In the presence of the season, thinking of presents

  • By Mike Dewey
  • December 4, 2011
  • 277
                        
SUMMARY: It's all about the haves and have-nots ... nothing's changed in eons. Mike Dewey considers the age-old dichotomy while touring the world's largest house as it primps for Christmas. ASHEVILLE -- Hours and hours inland, we drove away from the ocean, heading toward the mountains. There probably aren't many states in the Union that can boast both extremes, but North Carolina is one. The Blue Ridge appears to be closer than it actually is, especially when the sun's setting right in front of you and it feels as if you're heading into oblivion, the way the interstate cuts and juts and dips and curves and you don't know when it's time to put on your regular glasses or keep the sunnies on. Mountains that tall require a complete reevaluation ... a total reset ... and with the Thanksgiving holiday traffic impinging from left, right and center, you're lucky if you can hold your lane. "Wish there were clouds," I said, screening my eyes from the sunburst sensation that lurked around every corner. "Make it easier to see." My wife, steady behind the wheel, said nothing. She loves those interstates, the heavy foot-pedal push, the intensity of the rush to get somewhere, anywhere. Given a choice, I'd stick to the back roads, the path less traveled, taking the long way there ... but on this trip, I'd done my bit and the second half belonged to her and she was flooring it. As I've said, North Carolina is a state of extreme extremes, politically, socially, geographically and otherwise. It's all over the map. All a person can do is hang on and hope. Fortunately, Asheville is a town that's accepting, sort of like the way Willie Mays' glove welcomed balls hit to left, right or center. It's a busy place without seeming pushy. It's moved on ... yet it's retained a sense of yesterday. Asheville doesn't tear down old buildings, it restores them. It doesn't pave paradise and put up a parking lot, to lift an old Joni Mitchell line. It thrives on making the past relevant. It breathes easy. Those foggy mountains seem to give the town, nestled into their foothills, a chance to stretch its shoulders without exerting too much muscle. It's a laid-back place without being lazy, it's peaceful and it's filled with people who don't create problems. In short, Asheville says, "Hey, if you're cool with us, we're cool with you." And I liked that. Way too many places I've been are filled with reactionaries, with knee-jerkers, with angry folks looking for someone to blame for their lot in life. Outsiders are treated like diseased interlopers. I remember a time, years ago, when I found myself on a campus that required students to attend chapel every day ... this wasn't so bad, since I was arriving from Notre Dame, a school that had only recently dropped that requirement. But there was a robot-like (and scary) sameness to the student body, one that suggested if your hair was too long and your music was too loud, you'd be, well, shunned. Got no use for that kind of repression. I just finished reading a book called "The Help," by Kathryn Stockett, and if you're looking for a wonderful present for that certain someone on your gift list, you ought to make sure you get it. Sure, I'm partial to it because it's all about the South in the early Sixties and, yes, it's beautifully written ... but what makes it essential is the way the novelist pushes an idea (one of love) to its most extreme margin and then allows fate to grab the reader and defy him or her to not turn the page. Ah, yes. The South. It's colder here than you might imagine. Big freeze expected as I write. No telling when it might let up, but I doubt that it will, at least until Easter. Folks in the Occupy Asheville movement, when I talked with them last month, were gearing up for a long, cold winter. And then we went to the town's centerpiece attraction: Biltmore. I'm not sure how to phrase this correctly, but it's a relic unlike any another. I lost count of the rooms in the mansion, let alone the restrooms. It's simply huge. Let your mind take you the rest of the way. Sure is pretty, all decorated for the holiday season and I don't believe I've ever seen so many Christmas trees in one home. But it's just so ... ostentatious. So full of itself. So obscenely opulent. Who needs a chandelier that's three stories tall? I mean, really? Who could possibly need a 60-foot-high Christmas tree? C'mon. Who could need a dining room table that seats 60? Please. I have nothing against the ultra-rich, even when they've done nothing to get their hands on a fortune other than being born, but something about the Biltmore House and Estate made me want to forget the inherent unfairness in the world. I reminded of the immortal line from Dylan's "Idiot Wind," one that went something like, "I can't help it if I'm lucky." All those Vanderbilts were born lucky, no doubt about that. If you've never toured the mansion and grounds, you owe it to yourself to do it. And then all you'll owe them is about seventy Biltmore bucks. Everyone wins. Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560.


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