Blowing up stuff in the backyard

Another early journey was to Shangri-La in Prospect Hill. For those of you who haven't yet made the pilgrimage to the Lilliputian town on the outskirts of Prospect Hill, NC, let me fill you in, It's a Lilliputian town on the outskirts of Prospect Hill, NC. Okay, it's actually this impressive miniature village made by the now late Henry Warren over several years. He saw a little waterwheel building at a store and decided to make one himself, using materials he found around his house. He built his first building from cement and quartz stone dug from his backyard. Liking what he did, he kept going.

His wife is quoted as saying, "When he started, he wasn't going to build much."

That's how quite a few of my chapters seem to have started out. Odd.

From 1968 to 1977 he made 30 different buildings, some fanciful, like the Dew Drop Inn, to an ABC store and the Watergate building. This was the 70s after all.

All the buildings have a distinct look to them, white stone with a brick red trim. Someone really made sure there was good zoning and permits in this place.

For a long time this was a real stopping point. Highway 86 was a major road for tourists coming to NC and the beaches, and Henry's place was a great stop off just to stretch the legs, let the kids run around like giants, and then get on their way. But the road got moved, just a little bit, and people no longer pulled to the side to wander over. It was less visited for a while, and after Henry passed on, it wasn't cared for as well. It took an act of a boy scout troop to go and clean up the place to make it presentable again. But now it sure looks cool.

There are a couple of things to notice if you go by. First, his house, still private property by the way, looks a lot like an oversized version of the buildings in the village. Also, as a marker, there is a large stone marker near the remains of a gas station where the frontage road connects to 86.

This was also the place where I first started photographing my car when I was at a site. I wanted to prove I was there. Now with the coming of Spring, I kinda miss the old convertible. No back seat for the kid, so it wouldn't be as much fun today, but still...

And, yes, Henry Warren quarried the stone from his backyard, with explosives. That's some kinda retirement.

... And Don't Take Your Wife

I've been to some spooky places. Graveyards, empty old houses, out in cold, stormy nights, slick back roads, and twisty mountain bends, cliffs on mountains that fell straight to the sea, hot, empty deserts miles away from anywhere with a flat tire, my trips ran the gamut. Not that I recommend doing any of that stuff. At least not without some good plans on being safe.
I say that because one of my earliest trips for my first book was with my wife. I was so delighted to find this place; it was just odd, out in the middle of nowhere, just so... unexpected.

It was the giant concrete legs in Henderson, NC.

Just, wow, man.

Ricky Pearce made the legs in a big concrete mold and lifted them into place. They sit nearly naked, except for a garter high up on the thigh. Instead of hiding the hip area in the trees, they stick out, unadorned, and more than a little suggestive. He made the sculpture as a tribute to Marilyn Monroe after seeing The Seven Year Itch. The additions to the property include a conveniently placed shrubbery, a path, and a sign that reads "Reminiscing." I missed out on the fact that he made a pair of high heel shoes for it that sit across the street.

Now I really thought this was just incredible as a creation. The legs are highly stylized, flat, with now peeling paint. I never saw anything suggestive about it. But my wife, well, she didn't feel the same about it. And I can't blame her. After a while, especially standing in the middle of them, I got a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. It was just wrong. I mean, it was creative, impressive, and kind of amazing, but still, just a little wrong to be there with my wife, and maybe not be so delighted in finding it. What can I say, I was early in my explorations, still glowing in the discovery. But I haven't been back since.

One day, maybe, when I'm heading in that direction, I'll see the legs again. Alone this time.

A Corner Of Lake Lure

There are quite a few places that sent me to writing my first book, but Lake Lure really got me wondering. Actually, it was coming back from Lake Lure on one of our trips there that got me curious, and kept me curious for years. One summer, all hot and sticky like summer in North Carolina can only be, we are driving back from our stay at the lake. Outside of Lake Lure is a very rural area, neat little pull offs and old places, just an interesting juxtaposition to the quiet luxury of the lake. But what really got me were the low spots and little valleys on the side of the road. In the heat, the kudzu vine grew like it was a petri dish, a giant green weedy salad that covered everything in its path. And I just wondered what could be hidden under all those leaves.
I found out later that there really is something hidden under there. Not the kudzu, but the lake itself.
When the river was impounded with the dam, the area was mostly farmland, but there was a small community still on the land. The story I heard was that the town of Buffalo was bought up, lock stock and barrel, by Lucius Morse when he decided to create Lake Lure. The few people that were there were told to get out with what they could carry. Thus the town, the houses and some of the other bits of life of a farm community were left behind.
My favorite part of the legend was that the church was located at the dead center of the lake. The cold deep water preserved the church, its stained glass still whole in the windows, offering a service to only the fish that swim that deep.
And maybe to the spirits that were laid to rest in now watery graves.
The legend goes that if you take a boat out to dead center in the lake at midnight, you can hear the watery chiming of the church bell, still in the steeple, calling the souls to their pews.

Over the years I discovered so many other legends and tales to the place. Chimney Rock, attached at one end, is noted for its ghostly visitors, and two hotels are said to be haunted.

But that's for another story.