaky pie dough. A spot of butter or a scoop of vanilla ice cream made it all the better. My mom is passed now but seeing that recipe and remembering the days when the smell of peach cobbler filled her kitchen fills my heart with sweet memories.

I don’t know when I will have another chance to sit on my steps again like this and do nothing but enjoy the sun and while away my time reading.  Our life is pretty busy these days trying to balance work, projects around the house, and carving out some time for friends. But when I find the opportunity I will spend it on that familiar step looking backwards at a favorite magazine, and maybe a memory or two.

Vanished. Lost without a trace.

/ Clay Team - Looking Glass Realty / 2 Comments

Tuesday May 10, 2016 – 4:45 pm.  

It started like any other afternoon with a game of ball in the side yard.  Our two little dogs, Sunny and Boo chased the tennis balls, Ace ran big circles around us barking at something or nothing at all. We had played this game hundreds of times with Ace eventually loping into the woods to chase a squirrel. Some times he would go deep into the woods to the creek and you could hear his bark echo back. Other times, he would pop out up along the gravel road.  Whatever route he took, rarely was he gone more than an hour and usually it was only a few minutes before he came back to catch his share of the tennis balls. This time, and for reasons no one will ever know, he disappeared into the woods and vanished without a trace.

When an hour had passed and the sun was getting low, we started to look for him. We drove up and down our gravel road knowing the sound of the car usually brings him running for a ride. When that didn’t work we hiked to the creek until it was too dark to see.

Around midnight we drove to a neighboring community on the chance that he had gotten off track and ended up there. Nothing. Concern, fear, and a host of other emotions took over.

IMG_0196 SM We rescued Ace from the old Transylvania County animal shelter 7 years ago because he was on the list to be put down. They were out of room and big black dogs are not a popular choice when it comes to adoption so his prospects were slim. He became part of our family and anyone who knows us, and many who don’t, recognize Ace from his appearances in our real estate videos and around the racquet club where my husband and I play tennis. He was even featured in a video about the relationship people have with their pets that aired on the Dr. Oz show.

We went to bed that night with heavy hearts. His absence left a giant hole in our home and our other two dogs were already showing signs of missing him as much as we were. He is a healthy 95 pounds but because of where we live our heads were spinning with scenarios to explain why he hadn’t come home and none of them were good.

The following morning we did what we knew to do. We contacted the shelter and filed a lost dog report, contacted the local vets in case someone found him, printed “lost dog” flyers and posted them everywhere we could, we placed a “lost dog” ad in the newspaper and with the local radio station. We also contacted the homeowners association for the neighboring community and they agreed to send an email blast to the homeowners with a copy of our flyer. That decision proved to be critical.

We had a basic idea of where Ace might go, but knowing that large dogs can travel as many as 5 miles in a day, and with nearly 300 wooded acres in our immediate area it was like the proverbial needle in a haystack. Where do we start? 

For two days we hiked the woods around us.  There was no clear cut path and the thick Rhododendrons slowed our progress as the briars tugged at our jeans. A friend joined us on the second day but mostly we hiked separately to cover more ground, hoping for some sign of Ace, paying special attention to ravines, holes, or caves that he might have either fallen into or escaped to. We saw plenty of bear scat and other signs of recent bear activity including one cave where the sound of cubs could be heard coming from inside.

 Friday, May 13 – 6:30 am

Robert was standing on the driveway when he heard Ace’s bark coming from deep in the woods below us.  We hadn’t seen or heard from Ace since Tuesday, but like parents, dog owners know the sound of their own dog and we had no doubt that it was Ace. But where was he? 

Robert started off on his way down an old logging road and into the dense woods, following the sound of Ace’s barking and I drove to the road below us as we talked by cell phone. We believed Ace was somewhere between us. I didn’t hear anything from where I was parked then Robert confessed that he wasn’t sure of his own location. I blew the car horn. He couldn’t hear it. Now Robert AND Ace were both lost in the woods.  I needed help. 

I started making calls and soon three friends arrived and two more were on the way. We met up at our house to form a plan, but about that time, Robert found his way through the woods and out to a road he recognized so the search team shifted gears to go look for Ace.  They took the logging road again with a plan to spread out and canvas the area where we believed we had last heard Ace and I went to pick up Robert. It was now coming up on 9:30 am.

