Charleston

I like lakes better than oceans.  When  you are boating or swimming on the lake you can usually see the other side and know that if you are in dire straits in (or out of) your boat, you could make it to the shore. In the case of the ocean, not so much, the shore is a looooong way away! And the ocean usually comes with several more menacing things like sharks and sting rays and weird prehistoric sea shapes with tentacles that should only be seen on an episode of Jacque Cousteau. Never the less, we are headed east toward the ocean, and I looked forward to checking out the salty air, crashing waves, and adorable little sandpipers that can scurry across the sand faster than a pinball after a double bumper hit.

The next town on our itinerary is Charleston, albeit a  mere 4 feet above the level of the ocean.  Does this bother me? No way, I know how to swim, tread water, and I haven't heard about a hurricane or tsunami in the next few days. And I'm excited to be able to dip my feet into a huge body of water that connects me with the rest of the world.  BUT...if I get swept out into the ocean never to return, be comforted by the fact that I waited 60 minutes after my lunch to get washed away.   

We arrived at Oak Plantation Campground just 10 miles west of Charleston by late morning. It was a lovely campground with lots of amenities and large open sites.

Yes, a random picture of nothingness...just delighted to have space around us in our tiny mobile housing unit.  With all of this space it's time to play the loud southern music...something along the lines of Free Bird. But then I realized we could only play that song if we were riding in a truck...hey, wait a minute, Duramax Diesel counts as gut rumbling redneck truck.  Yeah man, raise the lighter, 'er iPhone lighter app and sing along...(if you don't know all the lyrics cuz you're fresh as the iPhone 6 read on).

If I leave here tomorrow,

Would you still remember me?

For I must be traveling on, now

'Cuz there's too many places I gotta see... 

We were set up by noon and I was anxious to see the town so we kept our bikes on the back of the car and headed into Charleston. This adorable town is like taking a step back in time to not just the usual 100 years or so like in the Midwest, more like 200 years. However, these homes are so well preserved many of them look like they were built yesterday.

I loved all of the front porches (above) or side porches to take advantage of the small space (see below).  I can just envision sipping sweet tea on the porch hearing the soft wispy lilt of my southern drawl (read this all gauzy and flimsy, like sheer silk drapes in the breeze) "I say, Rhett dear, I think it's so hot we're gonna hafta run through the sprinklers and have Eskimo pies for lunch".  

With the strict preservation codes, I'm sure the average (remember average, that means some are millions) home price of half a million is well worth it but my main concern would be the fact that Charleston is but a mere 4 feet above sea level and over 54,000 homes are located, guess what? Four feet above sea level (most of them in Charleston).  Oh well, never fear, live in the moment. Did I tell you this town is only 4 feet above sea level?  My feet are dry and the streets are cobbled, and the fabulous food is plentiful in this cute little town (and I'm planning on finding the first floatation devices store and making a big purchase).
  
After meandering through the fabulous old narrow streets that quickly change from cobblestone to brick to asphalt to a combination of all three, we discovered the Battery Park waterfront and unloaded our bikes. We enjoyed admiring all of the houses up close, easily poking in and out of little driveways and alleys on two wheels.  Every nook and cranny is filled with life, even when there really isn't room, like this house at 82 1/2!  Just look at that charmer, so cute I just wanna squeeze it all up...oh wait, so that's what happened!

 We found another park near the thriving downtown that has a parking space for the cruise ships:

I loved the picturesque waterfront with all of the Palmetto trees and the lovely little pineapple fountain.  The pineapple received its stature for hospitality from the age old tradition when a sea captain returned home safely he would spear a pineapple on his fence post to send a text to all of his peeps to let them know he had tales to tell and wanted them to visit so he could recount his stories of bravado and adventure and get lots of thumbs up.  I give this location two snaps up (well, OK, I'm snapping covertly so seagulls don't think I have bread in the air)!

I do declare, this is so lovely I just might faint!  

Somewhere along our pedestrian meanderings we got roped into getting free tickets to stuff if we attended a Bluegreen time share spiel. YES, like everyone, I hate any kind of sales pitch, whether it's someone trying to get me to upgrade my car wash, super size my meal, or buy kettle corn, I take a reverse course when hit with sales pressure. But I'm always curious to watch marketing and sales in action and as unemployed homeless folks I like the sound of free. 

