A Visit With Max Woody

I was blessed with getting to meet Max Woody this past weekend, before either of us passed on.  What a true privilege it was too! 

It was another Saturday "road trip" with my friends, and this one stretched our usual "day trip" limits.  We traveled well over 300 miles in the round trip from Harriman, Tennessee to Old Fort and Marion, North Carolina.  By the time we spent a couple of hours in Max's chair store and shop, it was getting dark by the time we arrived home, and we had left around 8AM.

New location in Marion, NC.

A lot has been written about Max Woody and his legend as a mountain chair making craftsman.  Oops, I messed up, Max says he don't create, he builds chairs! 

I just wanted to write about my 2 hours with the man in his shop.  It will be something I will long remember.  

During the telling of his life and times, I soon understood that he was a man of faith.  A woodworker, like that other carpenter, he cares for the youth of today.  He is a supporting member of groups that reach the young people of the "inter-cities"; showing them the mountains of North Carolina and love of Jesus.

Suffice it to say, Max's chairs are the best; made with no nails or glue.  They outlast their owners and their inheritors. 

His "Colonial-style" chairs are highly sought after, and at one time he was six years behind in orders.  Now, it seems, he just makes them on request, or, as Max says, when people keep calling me about one.  It appears that "the squeaking wheel" gets oiled!

He has been honing his craft for about 65 years now, and though he is slowing down, he still turns out chairs.  The product is the best too.  He demonstrated how he tests the strength of each chair; putting his full weight on each leg.  The chair doesn't move under his weight!

The list of famous chair owners goes on and on, but the ones that stand out for me are John F. Kennedy, Billy, and Franklin Graham.  They recognized the quality of Max's work and the adage "You Get What You Pay For"!

I personally would love to have one, but with both our ages, and the back-order time, I think I've missed the window of opportunity.  Besides, the cost is steep, around $3,000 for a rocking chair, and about a $1,000 for a straight-back chair!  However, the authentic squeak the chairs make when you sit in one makes you want to place an order and hope.  I remember that sound from my youth while sitting at my grandmother's table.  It's comforting...somehow.

The other "best part" of being around Max, besides the smells of his woodworking shop, is his stories.  He don't wait for you to ask, he just spies something sitting on a shelf, or hanging on the wall, and starts right in, "Now there's an interesting story."

He is never lost for a story, because his place is full of items that bring them back to mind.  His new shop in Marion isn't as large, or as full of stories, as his old store down in Old Fort, but it will keep you begging for more stories long into your visit.

 

 

 

 

Old location in Old Fort, NC

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, if you are ever in Marion, North Carolina, go out on Highway 70 and look for his sign.  He'll be glad to meet you and spend a yarn or two with you!

UPDATE: Just learned that Max died January 2, 2019.  He was 89 years old.

On The Back Roads Again This Past Saturday

We were back on the road again this past Saturday, and as usual, no particular destination in mind.  We just head out and when we come to side road, we turn.  We don't like the main roads...too much traffic, and no scenery at all!

The direction we turn is determined by asking if anyone has been down that road.  So, we go down the one that no one has been down, or at least has forgotten!

Sometimes we begin to pass things we remember, but coming from a different direction, so we begin looking for an unknown road.  Often Dr. Ahler will tell Gary to do down a road because it's either heading to or away from "the river or mountains", or better yet, "follow the creek", and here we go.

Somehow, Saturday we ended up in Loudon and Monore County, TN, in the towns of Philadelphia and Madisonville.  Soon we saw a sign directing us to Hiwassee College, and we all remembered there was a "balloon festival" going on there.  

So we follow the signs, missing one due to construction midtown Madisonville, and somehow make a circle and come back to the same intersection we missed, only from a different direction.  This time we see the sign, and finally make it to the campus.

Neither of us had any idea about the timing of the event, but had we just thought about balloon festivals, we would have known that most of the colorful action occurs after dark.  The burners then light up the inside of the balloons.  However, we get there long before dark-thirty and there was only one balloon in action; giving short tethered rides up and down.   There was a second one, but the basket was still in a pickup, and the balloon itself was barely unfolded on the ground.

Now, this would not have been too bad, except that we had already paid (rather Dr. Ahler paid) $5 a head for us to get up the hill to the parking area.  Over about a quarter of a mile, on what seemed like the main campus, were festival vendor tents, and blow up bounce-houses, etc., but it would a long hike for aging hips and knees.  Besides, neither of us wanted to bounce!  Food and drink would have been nice, but we had to park too far away to make it worth the hike.

So, we stood beneath the single colorful balloon, that frequently rose with a blow torch sound, and descended to the shouts of the ground crew.

I snapped away, knowing that this was all the action I was going to get, and I got a few good shots.  It was rather colorful against the bright blue September sky, but we soon grew tired of starring up.

 We passed a couple of barns, an old mill, and a large orchard of "crab apples".  Neither of us had seen so many in years, and so I hopped out and hiked back down the road to the fence line just feet from the trees.  Not the greatest find in the world, but hey, I didn't have an "Osage orange" tree in my wildflower database.  Now I do!