Our friends worked their way through the woods and down to the community below. We knew a good portion of their hike was rugged and tough going and we were very grateful for their efforts. Ace was no closer to being found though.

Around noon, we began a new search with two other friends. For the third time, we headed down the logging road, this time, with the plan to hike in a more westerly direction toward where we believed Ace might be. But echoes in the mountains can play cruel tricks on your senses and we got off course. Armed with only our cell phones, efforts to determine our location proved difficult. Google Maps wasn’t enough and a GIS map helped only to a degree. We relied on our iPhone compass and made our way deeper into the woods, facing a steep, densely wooded climb up, stopping two more times to get our bearings. It had been hours since we had last heard anything from Ace and I wondered if now we were lost.  Then, as if on cue, we heard his distinctive howl from below.  We were exhausted and had no more energy to go back down, especially knowing that although we heard him, it was impossible to determine the exact location. There was a collective sigh of relief knowing that Ace was alive, but we had no choice but to find our way out of the woods and come up with a new plan.

Late afternoon, we ventured out for our third search of the day. This time, we would follow the creek that runs below our property. Before setting out, we learned that a friend of ours had consulted a psychic in another state who she has known for years. With no other information, except that we had lost our dog, we were told that Ace wasn’t hurt, that he was in the woods near water, but was disoriented and couldn’t find his way home. It wasn’t much to go on and maybe it was grasping at straws, but we clung to the idea that he was close by as we made our way into the woods once again.

The hike was difficult, through dense vegetation and spring time laurels, with pollen so thick in the air we could see it floating in the sunlight and feel it in our throats.  We pressed on for about three hours with no sign of Ace until we stumbled out of the woods into the backyard of a home, exhausted and profoundly discouraged. 

As luck would have it, the homeowners, Mr. and Mrs. Williams, had received the email about Ace being lost and they told us that they had heard him up in the woods earlier in the day. Physically, we were spent, but our hope was buoyed with this news.

A friend who had stayed at our house to be with our other dogs was called so we could get a ride home and regroup once more. We were back at our house but a few minutes when Mr. Williams called, telling us that he believed Ace was behind their house again. We rushed back and waited. Sure enough, we heard Ace up in the woods. The sound of his mournful howl broke our hearts but now we had a better fix on his location. By car, we were about 2-3 miles from home, but only half of that as the crow flies.

There were times during the day’s search when it seemed Ace was so close but no amount of calling and coaxing could get him to come to us, something we didn’t understand. The bond we have with Ace is strong and there was no reason, or so we thought, for him not to come to us.

At dusk, Robert and I held what could best be described as a vigil alongside the creek on the Williams’ property. We hung some of our clothing on nearby trees to try and give Ace our scent. Mr. Williams gave us hot dogs to set out. Nothing was working. We could hear Ace and were confident he could hear us calling to him but as darkness fell, we knew there was nothing more we could do and returned home. That night, standing on our deck, we could hear our boy Ace crying in the distance. There are no words to describe the helplessness and the heartache we felt knowing he was out there hungry, cold, and scared, and we couldn’t get to him.

 Saturday, May 14 – 6:15 am

Just before dawn, we returned to the creek and the hot dogs left out the night before were untouched. We brought Ace’s metal bowl with some kibble, rattled it and called him to breakfast. That was a sound we knew he’d recognize. It didn’t take long before a conversation with Ace began. We would call to him and he would answer in a sorrow-filled howl. He wasn’t coming to us, but judging from the sound he appeared to be staying in one place, somewhere above us. Robert had hiked the mountain top above us earlier in the week so the decision was made for me to stay where I was and Robert would try to go in from that point. I kept talking to Ace and Robert tracked our voices.

I could faintly hear Robert in the woods above me, but then I got a text saying “I see him and he sees me”.  My heart stopped. I quit calling out to Ace and waited. It was just past dawn and I was alone in the woods with a bowl of dog food in my hand. My knowledge about the area’s bear population was not lost on me as I considered the situation I found myself in,  but it didn’t matter. Ace was now in our sights. 

It seemed like an eternity before I got another text, this time with a blurry image of Ace and Robert together but then came the phone call.

