|
This page: Saturday brought a whole new set of adventures
Saturday brought a whole new set of adventures
I drove up into the mountains of North Carolina, to a tiny resort town called Cashiers. There I was booked into the Cashiers Coffee Company, a bohemian hangout way off the beaten path. Pulling into the dusty parking lot, I noticed my name up on the roof in a sort of marquee:
SAT. JUNE 10
FROM NYC
SAM SHABER
Got a picture of that one! On the posters I had sent with the picture and date for the show, the show time had been scribbled in as "'round dark."
Not finding the owner in, I decided to check out the area and went on a recommendation to nearby Whiteside Mountain, following its perimeter trail to the top at 4,039 feet. The view was insane and so revitalizing that I couldn't breathe deeply enough to take it all in. A life-sized wooden cross lay in the rocks at the summit, which I found both infuriating and amusing at the same time, and I had to turn the other way to enjoy the mountainous view without battling my religious demons at the same time. But the 60-minute hike was very refreshing and a welcomed change from the car.
Back down the mountain to town, I checked in at the Coffee Company again. The owner is Tim Womick, a musician, avid bike rider, cook, and coffee shop owner who could best be described as supernaturally bouncy. He bounded in and set instantly to cooking up an incredible stir-fry of pasta, feta, seitan, olives, capers, beets, and peperoncini, which I devoured half of as though my life depended on it.
I set up on the porch amidst barrel tables, rocking chairs, and waxy wine bottles with candles poised and ready, and waited for dark to fall. The only people in the shop were two kids, one working the counter, the other playing solitaire. I taught him my favorite and most addictive solitaire game and watched him play for awhile.
I asked Tim where I might stay in town (hoping for an invitation,) and he said I could stay right there in the coffee shop. This was not as crazy an idea as it may sound, since the shop is filled with comfy couches, even a narrow mattress at one end, bookcases lined with the strangest assortment of reading material I've ever come across, and of course a fridge full of baked goods. The walls were papered with pieces of art, clippings, pictures, postcards, maps, signs, musicians' posters, and more. Next to a picture of Bob Marley in the bathroom is a comic depicting a defendant at the bench in a courtroom. The caption reads "NOT FIT TO STAND TRIAL" and the defendant tells the judge, "I'll have an espresso, please."
On other walls there are maps of the mountains in Utah, the Navajo Nation territory, downtown Boston, Italy, Whiteside, and more. There is a postcard of an ancient necklace with prehistoric bugs frozen in its mineral stones next to a newspaper clipping from a production of Falstaff at the Met. There's an article about the oldest lady in France, and a framed poster of a jazz trumpet player.
 Finally the sun was sufficiently behind the mountains, and I began to play. The first song was heard only by the boy playing solitaire. Then a family of three arrived. Then another family. People kept driving up to hear the music coming from the porch until I had a good thirty bodies, listening, playing with their kids, engaging me just as I was engaging them, and enjoying the music. When the mosquitoes got too bad I ran inside for some long pants and then continued the show.
Eventually, the families began to trickle away, and once again it was a handful of people. Between tips, CD sales, and the small guarantee, I had made $150. I finished the rest of the stir-fry as Tim moved stools inside, cleaned the milk steamers, and did his baking for the following day. And when he finished closing up the shop and showing me everything, he locked the door behind him and left me to it.
I definitely felt strange staying in there, but I fashioned pajamas out of two over-sized long-sleeved Coffee Company shirts (put my legs in the arms of the extra-large shirt, pulling it up like a sleeping bag, and wore the other shirt right side up,) lay down on the mattress with my head on a sofa pillow, and fell asleep, waking in time to get dressed before another boy arrived to open in the morning.
I took one scone from the fridge, left a note for Tim, and was back in the car, headed back towards Atlanta for a 12:30 gig at Borders Books and Music in Buford, Georgia, and then to Nashville and a gig later that night at the Bluebird Cafe.
An alternative lifestyle indeed!
|
|
