BRIAN AT HUMP MOUNTAIN PRODUCE IN ELK PARK, NC KNOWS IF A CANTALOUPE IS MALE OR FEMALE

Before I tell you about Brian’s produce market, I need to tell you about my first encounter with inflation. Yesterday, while filling up my car with gas, I went inside the store to get a Coke. I reached inside the cooler and grabbed a $2.89 Coke. I am guessing the young man at the counter thought I was a little touched in the head when I smiled at him and said, “You know these things used to be 5 cents.”

I walked back to the car and realized I had not mentioned to him that the 5-cent Coke was in 1958, when I was eight years old. In my formative days, my mom gave me a 10-cent allowance every Saturday. I guess, gave, is the wrong word because I had a list of chores that had to be completed before she put that dime in my hand. But, the point is, a Coca-Cola really was five cents in those days, until one Saturday they were six cents. It hit me real quick that if I paid the shockingly high price of 6 cents for my Coca-Cola, I would not be able to also get my usual 5-cent popsicle or my alternative 5 pieces of penny candy. I am fairly sure that at age eight, I had never heard the word quandary, but I sure was in one. As most eight-year-old boys would do, I streaked home in a panic. But without a Coke, a popsicle, or any candy. My solution was simple: find my mom and demand more money for my allowance.

“Sure,” my mom replied. “But more money comes with more chores.” Imagine my shock at that statement, but I quickly decided I could deal with the situation. Looking back, I guess she took the opportunity to sneak a life lesson in on me.

Now, you already know I took my first quarter and zipped as fast as I could to that same store. I grabbed a Coca-Cola, a popsicle, and all the penny candy I could carry, plus a cookie. When the lady behind the counter said I owed her 21 cents, I stood there dumbfounded because I had not spent my entire quarter. I started pointing and asking, “How much?” But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get my total to 25 cents. After a few minutes, the lady behind the counter said, “Son, you don’t have to spend all your money here today.” Now, friends and ride-about partners, that thought had never once crossed my eight-year-old mind.

About that same time in my life, my dad decided we needed to go on a trip to the mountains. But in those days, a trip to the mountains was different. By that I mean crooked roads. I am talking about old-time crooked, with every other curve a hairpin. A hairpin curve bent back so hard you could see your own taillights, and, oh yeah, no side rails. That called for slow going, and mountain folks knew it, so they set up roadside stands and sold fresh farm produce. Of course, there were also jars of jelly, fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pies, and, at harvest time, there were bushels of corn. They called themselves peddlers. They are mostly gone nowadays, but we found a farmer named Brian, and he comes from a long line of peddlers who sold what they grew straight to the public.

Nowadays, fancy culinary magazines call it “from farm to table.” Here at Hump Mountain Produce, Brian does things just like his uncle, his great-uncle, and his dad. In fact, Brian is well schooled in the art of peddling; his school bus dropped him off at his uncle’s roadside stand. Today, he farms and operates a produce market inside this brick building at the base of Hump Mountain. For about fifteen years, he has been making a living giving below-market prices to his customers.

A couple of years back, my wife and I hit the jackpot when we drove up to Brian’s produce market as he was unloading corn that was pulled an hour earlier. My wife insisted we grab a half dozen ears and head straight for the house. Being born and raised in the city, I had never experienced eating what farmers called “same-day corn.” That means the ear of corn was pulled and eaten the same day. Two weeks later, when we found out he was going to pull corn the next morning, we met him at his produce stand and snagged thirty-six ears. We invited a bunch of friends over to sit on the front porch to shuck, grill, and eat some same-day corn. Check out Brian’s video to learn about some other long-forgotten produce secrets.

Brian’s produce building is filled with his blue-ribbon pickled products that you will never find in your grocery store. And yes, that includes pickled corn. And yes, they are pickled in a state-certified kitchen.

“Farming is tough in the high country,” says Brian. “Nothing can start to grow until the soil hits sixty degrees. Even with that you are likely to get a late frost and have to replant.”

Here is the part you should know about Brian: when the season winds down, Brian carries his excess to Feeding Avery Families, so nothing goes to waste. As Brian put it, that’s the good thing about Avery County: your neighbors are going to help you, and you are going to help your neighbors.

Now, here is the part that took Jason and me aback. Both of us being city boys, we were speechless when Brian told us there was a difference between a male and female cantaloupe. And when he said you could use a broom straw to tell, well, I just wandered over to the watermelons. So, chew on that for a while or watch his video.

Just before we wrapped up the video, Brian told us a mountain farmer can feel the shucks on an ear of corn and tell how cold the upcoming winter will be. ???, yep, that is what we both said.

Watch our ride-about to Hump Mountain Produce — same-day corn, pickled everything, and the cantaloupe question.

Climb into our backseat — subscribe and ride along with Alton & Jason every week.

TRAVIS PROCTOR LIVES OFF THE LAND LIKE IT WAS THE YEAR 1750

Jason and I pulled off the Blue Ridge Parkway, turned down a gravel road, and drove straight to Travis Proctor's log cabin. If I had woken up on his front porch, I would swear I'd gone back in time to the year 1750. Travis is a gardener, hunter, and hiker, and he has spent forty years learning to live off his land. I feel for him on his occasional grocery store trips — at $40 a week, I don't know how he affords to get back home.

His eleven acres are tucked between the Parkway and a National Forest; nobody will ever build close to him. It is as remote and peaceful a place as you will find anywhere. For those folks who yearn for serene surroundings, eat your heart out. And if you love history, Travis will gladly hike you through ten miles of pure wilderness down Lost Cove Creek — but once you start, there's no meeting a road, not even a dirt one.