IMG_1862 (1)Robert confirmed that they were indeed together, but they were stuck on a ledge only about 30” wide. There was rock to their right and a 40′ drop off to their left. One wrong move and both of their lives were in danger. There was no way they could get off the ledge safely.

I called 911 as I wrestled with limbs and branches while trying to keep my footing, and scrambled back down the hill, across the creek, and to the Williams’ driveway. Robert had taken our car so when I found my way out there was a moment of panic….how was I going to get to them! Luckily, Mr. Williams was home and was able to take me to the gravel road I knew Robert had taken to get into the woods.

Mr. Williams waited with me until the first responder from my 911 call arrived. The three of us walked the gravel road until we were able to locate Robert by the sound of his voice and then found our way through the woods to him so we could assess the situation. It wasn’t long before a team from Connestee Falls Fire Department and EMS arrived. The team of about six, strapped with gear you’d see on a mountain climber, devised a plan to create a harness for Ace and get him out first, then do the same for Robert.  After insuring that both were attached to safety lines, they hoisted Ace up and brought him up to me, following right behind him was Robert. 

The tears, the relief, and the gratitude we felt for the rescue effort was overwhelming. Even now, when we think back to days leading up to the rescue, when we were living on not much more than hope and peanut butter…fearing the worst but hoping for the best…and then facing a truly life threatening situation, the emotions come flooding back.

IMG_0323We will be forever grateful for the tremendous support we received through social media networks, our tested and true friends and neighbors, and the Connestee Falls Fire and Rescue team.

 Epilogue

Aside from being thin, dirty, and somewhat dehydrated, Ace was in remarkably good shape. Sunny, our middle dog who had barely touched her food and stayed mostly in her bed the entire time Ace was gone is back to normal. Boo, the littlest, is happy to have her big brother back to keep her warm.  The giant void we all had felt the days that he was gone was now filled with peace.

The Sunday following the rescue we were in church when our pastor shared this passage with the congregation. It pertained to an entirely unrelated story he was telling but for us, it spoke right to our hearts.

Psalm 94:17-19

Unless the Lord had given me help,
I would soon have dwelt in the silence of death.
When I said, “My foot is slipping,”
your unfailing love, Lord, supported me.
When anxiety was great within me,
your consolation brought me joy. 

Resuce

The Perils of Too Much Information

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There is no denying the impact that social media has had on our lives.  Websites like Twitter, LinkdIn, and Facebook make it possible to communicate with people 24/7 no matter where we are in the world. All of these sites all have their places in our lives and our businesses and they can be a fun diversion….when we use a bit of common sense.

Facebook in particular has become a hot spot for all sorts of information sharing and I admit to spending more time there than I should some days.  I learn things, I pass along information that I think my friends would like, and I enjoy the occasional debate over hot topics. But sometimes I’m amazed at what people post about their relationships, their jobs, and frankly the intimate details of their lives. Some posts make me outright uncomfortable because it is just TMI – too much information. In one case, I decided to “unfriend” a woman who posted daily details and photos of her young child’s progress at potty training.  There are just some things I don’t need to know.

This same tendency for “over sharing” can be the un-doing of many a job applicant.  Think those pictures of you having way too much fun at a frat party won’t hurt your image or your chances of landing that job you want? Think again. Today’s employers consider a search on Facebook just another stop in vetting job applicants.

Social media has it’s benefits, though, and can be an effective way of carrying a message to a wide and varied group of people.  So how can Facebook and other social media outlets be used to help you sell your home? Here are a few do’s and don’ts to keep in mind.

• If your Realtor has produced a video or a virtual tour for you, DO get the link and post it on your timeline.  Ask your friends to share it with their friends. Just make sure there is appropriate contact information so anyone who is interested knows who to talk to.
• If you don’t have a video, DO ask for a link to your Broker’s website where your home is featured, and share that link.
(Side note: If your Broker doesn’t do videos or virtual tours and doesn’t have a website, you should consider hiring a different Broker)

