Blue Ridges Silver Streets

Frankie Nelson thought he could go back to that magical place in the Blue Ridge Mountains where for years his family had enjoyed summer vacations at the big white house. That was thirty years ago. Things change. The once white, shining homestead was now nothing more that a rotting shell. A painful reminder of the glory years when Elk Park was the yearly destination for the Nelson family and all the aunts, uncles and cousins. To the adults it was a time of blessed relaxation. To Frankie and the cousins it was a time for the sights, sounds and adventures that could never be experienced in the flatlands at home.
Tying the past and present together was Garvin Kripple, the onetime most feared bully in Avery County. As a young boy, Frankie had been a victim of Garvin’s wrath. The memory of that incident was still vivid and painful when Frankie met up with him at the local convenience store thirty years later. Only now the physical advantage was no longer Garvin’s. It might have taken thirty years, but the payback was just, and more than satisfying. It was the last story that needed telling before the last page of Elk Park memories was closed.
In between are all the adventures, lies, legends, folklore, characters, landmarks, and locations that made this place a treasured and unique experience. Grandfather Mountain, Mile High Bridge, Tweetsie Railroad, Blowing Rock, Brown Mountain lights, Roan Mountain, Woolly Worm Festival, local stores and businesses, monster mules, famous cars. And last but not least, bears, bulls, snakes, bobcats, mountain lions, fighting roosters and trout fishermen. Everything is told through the eyes of a young boy with an unbreakable bond with the “big white house” and his Mi Ma and Granddaddy.
Frankie and his wife left Elk Park to return to St. Louis after stopping one last time at the big white house for a final look and farewell to Elk Park. With aching hearts they departed, taking with them a piece of the old house. Frankie wanted to walk down to the house for a last visit. The back door was open. He was about to walk in for a last, painful look in the big kitchen, when the cut glass doorknob came off in his hand. It was then that he finally realized that this would never again be the family homestead. After such a long time, one can never go home.
While the Blue Ridge Mountains faded in the rear view mirror, the memories never would. He decided that perhaps he should write a book about all of it.