Uncle Johnny's Nolichucky Hostel

Friends, family, boon-time companions...

I write to you in haste from Chestoa Bridge, nestled in Tennessee's own Blue Ridge. 

Haste because Charlie Weather predicts rain--rain folks, rain for 10 days, or in my world, 150 miles. 

Haste because sickness haunts this place, not sickness of the soul my friends, no, one far less insidious and far more temporary: a plague of the body, resulting in devilish violence within the bowels. 

Haste not because I don't love this town, not because five years ago when I breached these sandy shores began a new era of my life, not because my father waits patiently for me to add buttermilk to our oatmeal and put sauerkraut in baggies...

But haste because here marks uncharted territory for yours truly, your humble narrator, and as always, because the mountains call.

Today, in haste, joy abounds, amidst minor tribulations. 

You are never alone as long as you still can sing. 

In love,

--Bootless