Blah• DON’T use Facebook as a place to vent about your home’s short comings. As a seller, you are required to disclose what you know about your home such as any trouble you have had with the HVAC, or a roof leak. But the place for that is on a Property Disclosure form provided to you by your Broker.  Facebook is NOT the place to talk about how you cleverly patched that hole in your roof so no one can see it’s damaged and it’s NOT the place to talk about how steep your driveway is or how loud your neighbors are. At least not if you’re trying to sell your home any time soon.
• If you’ve already moved to a new location DON’T tell the world of Facebook that the home you are selling is now vacant.  It’s the same reason you don’t announce that you’re leaving the next day for vacation.  That kind of information is dangerous in the wrong hands.
In today’s information world, you don’t have to be the FBI to find out pretty much anything you really want to know about a property including how much some one paid for it, whether or not there is a mortgage, or how many times it’s been on and off the market. It’s all out there somewhere if you know where to look for it. The same is true for  a lot of your personal information.  Now, in addition to public records, today’s savvy buyers are using Facebook and websites like it to gain more information about sellers including the home they are selling.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to using a little common sense. To paraphrase that now famous slogan for Las Vegas…what you post on the internet stays on the internet.

Rails to Trails

/ Clay Team - Looking Glass Realty / 1 Comment

When I bought my first house in Florida, a railroad track ran more or less parallel to the back of my property. We were separated only by a small bit of undeveloped land. Beyond the track was the intercostal waterway so I enjoyed the relative privacy in an otherwise busy area. The railroad had been active for many years but shortly after we bought the house it was closed down like many others across the country. In some strange way I actually missed the sound of the train as it rumbled past our back yard to who knows where.

The Florida Department of Transportation eventually bought the right of way from CSX and seven years later the County Commissioners approved the funding to create a bike trail on the 34 miles of abandoned rail road including the section that ran behind my house. In the years that followed, I watched as the trail grew, linking parks and people in small communities. It became a part of the landscape and part of my life style. I logged hundreds of hours riding my bike past the palmetto bushes and under the overhang of live oaks draped with Spanish moss. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, I had long conversations with God as I walked along the trail at sunset on so many nights. The trail taught me that no matter how hard I tried, I was not cut out for in-line skates but it was the quickest bike route to a nearby ice cream shop. I have never been a runner and I find walking a little tedious but a ride on the trail gave me a chance to get a little exercise as well a quiet place to collect my thoughts.  I eventually sold my first house and moved but I never lived far from any section of the trail and I enjoyed it for many years.

It’s been a decade since I lived in that part of Florida but I am seeing a similar opportunity for a “rails to trails” project cropping up here in the Brevard area utilizing a 19 mile stretch of track that travels from Hendersonville to where the Ecusta paper plant used to stand near Pisgah National Forest. After years of service, the rail road was closed in 2002 and has since changed ownership. The group Friends of the Ecusta Trail (FOET) is hopeful that the new ownership will get on board with the plan of converting the unused rail to a bike friendly path for walkers, runners, and riders.

trailHaving a trail like this is a natural fit for Transylvania County. Our area has long been known for the quality of life and the bountiful options of outdoor activity. DuPont State Forest is known throughout the southeast as some of the best mountain biking around. The French Broad river is there for paddlers and hiking trails are everywhere. According to the winter newsletter for the North Carolina Rails-Trails organization, “some people say there’s no place on earth quite like Transylvania County for outdoor recreation, especially bicycling and hiking. And the French Broad River – meandering alongside and under the proposed Ecusta Trail – has 100 miles of dam-free paddling including designated put-ins and campsites every few miles along the entire route. ”  I couldn’t agree more.

This trail idea is a slam dunk for our community. As the newsletter explains, not everyone wants the heart pounding rush of mountain biking, especially some of us baby-boomers. We’re looking for a safe place to get some exercise outside and enjoy the incredible beauty that surrounds us. If anyone has any doubts about what a trail like this can do for an area we only have to look south of us to the Swamp Rabbit trail in Travelers Rest, South Carolina or north of us to the Creeper Trail in Abington, Virginia for two great examples.  I haven’t ridden the Swamp Rabbit trail, but I can attest to the amazing beauty and accessibility of the Creeper Trail.  I’ve ridden it twice now with a group of gal pals from the area and can’t wait till I can go again.

I’m hopeful that the folks who make projects like this a reality will see things the way I do.  If you want to get more information, or get involved start with Friends of Ecusta Trail visit their website EcustaTrail.org.

Fall in the mountains….my favorite time of year.

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It’s September. The kids are back in school, football season is starting, and it won’t be long before we’ll be needing a sweater in the morning. It’s almost fall in the mountains – my favorite time of year.

