16th April, 2014. By Harper Cowan :
We wake up on the beach in North Carolina. The resident peacock has finally quieted down and our impossible to start barbeque has turned to smoldering ash. We fix a flat tire, Jess meditates on the beach and I try to dance to only the sound the ocean makes where it meets the shore.
Then we drive to Virginia – lost wallets in gas station bathrooms and country music radio playing. At Twin Oaks we meet a beautiful man who speaks softly and shifts his body weight side to side. He’s a sensitive conversationalist. We want to tell him that he’s beautiful. That he’s an artist. That he’s a king. But we don’t because it’s not our place to tell people who they are and then we leave.
We roll on to Acorn in Mineral, Virginia. We meditate in a wind storm and when we open our eyes there’s a curly headed angel in a striped turtle neck smiling kindly our way. He thought we were someone else but we’re not and then his friends come and they play their drums and ukuleles and accordions for us and we go sleep in a pile of blankets in a dirty but warm room.
Days at Acorn are spent working in the seed office, interviewing kind and gentle men, losing at poker to said gentle men, bottle feeding a baby cow, climbing in tree houses, eating gorgeous meals made with love in a kitchen that always has good music playing, and interviewing Johnny with his fairy cards.
After three days we drive away, an old man on his lawnmower waves goodbye. We stumble in to a cafe with muddy boots and unwashed hair and all I say is sorry to every person and table I bump in to. At Acorn all I said was thank you, all the time. Jess and I are sending gratitude everywhere, in the car, in our tent, on the beach, in our beds, for our sleeping bags, for our microphone, for our hosts, for our friends, for the Blue Ridge Mountains – I hope you all can feel it.