The Writing's on the Wall

You never know what you'll find at the next bend in the road.

Mr. Pettit and I drove the first 30 miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway last week. Our views were obscured by clouds but we decided a rainy day was better spent on the Parkway than in our trailer. Besides, it was a section we'd never covered before, and we love new territory.

We took the exit for Steeles Tavern, Virginia, because an ad in a real estate guide had piqued my interest. Gertie's Country Store and Deli, along with an adjacent ranch home, was listed at $325,000. The price alone intrigued me since it's easy to pay that much for just a house in our part of the country.

The ad called the business "a Vesuvius tradition" (Vesuvius, Virginia, not the volcano that destroyed Pompeii) and said that back in 2012 Blue Ridge Country magazine had proclaimed it the best place to eat along the Parkway.

We almost passed the plain, flat-roofed building; there was no towering sign with a market-tested logo out front. The interior was just as unassuming: Shelves laden with chips, flour and canned goods alongside restaurant-sized plastic jars of ketchup; a simple black-letter menu of entrees hanging over the counter with an adjacent dry-erase board listing meats available by the pound, tables covered with faded flannel-backed tablecloths. Nothing designed at headquarters, trucked in and placed in its preordained spot.

Mr. Pettit and I went all out and ordered two cheesesteak meals. We normally split a combo when we go to our favorite cheesesteak purveyor in town, not in the interest of saving money but calories. But he wanted to sub in the sweet potato fries and I had a craving for onion rings so we threw caution to the wind. We were on vacation, after all.

We wound up with enough food to satisfy someone who had run the 30 miles we had driven. The sandwich was stuffed with meat and cheese and lettuce and tomatoes, all cradled in a fluffy bun with a perfectly calibrated coating of mayonnaise. The onion rings and sweet potato fries did not disappoint us either. I must confess that we left only a few crumbs on our paper plates.

But it's not the lunch we'll file away in our memories. It's the writing covering every inch of the walls and ceiling. Our server, Gertie's daughter, called it the restaurant's guest book.

We read comments from customers from across the U.S. as well as Cuba, England, Sweden and the Netherlands. Most folks dated their signatures and noted their hometowns.  Others proclaimed their love; I wonder if GW21 and Laurie, Kim and Todd. Mike and Becky and Kierstan and Carlton are still together.

What was Jan's inspiration for the blue-eyed bear back in August 2015? What does "No Hugh Her either!!" mean? Whatever happened to Karen and Brian of Rochester, NY, after their trip from San Francisco to Yorktown back in 2004? I think their drawing depicts the two of them on a motorcycle but I can't be sure. Not that I'm judging---my artistic skill is limited to stick figures and smiley faces.

I like to think each of these Sharpie sentiments was written in a moment of silliness or joy or contentment (especially if cheesesteak was served). To eat at Gertie's is to be surrounded by a gallery of happiness.

Gertie, a small lady of a certain age, told me the visitor's center in Lexington called her a while back about a group of Australians who wished to visit. The Aussies later told her they had heard about her restaurant as they came through Immigration.

I asked Gertie why she has decided to sell her business. She answered that she is fighting cancer for the second time and her daughter doesn't want to take over the restaurant. She hopes a young couple will buy it and leave the graffiti-covered walls alone.

Mr. Pettit and I didn't sign our names since all we had was a ballpoint pen. But next time---and I truly hope there is a next time---I'm bringing a bright red Sharpie and some well-considered words. However, I don't know if I'll come up with anything as provocative as this anonymous note:

"The thinker dies but his thoughts are beyond the reach of destruction."

Wide Open Spaces

Even storm clouds look beautiful from a distance.

I grew up surrounded by trees. I wouldn't be surprised if Daddy cursed them under his breath as he condemned another bag of grass seed to shady oblivion, but Mama wouldn't hear of cutting one down. Only the threats of neighbors---and to this day I don't know what the threats were, whether legal action or old-fashioned Southern shunning---convinced to her to allow the removal of an especially messy tulip poplar on the property line.

It wasn't until Mr. Pettit and I moved to Lubbock, Texas, that I saw how big the sky could be. It scared me a little: Too much open space with no green to hide in. I still remember our trips to visit South Carolina, how I'd start to relax when the trees of Abilene came into view.

I'm not sure when my feelings about trees began to shift, but it might have been during an Air Force assignment outside Omaha, Nebraska. Nebraska gave us our first real taste of winter, and with no trees to block the view you could see countless stars sparkle in the icy air. Since then I've stared at the full moon hanging over Cheyenne, Wyoming, looking for all the world as if it were about to land there. I've watched endless waves of corn billowing in Iowa and a blanket of royal blue settling over the green of Montana's mountains.

I still love trees. My favorite season in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley is autumn, when a quick drive to the grocery store can become a leaf-peeping adventure. But I don't want to live in an arboretum anymore. I love the way the full moon shines in my bedroom window like a celestial spotlight. And I especially love seeing what weather is coming our way as the clouds roll over the Blue Ridge. Just this morning Mr. Pettit and I studied the layers of light and dark clouds on the horizon and wondered if our newly planted hydrangeas would be getting any rain this afternoon. The skies gradually cleared and the rain didn't come. But that trifle of clouds has been on my mind all day.

Several friends are caught in thunderstorms as I write this. Some saw the gale coming from a distance but they couldn't stop it, although they tried mightily to do so. Others had no idea foul weather was approaching before the downpour started. All I can do is pray for them until the skies clear.

Satellite pictures of hurricanes always leave me dumbstruck by their immensity and power, even as I fear for the people in their path. Such images provide the tiniest of glimpses into God's perspective on our Earth. He sees all the inclement weather headed our way, whether a string of tornadoes or a series of events triggered by human frailty, and is in control of all of it. That's the hard thing: Reconciling the fact that He's in control with the suffering experienced by His children. Why does God spare some people and not others? I don't know---I've finally accepted that I may never know until I get a Heaven's eye view of things myself.

I also don't know how long our friends will be battered by the different storms raging in their lives: Disappointment. Illness. Grief. Frustration. Fear. Their only hope, and mine, rests in Jesus of Nazareth.        

By entering through faith into what God has always wanted to do for us—set us right with him, make us fit for him—we have it all together with God because of our Master Jesus. And that’s not all: We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand—out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise. (Romans 5:1-2, The Message)

"The wide open spaces of God's grace and glory"---What a glorious phrase! Not hemmed in, restricted or confined, but free to take everything in. Clouds. Stars. Sunrises. Sunsets. And sometimes rainbows.