As the calendar flipped over to September yesterday and we all celebrated Labor Day the temperatures were still hovering in the 80’s but my mind was already racing ahead to those crisp fall days that are just around the corner. I love that time of year when I can smell wood smoke coming from the fireplace and hear the sound of leaves crunching under my boots. Fall means football on Sunday afternoons and a pot of spicy chili on the stove. It also happens to be, in my opinion, the most beautiful time of year here in the mountains of western North Carolina.

I grew up in Virginia where we enjoyed four distinct seasons like we do here in western North Carolina. After living in Florida for over 30 years though, I had all but forgotten the beauty of spring and the colors of fall. All that changed though when we relocated here to the Brevard area. Don’t get me wrong, I love spring. The flowers and trees are beautiful and there is something special about the sense of renewal as we come out of the winter months. But spring is still the season that leads into summer, my least favorite time of year. But fall….oh how I love driving the mountain roads in the fall. Every turn in the road is a different shade of gorgeous. There is a particular stretch of Hwy. 64 up near Sapphire, NC that never ceases to take my breath away and I always feel particularly blessed on those days when the falling leaves and a gentle breeze create a shower of color all around me.  Fall is the time of year when some of my favorite foods are at their best. Turnip greens in particular call my name this time of year as do apples. Lucky for us, we live in the area of North Carolina that produces the most apples in the entire state and is the 7th largest growing area in the whole country. If you are visiting the area this fall, there’s nothing like a cool afternoon spent picking your own apples at places like Grandad’s Apples ‘n Such or Stepps Orchard over in Hendersonville.

It won’t be long before we start to see dried corn husks and pumpkins on porches and talk turns to Halloween…and then Thanksgiving. Perhaps that is another reason I love fall.  It lasts longer than other seasons, includes Thanksgiving, and then blends into winter, my second favorite time of year.  As winter rolls around, that means birthdays, Christmas, and before you know it, we’re starting a new year. Spring won’t be poking it’s head up again until April.

Every day now I look for the subtle signs that signal the change of season. I look for shadows that are longer, days that are shorter, and the restaurants and grocery stores that are less crowded because our seasonal residents have gone home. Then comes the day when I notice how dry the air feels and how nice it is to sit on the front porch in my favorite sweater watching dappled sunlight through yellow leaves.

Fall in the mountains of western North Carolina. It can’t come soon enough.IMG_0199

 

 

 

 

 

The world and a two lane road.

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This past week we took an overnight trip that involved several stops around Georgia, a night spent in Chattanooga, Tennessee, then back to Georgia the next morning. The trip had a purpose which we fulfilled, but along the way, we discovered an interesting irony.

Whenever we are on a road trip and whenever time allows we take a Robert Frost approach and try to find those roads less traveled. Speeding down an interstate might get you where you’re going a little faster, but besides the pure stress of interstate driving, think of all the things you miss as you go zooming by at 70 mph.

It hasn’t been that long ago that a road trip involved big, cumbersome paper maps that I could never refold correctly. Then we’d have to write down or remember which exits to take and which roads to follow. Today, it’s so much easier, providing you have the right app for that. We happened to load Map Quest on our iPad because it was free, but it’s proven to be the perfect traveling companion. Two years ago we took a round trip drive from Brevard, to St. Louis, to Chicago, to St. Paul and back again and the program got us every where we wanted to go without a single hiccup.

So again we put our faith in our iPad and turned the fate of our trip over to Map Quest as we headed south on SR 281. The early part of the trip, leaving North Carolina and getting into Georgia, is something we’ve done a number of times, but once we started getting further and further into Georgia, the more we relied on that pleasant voice to tell us when and where to turn. We got to Chattanooga just fine and when we prepared to leave the next morning, we popped the address of our next destination in Georgia into Map Quest and headed out. We had some idea of where we were going, but not exactly so we surrendered ourselves to our iPad and crossed our fingers that we would end up where we needed to be…eventually.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions we made on this trip. As we left Chattanooga it wasn’t long before we looked at each other and acknowledged that we had no idea where we were but it sure was pretty. We traveled for several hours on two-lane country roads that took us past old family farms, along a ridge with mountain views so stunning we pulled over and stopped to admire the sight, and through small towns that were no bigger than a blink. There were roads named for people we had never heard of, others that were designated historic and scenic, and some that barely had any name at all. There were tree lined roads with lush canopies and dappled light and rolling pasture land with bales of fresh cut hay. We saw century old gas stations with a neon “Open” sign that seemed to contradict the weathered gray wooden building, but reminded me of childhood summers spent in rural Louisiana. I wanted to stop just to see if any of them had an old chest cooler filled with Upper 10 and RC Cola.

