Finding Your Biscuit Hand
Tuesday, November 23, 2004@ 1:00 AM
Life starts to feel complete once you’ve slept in a caboose.
My wanderlust has reached a high pitch lately, with dreams of European travel coming, unbidden, at all hours. Since that’s not happening soon, given the tots in our house, my husband instead planned a quick mountain getaway recently.
That was all I knew — until I drove up, under his direction, to a sign for “Grassy Creek Cabooses.” We were somewhat in the middle of nowhere, off the Blue Ridge Parkway north of Mt. Airy, and sure enough, overlooking rolling meadows and lolling cows, were plunked three tomato-red cabooses, just waiting for me to sleep off the stress of Chapel Hill life.
My wanderlust has reached a high pitch lately, with dreams of European travel coming, unbidden, at all hours. Since that’s not happening soon, given the tots in our house, my husband instead planned a quick mountain getaway recently.
That was all I knew — until I drove up, under his direction, to a sign for “Grassy Creek Cabooses.” We were somewhat in the middle of nowhere, off the Blue Ridge Parkway north of Mt. Airy, and sure enough, overlooking rolling meadows and lolling cows, were plunked three tomato-red cabooses, just waiting for me to sleep off the stress of Chapel Hill life.
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