when my brother called from afghanistan this morning, we pulled off the picturesque backroad to talk rather than risk losing cell phone coverage and playing a really, really, really long distance game of telephone tag. mountains wrapped around us, brown leaves danced to the tune of wind blown by bare trees, and right there just a few feet away, water poured from a small pipe, splashing on a rock before freezing on the ground.
the hand painted sign above the re-routed waterfall read: “Please help yourself to our water . . . but Please don’t litter.”
now that’s what i call hospitality.
southern hospitality, since we’re in nc, y’all.