The Age of Innocence

The view from my writing studio

Our Morning Ritual

"Gracie, time to get up. Your alarm has been going off for 47 minutes."





"Don't talk. Make coffee."





In the our cafe, I grind, dose, tamp, pull, and pour.






One for me, and one for her.







Ta Da. She's awake and ready for the day!

Elk River Coffee Co.

"Hey, do you remember that tonight is our date night?" Asked my beautiful and dateworthy wife.

Startled, I thought quickly, "Yeah I remember!" (Please note that for honesty sake, I didn't say "I remembered".)

"So what should we do?"

"Hmmm...how about driving up to Fayetteville, TN and checking out Elk River Coffee Company?"


Elk River Coffee Company was recommended to me by a coffee roaster who posts on an online roasters bulletin board that I frequent. When I originally mentioned the coffee shop to Gracie, she said that it wasn't too bad of a drive. We didn't allow for rush hour traffic, so it took us considerably longer, but that isn't bad when I have such a hot babe for a wife. I can just look at her whenever we are sitting at a stop light, and I am entertained. I am not sure what she does for fun...I am not quite so delightful to look at, except perhaps in a comical sense.

So taking our leisure time, playing bumper tag with the cars in front of us, we moved in stutter-start fashion into southern Tennessee. And I have to say that the suddenly rolling hills, and perfectly fenced horse pastures of Tennessee set a peaceful scene, though it was jarringly interrupted by regularly spaced and abundant used car dealerships. Still, the pastoral agricultural setting set a nice tone as we finally exited the flow afternoon commuters, and pulled into a diagonal parking space in front of a blue and gold painted brick building with a brown canvas awning advertising "Coffee...Desserts...Pastries...Lattes". Over the awning, a handsome gold leaf sign reading "Elk River Coffee Company".

Our first impression was of quality as we walked into the nicely appointed coffee shop. The floor tile was brownish tan, the walls were painted classy bold colors, and the equipment was first rate. (For those of you in the know, you will understand that when I saw that they had a La Marzocco espresso maker, and Fetco dual airpot coffee brewers, I knew we had come to "our kind of coffee shop".)

The barista behind the bar was a curly haired girl who promptly made us a great caramel latte to go with our chocolate filled croissant (for Gracie) and strawberry and cream danish (for me). Later I returned to order a double shot espresso so that I could taste the unadorned product. It had a pleasantly intense acidity with a little bite that I don't have in my espresso, but altogether a good cup.

Now it is 6:21pm, and Gracie is sitting on a couch nearby playing Scrabble on my Pocket PC. While I admit that doesn't sound like a very romantic date, Gracie is always eager to give me a chance to write, so I thought that I would compose a quick post to recommend this very well done cafe.

So if you find yourself in Fayetteville, TN - stop by Elk River Coffee Company. It'll be worth your while.

Gracie and my reaction as we looked around at the facility, the espresso bar, the mugs for sale, the bags of roasted coffee, the artwork was, "Are we sure that we don't want to start a coffee shop?"

It looks like fun.

Why walk in the woods?

Gracie and I, busily trying to catch up on our business and personal paperwork, decided that we needed a de-stressing interlude. So off we walked hand in hand on a round trip trek to our mailbox. The mailbox being about a half a mile from our front door.

As we walked down the drive, under the canopy of newly leaved trees, I started wondering why I love to walk in the woods. Instantly, David The Writer started dictating a short essay in my mind, which I am now going to try to recapture on my laptop screen.

Assuming that the weatherman has accurately predicted a day of pleasantly temperatured clement weather, (which he did today) the first thing that strikes me is the breeze ruffling the hair on my arms. Having sailed with my dad as a teenager, I am prone to taking off my ball cap, and letting the wind cool my head as I inwardly gauge how many knots the wind is blowing, and whether there are likely to be whitecaps on the peaks of the waves on a nearby lake. I wonder what my dad, across the Atlantic in Kenya is doing. Wondering if he too is feeling the wind play over his skin and remembering days of bliss sailing under the orange and white sail of our catamaran sailboat.

Then there is the varied warmth and coolness as I walk from sun to shade to sun again. Back and forth from light to shadows, my skin taking turns enjoying first the warming rays of the sun, and then the cooling shade of the trees. It reminds me of the absolute delights that I remember from my childhood, walking hot and sweaty from the bright hot sun into the cool dim house…the lights all off…curtains drawn…and the hum of oscillating fans droning throughout the house…a glass of ice cold lemonade waiting in the fridge.

Then there are the sounds. The occasional bird whistling it’s recurring song. The wind gentle and persistent, moving the fresh green leaves. A hawk calling as it circles over a nearby field. The crunch of our feet beating rhythmically on the gravel driveway.

My nose enjoys the moist fecund smell of the leaves and grass, of the recently rained on earth. My brother and I used to pack a sandwich or some cookies in our pockets when we were boys, and tramp off into the adventurous wilderness of our family land. Over fields, and up hills, down into valleys, and jumping from hummock to tree stump as we navigated across the swamp that bordered one of our pastures. The smells of the swamp and of newly plowed fields, of the river and trees are something that I have lived with all my life.

And the sights of the forest. The shadowed brightness of the sunlit forest. The thousand and one colors of green that combine to make one color.

There is something so basic about being in the woods surrounded by nature. Something more appealing than the "cha-ching" that Quicken makes when a transaction is entered, or the chirping beep that Quickbooks makes each time I fill in a check. But enough procrastinating. I need to let my mind catch up with my body, and get back to the prosaic reality of the world of finances.