Back from Blue Devil Land

And boy was it a good trip! We didn't go expecting to dislike North Carolina, but we were surprised by how much we liked it, especially Asheville.

We spent this morning at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens, part of the Doris Duke Center at Duke University, in the midst of alumni weekend. It was purely coincidental that we shared the gardens with impeccably dressed Blue Devils sipping 9am champagne while listening to a quartet playing Vivildi. Lucky us! ;-)

Of course, a visit to the Duke Center wasn't coincidental; I've studied and written about Doris Duke's cultural significance and her contributions to American research and progress as a model of twentieth century modernity, so a trip to her Asiatic sanctuaries (situated tellingly *of course!* next to a native species exhibit featuring carnivorous wetlands plants) made perfect sense. Duke's father, Buck, created the University with an endowment in honor of his father, so I like to think of it as Lucky Strike University.

Here is Ms. Doris, the tobacco heir, fancifully displayed above a blooming Duke orchid specimen (which she famously hybridized in Hillsborough, NJ). It was a subtle, fitting memorial. (Ben's note: to truly appreciate the unconventional attractiveness exhibited by Ms. Duke in the above miniaturized portrait, please do yourself a favor and take a glance at my Silver Screen birthday twin of yesteryear, Gloria Swanson. --Just because you have a prominent chin for a lady doesn't mean that you can't be smoldering and sophisticated.)

And what proper trip to North Carolina would be complete without some sweet tea, asks the woman who propositioned a colleague's southern wife for her grandmother's recipe last year? The tragedy is that we learned about the wonderful Biscuitville too late in our journey... (on their site, note the historic television ads!) The sweet tea is still too sweet (but oh! that texture of sweet tea!), the biscuits still clog arteries, and the veggie options are limited. Nonetheless, it felt perfectly natural to eat cheese grits and hash-browns on a Sunday afternoon in Raleigh.

Now, it's back to the grindstone, and I will note only in passing that the first raindrops we felt all day came at exit 120 on Rt. 64, approximately six minutes from our apartment. The weekend is officially winding down with some whoppie pies, internet-procured television, and dreams of more happy, busy funventures.