Now I'm sure someone out there reading this has a timeshare and they love it, good for you, but so sad. Just reading a couple reviews from time share owners at Bluegreen is a wonder how this organization can circumvent the Better Business Bureau, or maybe they haven't (just in case you have nothing better to do: the gritty reviews of Bluegreen time share).

My view of time share opportunities was greatly skewed after watching the movie "Queen of Versailles".  If you get a chance you can instant download it on Netflix (IMDb of the movie: Queen of Versailles) so you can see where your money goes if you ever buy a time share. The main husband/wife in this documentary make BUCKET LOADS of cash in the time share business (well they call it Real Estate) and decide to build a 90,000 sq ft house, mansion, palace, or compound (and, no I didn't put any extra zeros---it's 90,000). The house is modeled after the Palace of Versailles (and I suppose there is no convincing them that 200 sq ft can suffice just fine, and they'd have the extra benefit of being mobile) but building is put on hold when the economy tanked in 2008 (although updates have said the house building is now continuing). Forewarning, obtain item to prop up jaw as it will drop repeatedly AND install instant scrambler for thought bubbles that will continuously appear above your head with "WTF". (For any readers out there who lost their Urban Dictionary, this mean, "Well, That's Fantastic" :)).

SO, the next morning we arose early to head into town to attend the time share spiel, ever curious to see if the sales pitch had changed any bit.  We were suckered into this spiel 25 years ago (different company, same sales pitch) when we went to Disney world. Even back then, the pitch claimed time shares of today are not like they used to be, of course it's always new and improved. The idea for time shares migrated from across the pond in the mid 70's from our tea loving allies who's Queen we adore, so there's not much to compare as the evolution time period has been short in leisure years. Pretty sure the Queen doesn't have a time share.  Sadly I must report, no, nothing has changed. It is pretty much the same 'ol sales pitch. Only this time they have a flashier trailer/ad depicting gleeful WHITE grandparents and two WHITE parents and 2.5 WHITE grandchildren claiming just how much your life will be improved if you invest in their "vacation memories" which are really money sponges of never ending points to buy and maintenance fees for places you can't really go anyway cuz sorry, your desired vacation destination is already booked.

But can you take the dog and must he be on a leash at all times???? Anyone remember the leash?

Doug thought the talk was "interesting" from a sales perspective.  I thought what was most interesting was chatting with our salesperson who was formerly from the Chicago area and had relocated a few years ago with her two boys, 9 and 11.  I asked her what her passion was (in "Holstee Manifesto" style) and she replied her kids, cooking, and that she wants to travel the world on a sailboat--but doesn't know how to sail. 

I asked her what was the hardest thing to adapt to in moving down here. She unabashedly said, "the culture".  I asked what do you mean?  She went on to tell me how the Midwest view of herself was nothing like how women see themselves in the south. In the south woman are revered and expect to be treated with kit gloves (you don't say, maybe this is my new hometown) and, women are extended many courtesies like having the door opened for them, offering them a seat, and all that polite stuff I've read about in "Miss Manners" but rarely experience cuz somewhere along the way Yankee women chose to take the road called "Live Your Life For Yourself Blvd", and Hallelujah to that one Yank ladies.  Insight into why everything takes longer in the south:

Our sales person said you know a woman is a Yankee if she opens her own door (me) and doesn't wait for a guy to "do" something for her (me) and thinks a woman has every right to make as much money doing the same job as a man (ME, yesum, and AMEN). She said in Charleston it's the "true" south and you always say, "Yes ma'am" to your mother even if she's totally a bitch (her words), and you always help a woman (her children were reprimanded by a person in public for not carrying her grocery sacks for her) and the men (potential boyfriends) are so over friendly she doesn't know if they are being genuinely nice or just "southern nice" since many of them will be particularly nice (if you know what I mean) to several woman at once.  She went on to say that your character is not based on "what you do" here but rather how you treat others (OK, that totally makes sense to me). So not earth shattering but interesting none the less.

We had a pretty good excuse to not buy a timeshare since we're pretty much just plopping our "villa" down where we wanna go (yeah, yeah, we gotta drive the villa there, so we have some issues) but after the first 45 minutes I found myself singing in my head, "50 ways to leave the time share spiel". Go ahead, sing it, "Just slip out the back Jack, make a new plan Stan, NO NEED to explain Jane, just gimme my free tickets." Any Paul Simon song is much better to have stuck in your head than say, George Michael, "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go"....ahhhhh, noooooo, stop.

