This must be the place: 'Such a long time to be gone and short time to be there'
Hello from Section 117 at the Bank of America Stadium in Charlotte. I’m here on assignment covering the “Concert for Carolina,” a flood relief fundraiser put together by country megastars and Western North Carolina natives Eric Church and Luke Combs. Some 82,000 folks filled the outdoor venue, while around $25 million was garnered during the performance.
This must be the place: 'Hear that lonesome whippoorwill, he sounds too blue to fly'
Hello from Room 510 at the Delta Hotel. The nonstop hustle and bustle of Interstate 81 just outside the window in Bristol, Virginia. For the last few days, I’ve been up here covering the Bristol Rhythm & Roots Reunion, one of the largest and most beloved festivals within Americana, bluegrass and country music circles.
This must be the place: 'The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining'
Stepping out of my apartment building in downtown Waynesville on Wednesday morning, I noticed several American flags lining Walnut Street, put there by the town’s public works department. Cruising along Main Street, the flag was at half-mast at the bank and also in front of the Haywood County Courthouse.
This must be the place: ‘Could have been the Willie Nelson, could have been the wine’
Hello from Room 12106 at the Fairmont Royal York in the heart of downtown Toronto, Ontario. For late summer above the Canadian Border, it’s quite warm and pleasant on this Thursday morning. Bright sunshine peeking through the window drapes of this luxury hotel in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Canada’s largest city.
This must be the place: ‘There’s an eagle and he keeps on flying, over the mountains capped in white snow’
Hello from Cabin 156 at Tryon International, the massive equestrian center and event facility along U.S. 74, just down the mountain from Saluda. The mountains in the distance remind me of the beauty of my home that is Western North Carolina.
This must be the place: ‘That’s the story of my life rich or poor and mostly poor and truly poor’
To preface, this column does not reflect the views or opinions of this publication. For the last 12 years, this weekly column has been (and will remain) a vessel to conjure and express my own personal thoughts amid the wanderings and ponderings of my existence.
This must be the place: 'It was the work of the quiet mountains, this torrent of purity at my feet'
Hello from Room 204 at The Pendry hotel in the Canyons Village of the Park City Mountain Resort in Utah. After a weekend of mostly sunny skies and lush high desert mountains surrounding this bucolic property, it’s currently 65 degrees with a vicious thunderstorm on this otherwise lazy Sunday evening.
This must be the place: ‘And if your cans are redhot and you can’t hold them in your hands, just use good old railroad gloves, that’s all’
Getting out of bed Sunday morning, I moseyed over to the kitchen and readied the things needed for a delicious breakfast on a lazy, hazy day of midsummer. Coffee (with whip cream). Eggs. Red peppers. Onions. Fresh loaf of bread. Cast iron skillet. Slice. Dice. Crack. Mix accordingly. Two plates for her (Sarah) and I. Eat with gusto.
This must be the place: ‘Through countless deserts, dreams and jests, lady on the water, rest my head upon your chest’
Hello from Room 813 of the Cambria hotel in downtown Asheville. It’s Sunday night, nearing 10 p.m. Warm air outside on the patio overlooking the skyline of a city I’ve orbited for the last 12 years, a place near and dear to my heart and soul, thoughts and visions.
This must be the place: ‘We were feeling very fine, the air was clear and slightly damp’
Hello from the passenger seat of my Toyota Tacoma. Seeing as my deadline for this week’s column was nearing midnight on Sunday, I decided to pull over at the nearest exit and let my girlfriend, Sarah, take over driving duties. Pop open the laptop and off we go, eh?
