That's what my breakfastmate from Arkansas bestowed upon me as I left Meadow Creek Monday morning, on my way to Virginia.
He was there for our hosts' workshop on how to build cob houses. Over oatmeal and coffee, I learned he's a dreamer who wants to build one of these mud homes for his wife and children. Maybe start small: a playhouse for his daughters. He quickly learned I'm a schemer who wants to capitalize on this by selling cob playhouses for children of the southern hippie riche by way of Garden & Gun.
Come on, you know that'd sell like organic ponecakes.
Soon I was in my car, meandering along the gravel roads until I could get cell service and map my way towards Abingdon, VA.
Not bothering to buy a road atlas is exciting...right?
Time, the perennial tattler, will tell.