Are you washed in the blood,
in the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb?
Are your garments spotless,
Are they white as snow?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Red Allen, “The Blood of the Lamb”, 1964
(based on the 1878 hymn of redemption by Rev. Elisha A. Hoffman)

*  *  *

Back in April, when the Mountain Sole Project first occurred to me, I had this vague idea of how I wanted it all to go.  Drive, stopping whenever something came up, pick up some new music, see some sights, hit a show at the Rex and the Country Store, learn some history, and most of all, see the Carter Family Fold.  (The Carters are legends, period.  There was no way I’d miss the Fold on my way.)

I knew that this area is said to be beautiful, and that the Crooked Road takes you across an incredible cross-section of mountain-region landscapes.  And being of a mountain sort, this appealed to me, too.

What I didn’t expect was just how beautiful it all is, and how the subtle changes go by at forty-five miles per hour, slowly drifting from meadow to peak to ragged rock and soaring trees.  The road is breathtaking.  Stretches of wildly curving roads lined with purple mountain lupine and cream-colored queen anne’s lace, cutting between stands of trees so high they black out all but the barest of reflected sun.

This is landscape that can shape a man.  It soars above you and humbles you.  It’s impossible to feel too self-important when the very earth around you reminds you just exactly how small you are.  There is no question as to God’s presence; only the strength of your faith.

Being here, being surrounded by Clinch Mountain and the blue rounded peaks beyond, the music begins to make more sense, somehow.  The way it reflects and has become a community affair, connecting people beyond traditional demographic groups — we’re all in this together, because there’s something greater than we are.

*  *  *

I managed to get lost in Abingdon.

Understand, this is a pretty big feat.  You could fit quite a few Abingdons in Seattle, and I can navigate around that just fine.  In fact, I’m kind of proud of the way I can find my way around most of the time.  Until I got the phone, I said I had an inner GPS.  Point me in a direction, tell me what it’s near, and let me go.

Not so in Abingdon, apparently.

After getting completely lost looking for a local art gallery that specializes in regional artists, and getting stuck in the traffic that was congregating for a theatrical production of the Wizard of Oz, I gave up.  Pulled over and jacked unsecured internet from someone (sorry, owners of the dball network near Main St. in Abingdon), and looked for comfort yarn.

If you’re not a knitter, you probably won’t get it, but there are times in every knitter’s stressed-out existence, where the only thing that’s going to fix what ails ye is a skein of great merino wool.  This was one of those days.  I’d just wasted an hour looking for something when I wasn’t really sure how far it was to get to Bristol (where there were a few museums and a mural I wanted to see), or how far beyond that was Hiltons and the Carter Fold.  (And, no matter what, I was going to get to the Fold for the show tonight, regardless.  It was the mecca of my trip, really, and getting lost in Abingdon or not, I was going to get there.)

The shop came up on the GPS search, and was nearby, so I hightailed it to A Likely Yarn shop posthaste for some wooltherapy.

(I ganked that photo from the website.  All rights are theirs.)

It’s a great little place.  Lots of local hand-dyed yarns (which, of course, I had to pick up for the knitting side of the project — how could I not?) and a pretty big selection of commercial stuff, to boot.

Now, some of you (I’d wager most of you, in fact) know that in my Other Life, I’m Miss Violet, of Lime & Violet knitting podcast.  That there are a fair number of people across the country and the globe who knit who know who I am by voice, if not in person.  (Around forty thousand who listen, give or take a few thouand any given week, and probably more who know who I am and just think I’m obnoxious.  Which, really, I am.  It’s okay.)  Yarn shops for relaxation can be a dicey proposition if I open my mouth, because (and I mean this in a perfectly boggling kind of way versus an ego-puffed way), I’m recognized by my voice. This trip, however, hasn’t been about Lime & Violet.  It’s not intended to be a rock-star tour or a book signing, it’s just me, Elli, in a truck with Iowa plates, learning a little about Appalachia and hearing some good music on the way.  It’s for inspiration-gathering, not appearances and perfect hair.

So when one of the girls teaching a class looked at me and asked what my name was…well…I thought very briefly about lying.

I know.  Sorry, Cassie.

We chatted for a few minutes, and I let her get back to her class and went to check out before I ended up spending even more money on yarn.  (It was really hard NOT to — the selection of hand-dyed stuff was pretty amazing, and some Blue Ridge Yarns and Miss Babs kept calling to me in that sirensong kind of way where you’re powerless to resist.  Just sayin’.)

When I got to the counter, Karen was ringing up my stuff and we were chatting about the Mountain Sole project and how I was pretty chuffed to find yarns dyed right around here.  She called over Janet, the owner of the shop, to talk to me about the Project, and Janet gave me a TON of information about local artists and the regional network they’re putting together.  (I’ll link it when I get a chance to go through all my notes.)

Karen asked me for my email address to add me to the mailing list.  Violet, I said, like the flower, at limenviolet-dot-com.

Her eyes got as big as platters.  I briefly wondered if I owed her money.

“Are you….one of them?” she said.

I nodded, said that yes, I was Violet.

And she screamed.  Literally.  She yelled for Cassie, whose disembodied voice came from the other room, “I KNOW, KAREN.  I WAS TRYING NOT TO GET ALL FANGIRL, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.”

Heh.  So much for incognito.  We took pictures and chatted briefly and I know that if I ever get back this way?

I’ve got friends.