The cabin started as a kit. Travis watched as each individual log was hoisted into place by a crane, but after that it was all Travis. Living down in the basement for two years, he plumbed it, wired it, and chinked between every log himself. In his video he walks us through a root cellar dug back into the earth — a natural refrigerator that runs ten degrees cooler than the air outside, where potatoes and apples stay good and edible right up until spring planting. Now you will probably say something like: Come on man, you are pulling my leg. But don't forget, he lives at 3,500 feet, where the temperature might reach 75 once or twice in August . It's exactly how the pioneers survived the winter, and it still works today.

In the video, Travis explains how his apple cider press works. Load the apples in the top, the gears turn and crush them into pulp that we put in a sack. If you squeeze that sack hard enough the juice seepes out — and in no time you get a gallon of apple cider.

One time I heard a man say, "I am not about to pay for something the good Lord gives us for free." Travis must have talked to that same man. For forty years, a spring on his property has kept his six-hundred-gallon reservoir full of water — for free — and Travis drinks it every day. He tests it regularly for bacteria, and it always comes back clear. The spring house keeps that water at a steady fifty-five degrees year-round; even in the dead of winter when the temperature is below-zero the spring never freezes. For seven years, he ran a solar rig that heated five-hundred gallons of water 130 degrees and warmed his whole house. But some of those fifty miles an hour mountain winds put that operation out of business. 

That's right, things aren't always serene off the parkway — Mother Nature flexes her muscles now and again. Ice storms and other harsh weather elements can send bears and other hungry creatures looking to rob his root cellar. Travis lost over three hundred fish after the last hurricane came through the High Country. The storm washed the river otters' food away, and those otters — reintroduced across the Catawba Valley — followed Lost Cove Creek right up to his ponds and cleaned him out of fish. Now, otters look harmless and are fun to watch playing in the river, but Grandfather Mountain, which keeps them in its wildlife habitat, calls them one of the most dangerous animals there. Their powerful bite can snatch any slippery fish underwater in a heartbeat. Cute, and a killer, all at once.

For all his homesteading, you might think Travis has no time for a hobby. But he is quite the artist with wood. In the video he shows us a table of ash framed in walnut, a bowl turned from hackberry, and walnut slabs where he'd filled the natural holes with epoxy to let that beautiful grain shine through. Every time I step into his living room, I notice something I missed the visit before.

We have only scratched the surface, and are already scheduled round two — so keep an eye on the blog for Travis Part II. But chew on this question until then: how does a man drink untested spring water for forty years, lose three hundred fish to a pack of otters, and still call this the most rewarding life there is? The answer is all through Travis's ride-about.

Watch Travis Proctor's ride-about — the cabin, the root cellar, the spring, and the otters.

Climb into our backseat — subscribe and ride along with Alton & Jason every week.

THE QUILTERS OF AVERY COUNTY AND THE BET THAT MADE US GO THERE.

Now let me tell you how this ride-about got started. Jason and I had ourselves a genuine dispute. I spent years in the antique business selling quilts, so I know good and well which pattern folks asked for the most. But, of course, Jason did not believe me. There was only one way to settle it: put the question to the women who'd know for certain.

So we went to see the Avery Riverwalk Quilting Guild. Now let me tell you, that was a room full of talented women! I know, because my wife used to be one. Our contact was Cindy, and let me tell you, that woman is a little ball of fire. When Cindy puts her energy into something, it comes out first-class every time. She'll run a raffle you'd figure might raise two or three hundred dollars, and doggone if she doesn't pull in two thousand.

Right fast, after we walked in, it looked like one of those ladies was wearing her quilt. But when she stood up, it turned out to be a unique pair of quilted overalls. She confessed she didn't make them — but declared she sure could have, if she decided to put her mind to it.

Karen gave us the grand tour. She walked us past a patriotic sampler. Every block was different, but similar enough to come together into something beautiful. She named the patterns in the sampler, so check the video to see how they blended together into a fabulous quilt.

I had to cover my eyes when she pointed out the Ohio quilting star. I mean, come on, Karen — North Carolina has a quilting star! And what the heck is a "wonky star" set on an angle? (Turns out "wonky star" is an actual industry term. Who knew?) She also showed us a wall hanging the guild presented to the New Christian Church for hosting them every month.

Karen let us in on how quilting has changed, too. In the old days — before Jason's and my grandparents — women would gather around a big table with needle and thread, bring food, talk all day, and stitch a quilt together by hand. The guild sort of keeps that tradition alive. They meet at ten in the morning, have a program, share a potluck lunch, and then sew individually in the afternoon on programmable machines. Oh yeah — the talking? This old boy don't say nothing about that!

Here's something our ride-about partners might not know: folks have been quilting for over 3,000 years. We have quilts in our own home that my wife's mother made sixty years ago, and they kept us warm again this past winter.

But I haven't forgotten the bet. Jason and I drove all the way to Avery County to find out, once and for all, which quilt pattern reigns supreme — and one of us walked away right, the other one wrong. I'm not going to spoil it here.

Watch the ride-about to find out who won the bet — and meet the quilters of Avery County.

Climb into our backseat — subscribe and ride along with Alton & Jason every week.

YIKES, WHAT IS MARY MORGAN DOING?

Hey friend, you need to get over here and listen up. If all the bees disappear, mankind would have four years to live. Lots of folks claim Albert Einstein said that. Fact or fiction, I cannot say — but by clicking on the image of beekeeper Mary Morgan, you can learn why the bees' pollination work matters to all of Mother Nature's children, humans included.

WHAT IS AN APPALACHIAN AMERICAN? ASK HISTORIAN MATTHEW HITECHEW

Click on the image above to go on a ride-about with Alton and Jason to hear Matthew Hitechew speak about the language and culture of Appalachia. Matthew is the Dean of Arts & Sciences at Mayland Community College in Spruce Pine, NC, and a historian of Appalachian Studies.