I thought the "sell" would never end but FINALLY we made it out and took note to not attend again for another 25 years, at which time I'll be 75 and ready for the "Senior Center Time Share". Oh how wonderful, we'll get to share walkers, and golf carts, and share our fashion backwards Christmas sweaters with matching Christmas tree earrings and blinking necklace...and wait, we'll all share the kitchen towels with crocheted topper to button onto the stove handle, and maybe, OH MAYBE we'll have a tricycle bike to share. Damn I'm looking forward to that spiel.

So this got me to thinking about what kinds of "sharing" experiences DO WORK?  Well, for starters, sharing kittens always provides happiness (and for anyone that hates cats, or has allergies...YOU need to move to another planet). And sharing cookies/chocolate is a good thing, unless there are way more people than cookies, and you have to start breaking them in half and end up with a tiny piece cuz you're too nice to let someone else go without. But wait, what about sharing a blanket when you're at the football stadium on a cool fall evening? Yes, that would be nice, except if the person is much LARGER than you are and you end up just getting a corner of the blanket and find yourself gripping the itty bitty edge of the blanket, trying to stretch it across your shoulder and end up all stiff and twisted trying to hang on for any morsel of warmth so you just say, "Forget it", and end up colder cuz you had that moment of realization of what potential warmth was.  And sharing money is good, when there are no strings attached, but that never happens, so scratch that one and change it to sharing stories! But then some people put WAY too much detail into their stories, and what could be said in about two minutes turns out to be 15 minutes of drivel about what each person ate and...so you see, this sharing is not always a good idea. There are issues. "Share spit, not time."  That's my tag line and I'm sticking with it.      

The South Carolina "lilt" is more powdery than the GA and VA drawl as I mentioned earlier.  The SC accent unfurls like a beautiful magnolia as each petal reveals the blush of pink inside the white petal as certain words unfold, whereas the middle south is kinda like a fart unfurling...you know it's there but it take a few minutes for your nostrils to curl back. The Charleston drawl is sorta like, "the heya on yua fuh-ace is re-ully showat" (the hair on your face is really short).  The PA and VA accent is hard and twisted in the mouth and sometimes makes my head tilt to the side like my grandma's old black poodle used to do when we asked the dog if she wanted a pink peppermint. The dog would cock her head as if her ear position would cause the words to become more clear. The harder middle southern accent is heavy (thar haiiire on yohh faess is whreally showrooooet). Not that a southern accent is anything new to us but I do hear a distinct difference now between the regions of southern drawl-like talking ramblings of mouthfullness.  

When I talk to Charleston folks I feel like I wanna have a mint julep, fan myself on the veranda, and talk about what I'm gonna wear tomorrow. And of course we (Yankees) are the ones with the accent (then how come all the people on the news sound like ME).  Folks here in the south think we are from Canada...or Can-naada as Lauren says.  Well we're far enough north we almost could be.   

With free tickets in tow we headed to Magnolia Gardens, the ancestral home and plantation since 1676 of the Drayton family. The drive in: 

Today the plantation is home to the eleventh generation of Draytons and the only plantation still under original family ownership from such an early date. The house contains many of the furnishings and artifacts of the family, including several paintings by Audubon which are quite amazing in detail. The Rev. John Drayton inherited the plantation when he was 22 in 1825 when his older brother was killed by gunshot during deer hunting. He experienced great wealth and extreme poverty during his legacy as owner: 

There are 500 acres of gardens to upkeep which have been on display to the public since 1870, and the grounds keepers here have successfully cultivated some of the best Camellia in the south.  

There are little side trips you can tour at the plantation, including five slave cabins. There is also a "swamp garden" tour (sounds like a display of mosquitos and alligators to me), which we skipped, but did view the slave cabins, one of which was inhabited up until 1991. 

Taking the tram out to the slave cabins: 

A descendant of a former plantation slave chose to live in the tiny dilapidated bungalow for as long as he was groundskeeper on the property. The story of dedication was both heart warming and heart wrenching. Did this person want to stay? Did he have nothing else to go out into the world for? Did he really love his job or feel an obligation?