You may know this ugly fruit by one of these other names: Maclura pomifera, commonly called hedge apple, horse apple, monkey ball, bois d'arc, bodark, or bodock!

I remember chucking, and having them thrown back at me many times when I was young!  They are heavy and hurt like the devil when they hit you right in the middle of the back!

We made two other stops of interest; one was a Eve Mill near Philadelphia, TN.  The old mill structure was painted a bright red and trimmed out in white.  The actual mill building is overgrown and hidden beside the mill dam; which you can see from further down the road.  The waterfall was pretty, but it would have been much more scenic with a big water wheel.

The other stop was at a little general store, where three young girls were just about to close.  However, they let us come on in to get a drink and something to snack on.  It was great to see young folks actually working, and being very sociable.  We left them a good tip for staying open an extra 10 minutes.

So that was our Saturday...not much to young folks these days, but when old buddies are cruising down the backroads of East Tennessee, these old men think there is no where else in the world like it!

More Saturday Road Trips In East Tennessee

I've done several "road trip" post in the past, but this is about a couple of recent excursions into the East Tennessee countryside.  Search "road trip" to see past postings.

Sometimes it's more than the three of us, but normally the central occupants of Gary's "bow-tie" pickup are Gary, the driver, Dr. Ahler, the navigator and historian, and me, the historical photographer.  

The three of us rarely know where we're going until we finally leave Dr. Ahler's house and turn onto the main road.  He then almost instantly knows where he'd like to go, which way he wants to get there, and what he is looking to obtain!  Having traveled the main roads, the back roads, and even the deeper less-traveled gravel roads of East Tennessee during his "circuit riding" doctoring days, he pretty much knows his way around the area.  At about 81, he still has a sharp vivid memory of the directions, farms and houses along the way, and even names of families, and acquaintances, he encountered in his travels to and from various hospitals in the area.

He directs Gary along the route he wants to go, and sometimes argues with the female GPS voice coming from the dash!  He is often right too, but he has not yet given in to trusting all the "newfangled" technology.  He relies instead, on directions from the rising or setting sun, mountain escarpments, big oak trees, property lines, ponds, lakes, and gut feelings.

I sit quietly in the back, listening to his tales and yarns from yesteryear, knowing that this elderly gentlemen has had a colorful life, and isn't giving up easily to his aches and pains.  He has and will live his life as aggressively as possible.  While he's doing this, Gary and I are reaping the benefits of what he's seen and what he wants to see before his time is finished.  Therefore, our lives will also be blessed by his knowledge, conservative views, and friendship!

A couple of Saturdays ago, which is generally the day we travel, four of us, that day we included Benny, a childhood friend, and ended up at the Mayfield Dairy Visitor Center near Englewood, TN.  Our primary goal had been to reach a new Mennonite store near that community.  After picking up some vegetables and a watermelon apiece, the Visitor Center was just an added surprise for me.  

I had no idea where I was, and they weren't really sure, but all of a sudden we turned onto the blacktop and there was "Maggie" the cow!  I knew then I was about to sample some great ice cream!

Supermarkets in East Tennessee are full of numerous varieties of their ice cream, but at the visitor center you can sample experimental flavors that are either not yet in stores, or may never be in stores.  It's always a treat!

Dr. Ahler and Benny enjoyed a quiet moment sitting in the shade finishing off their dip choices.

This past Saturday, even Dr. Ahler was not sure where we were.  We had made so many twists and turns that he was confused, but only for a few minutes.  We are never lost, but we do, on occasion get turned around.  

This trip we were on an apple hunt!  There are several stores, fruit markets, and stands all up and down most all roads in Tennessee, and East Tennessee roads are no exception.

Finally, we turned down one last road and there was one of the biggest in the area.  Wooden's Apple House, in Bledsoe County, has many varieties of apples and their orchards stretch right up to the parking lot.  Picking your own is prohibited, but who cares when the store provides all you could ever eat or even carry!

They also have a bakery inside where you can sample apple turnovers and other treats made on premise, with their own apples.

On down the road, we find other stands, wholesale/retail warehouses, and fruit markets to tempt us into buying more than we need.  

All along these back roads we are slowed by the trucks carrying empty baskets and Mexican field laborers.  Some of the people in the area are transit workers, but many came long ago and set up a good life in the American economy.  They own most of the wholesale warehouses, and while stopped at one, I watched workers in the hot fields working on their Saturday.

These fields stretch for acres, with more tomato plants than one could ever count accurately.  I wondered how many of us would work these fields today, especially on a "football" Saturday.  Us "white folks", and even some of us "black folks", have just become too soft; not willing to work for minimum wage at such menial tasks, in hot dirty conditions.  Sounds like Roman history to me!

Anyway, we came away with plastic bags of corn, peaches, Mutsu apples (even a one peck box), and huge tomatoes; one of which I just had with cottage cheese!  One of the peaches was my breakfast, and it was so juicy and sweet.