We didn’t say much as we drove along. The songs of Allison Krauss and Trisha Yearwood provided the soundtrack of the day, interrupted only by the woman’s voice of Map Quest instructing us to turn here or there. The afternoon was as if we had been swooped up and transplanted back to a time when things were more simple. A time when a man’s word was as good as his handshake and families still gathered at the end of the day to share a supper with non-GMO vegetables and meat from animals who never saw a growth hormone. It was a time before anyone could conceive of evil anything like what we see today in ISIS. Preppers were just folks who knew how to put up food from the growing season and how to be self sustaining on the land. Kids played outside on swings, had dirt ball fights, played king of the hill, and knew to be home when the porch light came on. There was no such thing as being politically correct. It was a time when people talked to each other and they did it in more than 140 characters. There was no Twitter, no Facebook, no text messaging but there was community.

We arrived at our destination and our dreamy day’s drive came to an end. There was no way we could have routed our trip any better on our own. We could have poured over a crumpled up road map and tried to make heads or tails of the roads, but in the end it was technology that took us on this journey. How ironic that it took a free app and an electronic voice to remind us of life’s simple pleasures and the world as it is when you take the time to travel along a two lane road.

 

trees

 

 

Happiness by the numbers

/ Clay Team - Looking Glass Realty / Leave a comment

thinkerI always enjoyed school. Once I got to college at the University of South Florida, though, I really had to hone in on the classes that were going to be required for my major whether I liked them or not. The one and only class that gave me fits, and the one and only class I ever had to repeat in college was (cue the scary music) statistics. I love research but statistics and I never saw eye to eye. It was much the same way in Algebra. I wanted to know WHY X=Y. I wanted to know WHY one formula was right but other perfectly good formula was not. I’ve always enjoyed the study of human behavior and learning why we do the things we do so it seems fitting that statistics frustrated me because I could never get to the WHY.

Just the same, I’m a sucker for magazine articles about behavioral patterns that teach us why people do what they do. When I graduated from college with my degree in Social and Behavorial Sciences it wasn’t with the intention of putting my degree to use in real estate, but here I am. As a full time real estate Broker I have plenty of opportunities to study the behavioral patterns of buyers and sellers up close and personal. Understanding the nature of human behavior comes in handy a lot in this business.

So today when I got my copy of Insight magazine, a publication of the North Carolina Association of Realtors, I was immediately intrigued by one of the stories about the connection between how our homes are designed and our happiness. The article references a survey conducted by Houzz, one of my all time favorite websites, and according to the 6,000 people who responded here’s what makes us happy in our homes.

74% are happier after remodeling their home.
72% are happiest in rooms that are clean an organized.
42% find happiness in the living room while only 15% are happiest in the kitchen.
Men are 2 times more likely to find happiness from a big-screen TV.
74% prefer big windows.

Want more?

317 is the number of square feet by which the average new home size has increased since 2009.
29.7% was the percentage by which new vacation home sales jumped in 2013.
65% of home buyers want an “environment friendly” home.
70% said that if they were moving, they would buy instead of rent.

If you’re like me, you probably found more than one nugget of truth in these answers and possibly some surprises. I would like to be encouraged by the increases in vacation home sales and that people are in the mood to buy a home instead of renting. The increase in square footage was a surprise for me, though, considering the trend to downsize. The other surprise was the low percentage of people who are happiest in the kitchen. Kitchens and baths are two of the biggest selling points in any home so I’m flummoxed by that one. Maybe those folks just need a better kitchen.

Articles like this are fun. They aren’t hard scientific research, but they give us a small insight into how other people view their homes and what role their home plays in their day to day happiness. From the dawn of man we’ve sought shelter and place we can call our own.  It’s just human nature to want to come home at the end of the day to a place that makes us happy – whatever and wherever that may be.

If you are in the market for a “happy home” of your own, give us a call…. we’d love to help.