And another tinier slave home (hmmm, sorta the size of our tiny mobile housing unit):

The most impressive find was the massive old oaks (called Live Oaks), many believed to be 300-400 years old. If only the trees could talk. What kinds of things did the children giggle about under the trees?  What kind of "courtship talk" was expressed?  Did the tree hear arguing? Delight? Was there a swig ever attached? Or a tree house?   

I am but a spec of age to this tree:

The original home on the plantation burned down once from a lightening storm and then the rebuilt home burned during the Civil War, or "the War Between the States" as they say here (also spoken as the "War of Unpleasentries"--this one cracks me up).  That's the other interesting tidbit we learned from our time share "salesperson". She said the history about the Civil War is unveiled in the Charleston schools as the "War to end Northern Aggression" and obviously bent toward how many of the slaves were happy in their working conditions and the Northerners just came in and destroyed everything.  

We toured the gardens--beautiful.  I can just imagine the southern belles in their dresses strolling the grounds.  In fact they had a picture of the southern belles meandering along the dirt carpet runway:

Lots of lovely pathways to wander:

This should be the cover of some kinda romance novel, or murder mystery, or story about cherubs that long to fish but can't because their best buddy just took off with their clothes:

Comparing knees: Cypress knees to Doug's knees, which ones will withstand the test of time?? I could have asked that back in Asheville when we hiked out to Douglas Falls...'ol gimpy would have done anything for one of these knees.

Other lovely sites:

Of course my favorite is if we find animals.  This is Pete (my name for him) and he's obviously the ruler of the plantation:

So this looks like a good place to call home (if I could have some servants and gardeners and cooks and maids and maintenance people) and sit a spell on the porch:

What are you sitting down for? Get me my sweet tea boy!

And let me admire the splendor of my gardens!

But wait, there's more!  I haven't even gotten to the ghost stories!!! Yes, again it's the ghost tales. Bet you can't wait.....

More of Artsy Asheville

So you want to know if the Pink Lady is more than just an apple, character from Grease, or Mary Kay representative?  

Well, read on my friend...but first there are other things to see in Asheville! 

On a rather gray day we drove to the other side of town to the Biltmore Village (located just outside the grounds of the Biltmore Estate). You remember the little cottage in the country that I eat imaginary cheese and crackers:

The complex of quaint shops in the Biltmore Village, formerly a town known as Best, was built by George Vanderbilt II, the grandson to the infamous family fortune amassed from shipping and railroad tycoon, Cornelius Vanderbilt. The town was originally built as a "company town" for the estate workers, since it took 6 years to build the Biltmore Estate,
 (1889-1895) and then of course to support the multitude of people needed to maintain the estate through the years. The town was designed to resemble the quaint feel of the English countryside. Biltmore Village is now a charming array of independent shops, galleries, and a few chain stores and restaurants. Biltmore Village:   

I remember this area the last time we visited with the girls and wondered if it was still full of independently-owned unique stores.  Yes, there were still independent stores but also a few chain stores like J Crew and Williams Sonoma had crept in, albeit, easy places to skip over. Just a sad reminder of the homogenization of America.  

Two spectacular shops were just brimming with original craft. The Bellagio, which is filled with "art to wear" such as elaborate decorative purses, clothing, jewelry, scarves, (all artisan made) and the New Morning gallery, a 12,000 sq ft array of decorative arts: ceramics, art glass, furniture, jewelry, woodcraft, and so on. Artist depiction of the New Morning Gallery from American Craft:

There was one more beautiful handcrafted item after another--a magnificent display of creativity and a plethora of inspiration.  It was fascinating to see how many different textures and fabrics and mediums could be combined to make a new form of art.

  I love the compartmentalization of color on this:

And the "Sticks" furniture is always so cool--for kids:

                      

 A little more grown up:

 And then this awesome organic swirl of steel:

And the ideas just went on an on for everything: lamps, tables, chairs, wall art...

After all that inspiration I needed a fuel stop so our last stop was to "Well-Bred Bakery" for coffee and carrot cake.

We went to do laundry but could only do the cold loads (all the stuff that we can hand dry) because the laundromat was closing in 45 minutes. Even just a couple of cold loads hanging inside Max make it look like a spandex jungle.  

Gotta use every square inch and every available protrusion or handle as a potential laundry line or place to hook a hanger! 