We wind our way back home, down different roads, hoping to surprise our wives with the bounty that we've piled into the backseat.  Of course, sometimes we buy too much and have to give some away, but that's the way it is, and always has been, in the South. 

It won't be long before we eat our way through our produce and plan another trip to somewhere, yet to be determined; but rest assured Gary and Dr. Ahler will get us there by an interesting circuitous route! 

DAY TRIP THROUGH EAST TENNESSEE

Okay, haven't done this in a while, so give me a little time to get back in the grove!

Yes, I've been down and out for the last four and a half months, recovering from back surgery.  So, blogging hasn't been on the front burner.  Also, my photography has taken off and what little time I've had to get out this rainy summer, I've spent it taking some shots and posting them on my photographic art page, Paul's Art!

Also, last year, before the surgery and rain, I purchased a toy that I have always wanted.  Granted, it isn't the '69 version that began the lust, but it is a GT 500, and a beautiful Grabber Blue 2010, I've dubbed "Thunder Mule".

He, it's too mean to be a she, loves the road, especially those with lots of banked curves and frequent straight stretches.  Last winter, about a week before my L4/L5 fusion surgery, "he" did an admirable job on "The Dragon"!  He ate up the 318 curves in 11 miles.

My wife and I loaded up some snacks, my camera, and headed out for a four hour tour of Morgan/Scott Counties, Tennessee.  The whole circular trip was about 140 miles, from Harriman to Rugby, Jamestown, Pall Mall, and Crossville.

I loved the trip up to Wartburg the best, because the road is winding, and new.  We rolled through Wartburg and on down hill (seems like even though you are traveling north) through Sunbright, and on to Elgin, where we made the turn toward Rugby, Tennessee. 

Rugby Visitor Centre 

Nestled among tall pines and oaks just south of the Big South Fork National Park, lies Historic Rugby, Tennessee; a British-founded village whose Utopian dream of a better life in America has never quite died.

Christ Church Episcopal Rugby

Kingstone Lisle House

Rugby School

Rugby Library

Christ Church Episcopal Rugby

British author and social reformer Thomas Hughes, famous for his classic novel  Tom Brown’s Schooldays, dedicated the Rugby Colony amid great fanfare on October 5, 1880.

It was a beautiful day, rolling along, windows down, and listening to the engine make that beautiful Shelby noise.  No, it ain't noise, it's something else to this "sixties kind of man", it's music to the ear, and the reason I rarely play the radio, or a CD.  The back-off sound alone is worth stopping at a red light or stop sign, and then, another opportunity to go through the six gears!  Even this 67-year old loves working the clutch and effortless movement of the shifter.

So, we roared on to Jamestown, took a hard right and headed north to Pall Mall, Tennessee.

Alvin C. York & Sons General Merchandise

What is in Pall Mall?  Not much, but it is near the home place of  Alvin C. York.  Sgt. York, a hero of mine since I saw the Gary Cooper movie years ago.  It was an inspiration for my "let's play war" days as a kid, and to be where he breathed the East Tennessee air was down right cool!

The York Roller Mill and pond

Roller machines that were belt driven in the York Mill

The Alvin C. York Roller Mill, with intake in foreground

Alvin C. York (roller) Grist Mill

Alvin C. York barn and silo

Alvin C. York Minneapolis-Moline tractor

Trips like this are made much better if you look for the little things, things that you expect to never find, but you have to look up and down, and take in the entire experience.

It's the small things that make a trip, like the slab of sandstone leaning against the general store, on which someone had painted the Ten Commandments! 

Or maybe it's the little Cardinal Flower (Lobelia cardinalis) growing down my the pond behind the York Grist Mill.  

Or possibly the vines about to overgrow the R. M. Brooks service station residence.  You have to get out of your "Thunder Mule" and walk around a little to see it all, but it's there.  However, it won't be there long.  It will either be over grown or decay and fall, and you will have missed it!

And, you must walk all the way down to the York Grist Mill pond and falls.  The water fall is spectacular, especially on such a summer's day as we found it.  The intake has long since been closed and the pond overflows almost constantly during rainy seasons.

Ignore the Statue of Liberty on display on the York property.  It seems so out of place, but I guess someone was trying to convey Sgt. York's love of country.  However, there is no need for it...if you saw the movie, or read about him, you know he loved his country, even though he saw no sense in leaving East Tennessee to go off to fight.  After all, he barely knew about the world situation.

M247 Sergeant York

Yes, there is even a tank there, but the most important small find there is the 1969 Lincoln Mark III behind the house.  Like I said, you have to get out of your car and walk around.

The world has to look hard to find you in the East Tennessee hills...only a draft can find most young men (like York) like it found me.

Swinging back around through Crossville and down I-40, you again come to Roane County, Tennessee.  There are lots of overlooked items of interest in your own backyard.

1954 Federal Fire Engine

 Like the vintage fire engines I found on the way home!

  You can see more photos from my trip here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/23056599@N00/sets/72157635115537162/

and here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/23056599@N00/sets/72157635121922651/