Moving, Moravian chicken pies
October 6, 2009

Music, please: “Driving in the rain, just driving in the rain . . .” with appreciation to Gene Kelly. It did not get seriously wet until we were on our way, but seems fairly serious now. Much longing and yearning for dry blue skies and wide open spaces! I am in serious need of substantial outside time. The view out the windshield looks decidedly wintry, but the thermometer displays 63 degrees.

Boonville, North Carolina, is today’s destination. I mention the state because most states back here have a town and other sites utilizing Daniel Boone’s moniker, making it necessary to mention which one of his namesakes is the subject.

We will be looking into ancient family records in Yadkin and Surry counties for a few days, then returning to Flat Rock and Mom and Dad in Tryon. We leave this place with lots of unfinished business. First, we missed cousins Bob and Ann, who must be off on one of their travels. They had told us they would be away a lot, but we couldn’t coordinate our plans to work with theirs.

And then there’s the matter of Efland, the town in which our Jacob and Mary Cantrell supposedly lived, he died, and their children were born. Leaving the nearby Hillsborough with its many 18th century houses to go to Efland was a shock. Seems there is no Efland, at least nothing more than a few newer houses scattered along country roads, no old section, no commercial district, no town center, no nothing. A mystery to solve: did they really reside in that section or farther away where Chris thinks he has located their properties? We have only one source for the Efland location.

He did find a website on which some folks have posted surveys of the church yards we were unable to scan, and no Jacob Cantrell is listed, which means only that if he is interred there, his grave is not marked. It’s likely we will never know.

A fairly short driving day ends at a nice little place called Holly Ridge. We are in a space with no others around it, so much better than the past few days. Rowdy spotted cattle in the pasture near us and has been keeping a wary eye on them lest they venture too near. He’s also decided that the briefcase is the best place to be to insure he goes with us on our next trip out.

After an interesting set-up that required the owner to use his tractor to lift the front of the trailer so we could block it for leveling, we set off for Boonville’s grocery to get ingredients for a nice chicken soup, just the ticket for a cool rainy afternoon.

While at the store, I saw a sign advertising Moravian chicken pies for sale. That piqued my interest, but was unable to try one because they had sold out. The proprietor said they typically sell very quickly. They are something that is made locally and brought in to him. No one I asked about them had eaten one, so I had to google it to discover it is a pie made basically with finely chopped stewed chicken in thickened broth. Interesting, but I don’t think I want to spend $12.99 to see if I fancy them.

By evening, the storm took a drying spell and we hiked in the woods - primeval, hushed with the quiet of dampened leaves underfoot. We took a fairly steep route roundabout and down to a creek whose banks were made inaccessible by intense bramble thickets where it wound out of the trees. And nary a mosquito, quite inexplicable but most welcome.

It has been interesting to traverse the topographic diversity in North Carolina, from the Appalachian Mountains and foothills to the coastal region and now the Piedmont section, approximately the middle third of the state. Some of this country is relatively steep as I learned on our hike today; there seems to be little that is actually level.