Greencastle Part Deux

When last we left our merry band of knitters who spin and baby, they were wet, freezing and tired in the little burg of Greencastle, IN.

The town of Greencastle is like many in predominately rural places. The town square is no longer the center of community life. Commerce has moved out to the interstate exit. Most of the stores in and around town sell farm equipment of one type or other and basic necessities and those types of stores seem to be endangered.

I find this sad. I won't rail against big box stores. What I will say is that it is terribly sad and unfortunate that our culture has become so commercialized that we prefer to spend our money with strangers than with people in our own community. I say this not to give the impression that I am perfect, because I am just as guilty as the next person, perhaps worse because I would prefer to have everything from a new car to maxi pads delivered to my front door by the UPS guy - and no it isn't because the UPS guy is so cute. I say it because we have traded a community of entrepreneurship in the retail market to one of an employee market. It is different buying from someone working for a giant, multinational corporation than from Steve who lives three streets over and whose livelihood depends on selling a quality product with friendly customer service and product support. Before you send me hate mail, think about the last time you bought something from a big box store, took it out of the box, had a problem and then phoned the 1-800-no-customer-service number, waited on hold for the next available operator for an hour only to be told there was nothing to be done except box the whole thing up and ship it to the repair center.

One of the things that continues to surprise me in rural areas is the cutting edge architecture of rural churches. Greencastle is no exception. One of the churches there is a configuration of two geodesic domes joined by a long rectangular structure. The two domes each have a round embellishment on the top. I wonder if the members of the building committee were bottle fed babies who long for comfort.

I confessed to one of my traveling companions that when I visit a small town I am gripped by some form of insanity that causes me to believe that I could actually leave my natural, urban setting and thrive in a rural outpost. She just stared at me in disbelief, speechless for several minutes before saying, "I don't think you could live without somewhere to get a real latte." She is right. I cannot not survive without a place to get a decent latte at least once a week.

Our small group did make it to the Super 8 and they did get non-smoking rooms, no one had to share a bed, and there was room for the pack and play. After unpacking all their equipment, the group took time to rest before going to dinner. Having only had steak sandwiches in the rain to sustain us, the little band was very, very hungry.

With a bit of debate, our intrepid bunch set out for the Putnam Inn. We were not to be disappointed. If you ever find yourself in Greencastle, IN at dinner time, stop in. They have homemade everything. The fried chicken was good. The rolls a sin. The mashed potatoes beyond decadent with REAL cream and butter. The major indulgence lay on the desert line. Homemade pies and cobblers.

One of the group noticed a hot cobbler making its way to be sacrificed on the desert line and mentioned it to the group. Two members of the group made a dash worthy to qualify for the summer Olympics in an effort to secure their bit of fresh, hot cobbler. That, my friends, was a sight that cannot be adequately described and shall forever remain in my memory as one of the funniest things I have seen. It is even funnier when I replay it in my mind with the Chariots of Fire theme song and everything in slow motion.

After dinner, the group rolled themselves out to the van, fighting the urge to just lie down in the middle of the parking lot and take a nap.

Instead of napping, once we returned to the hotel, we broke out the spinning wheels, the fiber acquisitions, the knitting and the Mike's Margaritas - like we were actually capable of drinking margaritas after dinner. I will admit to being sufficiently addlepated that I tried to ply my yarn backwards - not good. I did resist the temptation to start spinning the handpainted fleece I bought.

There are other aspects of the trip I will write about later - mainly our visit to two yarn shops that are fab. I want to do them justice.

We had a great time. Sometimes you just need to leave the hubby and the dog at home while you immerse yourself in fiber with people who truly share your obsession, don't give you THE LOOK as you stop to fondle fiber in each of the 500 vendor booths, and get some good home cookin'.