Guest Column
There Asheville, There Home
By Kristi Parker Johnson
I was 10 years old the first time I visited Asheville in 1975. My family drove cross-country from Texas to see our former neighbors who had recently moved to AVL to teach at UNC. Little did I know then that I wouldn't see North Carolina again for more than 50 years, and I never would have guessed that when I finally returned, it would be for good.
I have only a few memories of the trip: our friends' split-level house perched on a hillside in a woodsy neighborhood, the boys going on a hiking trip without me, the piano in the den where I played the first chords of "Annie's Song" over and over until my mom yelled at me to stop. I was not a musician, but I was a bratty child, which probably explains why I wasn't invited on the hike.
One evening, the families piled into two cars and drove to the nearest drive-in theater to see the film "Young Frankenstein." We would laugh about "werewolf ... there, wolf, there, castle" and Abby Normal for years to come, but that night the movie took a backseat to the drive-in's setting. I vividly recall what it felt like sitting in that open-air theater surrounded by trees and mountains, fireflies flashing like tiny paparazzi cameras. The night air was cool, almost chilly on my suntanned skin—a treat for this Texas girl. AVL's summer felt like our fall back home.
"I felt at home here before we even left Texas, and now Chuck does too."
But the memory that stands out for me the most is the feeling that I had come home to a place I'd never been before. Besides being bratty, I was also a very sensitive child who felt too deeply and thought too much about everything I didn't understand—existential thinking more suited for adults. So even at 10 years old, I was able to recognize and embrace what I couldn't explain: my love for mountains and my connection to Asheville.
Chuck and I moved from Texas to Asheville earlier this year with our dog Poppy, a 5-year-old Pyrenes/Aussie. We drove our packed SUV 36 hours through the aftermath of a widespread winter storm, rolling into a snowy AVL before dawn on a sub-zero February morning. Navigating gingerly over highways and dark streets packed with snow and ice, we found our neighborhood off Hendersonville Road and then our new home. That was our first time seeing it in real life, and to my relief, it looked just like the photos in the listing—a pretty blue mid-century ranch house with a fenced yard for Poppy.
We leased it sight-unseen two weeks before leaving Texas and less than a month after deciding to move to Asheville. Both were hasty decisions, but we have no regrets. Leaving Texas was a smart move for us, the best we could have made at this point in our lives, and Asheville is the place we were meant to be. After all, I felt at home here before we even left Texas, and now Chuck does too.
We love Asheville's friendly people, its quirkiness, the climate, beautiful mountains and abundant bird population. We even love the bears that climb into our backyard and pull down our bird feeders in search of their next meal (we're fast learners, so the feeders are empty now). Poppy is enjoying the huge backyard and cooler temps, and she and Chuck have made some good friends, two-legged and four-legged, on their walks through the neighborhood.
Every time I drive through town now I search for those few pieces of memory from 1975—a multi-level house, a woodsy neighborhood, and the drive-in. Sadly, nothing looks familiar, nothing at all. Recently, I learned that the theater is no more, replaced by commercial retail sprawled across its once wooded acres. "There drive-in, there super store." Such a shame.
"There drive-in, there super store." Such a shame.
The loss does not minimize my feelings for AVL; however, it does represent the realities we've faced relocating to a place known only by a childhood memory. These days, the awe I felt so long ago is often replaced by very grown-up realities, from navigating a healthcare system where getting a timely appointment with a specialist feels like winning the lottery, to the even slower, more vulnerable process of making friends and finding my community. I don't have it mapped out yet, but I'm looking forward to finding my footing, one connection at a time.
About the Author
Kristi Parker Johnson is a part-time writer and full-time editor. She recently moved to Asheville with her husband, Chuck, and Poppy, their Pyrenes/Aussie rescue. Her column covers the highs, lows and surprises of planting new roots in Buncombe County.
Contact: [email protected]