Thursday we drove up the Blue Ridge Parkway which is the longest linear park in the nation, a full 469 miles of scenic roadway that took 52 years to build.  Scraping away at the mountain to create the sinuous roadway was obviously, a monumental task. Of course when they began the work, much of it was completed literally by hand, using a pick ax to chop away at the mountain, piling the rocks into a cart and hauling it off to build up other areas. Lucky for us we had the chance to benefit from the sustained labor.

One stop along the Parkway was befitting of the 'Ol Man: 

Oh look Layne, we almost found your name pre-stamped on something...

Well, I guess it needs a little help to get there...

Can you believe in October the flowers are still blooming? 

We parked at Craggy Gardens and decided to hike out to "Douglas Falls", a short 8 mile hike (we thought) but up and down and around the mountain.  We hiked for 6 hours (sustained by only a bowl of cereal).  It was a long hike and Doug ('ol gimpy as I now call him) hobbled his way back after his knee started to bother him on the return trip. I worried I might have to drag him back but gimpy made it. 

The start to the hike was pretty easy but it was a bit chilly--frost still clinging to the ferns:

The rocks provided a sturdy pathway:

This was a most "touchable" trail: silky smooth birch bark, spongy moss, and crispy little moss puffs!

Found a garage for stones...

Gortex shoes were a must for this trail since we crossed several streams, all of varying intensity and depth, but I never fell in (nor did Gimpy)!

The "This 'Aint No Video" stream:

The "I'll Beat You There" stream:

The "Napoleon Complex" stream:

The "Rock and Log Roll" stream:

Found a nice hunk of burl.

And we all should have roots like this (perfect Gnome home):

And finally, after hundreds of steps and wading through streams, taaadddaahhhhhhhh..."Douglas Falls":

Great hair washing for the wild mane:

Maybe we'll just camp out here, a little viewing hut by the falls:

Not having eaten since breakfast, well, aside from some trail mix that I burned through in the first mile, we were famished! We treated ourselves to beer and pizza in the sleepy little town of Black Mountain.  FFB (see previous posts to get the acronym down) for sure (but at that point I would have eaten those crapy sawdust laden organic cookies from the Tea House in Burlington) and made it extra heavenly with a Scotch Ale, a Porter, and Vegetarian pizza (with hamburger) just like dad likes his "vegetarian dishes", right Lauren! 

Friday we wandered downtown again and ran into the iconic Asheville shoe store called "Tops". 

People flock to this store because of the massive selection--rooms of shoes and boots and purses for both men (come on guys, we are sick of carrying your crap...get yourself a murse or if you prefer, manbag) and women. Of course there were three times the amount of shoes for women because women equate shoe acquisition with ahhhhhh, power? Prestige? Femininity? Emelda Marcos? A Woman's Right? Closet Dominance?  Salvation? We may never know but I'm pretty sure me, myself, and I, and most of my friends could outfit a (stylish) army...but they might have to have tiny feet, right Ms. Amy??? 

I didn't buy anything, amazingly.  Doug told me it was "mug day" (sarcastic font) but not "shoe day", so I could buy a mug but not shoes and that TOMORROW was going to be shoe day (when we were driving on the highway and miles away from a shoe store).  So I sadly passed up shoe buying for more city exploring and did some people watching (found one hippie, boy most likely, and a guitar) at a coffee shop later in the afternoon. Also saw some use of the Pubcycle...sadly I read some weeks ago, this opportunity for Baraboo was ousted by the City Council. Fun wreckers!

It was getting cold (mind you, it had been sunny and 65 all week) so we went home to cook dinner. Little did we know what that cold was leading up to...

Saturday we woke up to snow! And not just a dusting but about 4 inches (maybe more like 6 but it had already melted down to 4).  

I'm dreaming of a white campground.

Poor Max didn't know what to think of this.

And we didn't even bring our studded tires!

Although it was melting quickly the snow was still coming down and it was a cold (OK, we'll say "brisk" to our sturdy Minnesota friends)--only 34 degrees all day!  I guess our exodus south didn't work--OK, better move the house further south!  So what's there to do until we can get our "house on the road"? We decided to bum around the camper (Doug hunts for more Asian beetles for his swim team), make a hardy breakfast (a serving bowl of cereal vs. a small bowl), and go to a movie (there's nothing a little popcorn and movie can't make better, or at least forgotten for a while).  We went to see "St. Vincent", a cute comedic drama with Bill Murray and Melissa McCarthy (from "Bridesmaids").  It was a sweet movie, perfect for a Saturday matinee. Someone made this cute little guy outside of the movie theatre:  

Located just down the block was a Barne's and Noble so we wandered in to browse.  Even though the chain stores are basically the same from store to store the bookstores are always an interesting indicator of the prevalent interest in the area. It was intriguing to note how the various genre sections vary in size.  For instance, it's quite apparent we are in the "bible belt" since the "Christian" section is rather large, a whole row and a half, top to bottom and the "Spirituality" section is only a couple rows of shelving.  In Madison the ratio is completely reversed. Also the "local" section is quite extensive; a little more history here to recount I suppose.    

One night we took a trolley ghost tour which I love because the ghost tours are generally historic tours with a twist. Cute picture of the trolley (daytime):

Our tour ghost guide was a school teacher (teachers make the best tour guides) by day but had a passion for the paranormal and participated with a team of investigators who are part of some paranormal cable television show I can't remember the name of since we haven't watched cable for years. 

The trolley shuttled us around the town as the tour guide recounted interesting tales about a former mental asylum with ghostly patients still roaming about the grounds. On March 11, 1948 this "mental hospital" as they called it back then, took the lives of nine women. News accounts vary about how many were also injured but it was one of the most devastating hospital fires in the history of NC.

We heard tales about shoot outs (with holes still visible on the monuments) on the circle downtown and various other hauntings, but the most famous and prevalent tales were those of the specter sightings of the purported "Pink Lady" at the Grove Park Inn.  This is the tale as taken from their website:  

The Pink Lady is one of the Omni Grove Park Inn’s most notorious guests. She checked in during the early 1920’s and to this day has never left.  Lore states that an unidentified woman wearing a flowing pink gown fell from the fifth floor of the Palm Court where she met her untimely demise.  Ever since, there have been hundreds of sightings of her ghost wandering through the Inn.  Some guests have had their hair suddenly stand on end or felt slight tugs on their ear.  Others have experienced an unexplainable chill in the air.

In 1995, the Omni Grove Park Inn commissioned Joshua P. Warren, a paranormal investigator, to investigate.  He discovered tumultuous energies surrounding the area where the Pink Lady had passed away, but by all accounts surmised that she was a benevolent spirit. 

So there you have it!  A benevolent spirit, and thus the origins for the Mary Kay lady...as my mother always says, "I'm not trying to look good anymore, I just don't want to scare anybody!" Mary Kay, the "other pink lady", creates that mysterious barrier...making certain ghastly/ghostly faces don't appear before you! 

We ended the tour at Pack's Tavern, housed in a building with an underground tunnel that was used to provide alcohol during prohibition. 

The tavern rotates over 30 craft brews on tap.  We tried a unique Samuel Smith's Organic Chocolate Stout.  

The perfect "dessert beer", it was creamy and smooth with a hint of sweetness. 

We chatted with a young couple (who were also on our ghost tour) from Charlotte. The couple was celebrating their anniversary and staying at the Grove Park Inn. I asked if they had experienced any paranormal activity.  They said they hadn't witnessed anything but they still had one night to go on the same floor as the infamous Pink Lady!   

Sunday we were off to Columbia, South Carolina, a town almost obliterated by fire in 1865 when General Sherman's troops captured the town. Some say the fires were started by the Union troops and some purported the fires were set by the wild outburst of retreating confederate soldiers, liberated Federal prisoners, and emancipated slaves. 

Needing a break from highway travel, we found a river walk nearby to stretch our legs:

And reveled in the southern ambience: You know you're in the south when...you see spanish moss.

And alligator warnings:

The sun was setting and it wasn't even a bit chilly:

And we couldn't be in Columbia without Columbus. I guess Columbia doesn't know he shouldn't be a celebrated hero. And you DO KNOW it is a major myth he should be a celebrated hero, right?  Yes, do your homework.  Many sites about the myths, here are just two: 

Myths about Columbus

More Myths about Columbus

We did an over-nighter (planning only to burn our propane heater, not the town) at our favorite, Camp Walmart, and then travel on to Charleston, SC. Goodbye glorious art in Asheville...