The State You're In

The State You're In The hours in between
Are a vagabonds dream

It's beautiful,

NORTHERN CAROLINA

05/29/2026

a sentence that only makes sense if you grew up in north carolina…

Throwback Thursday to summertime trips to Kerr Lake.Either on the way there or on the way back, we would always stop at ...
05/29/2026

Throwback Thursday to summertime trips to Kerr Lake.

Either on the way there or on the way back, we would always stop at Freeze Maid Dairy Bar.

Now, there are plenty of places that sell soft serve ice cream.

But this one was different.

Chocolate. Vanilla. And always at least one special flavor. Fresh peach. Fresh strawberry. Fresh banana. Not flavors dreamed up in a laboratory somewhere, but real fruit in a recipe they mixed themselves.

We've never found another soft serve place quite as good.

My mother's favorite was the Fruit Salad.

It came in one of those little Dixie cups that every child of the 1980s and 1990s remembers. But she had a system.

Fruit on the bottom for a little extra.

Then vanilla soft serve.

Then more fruit piled on top.

Heavy on the cherries.

Always wet walnuts.

It wasn't quite a sundae. It wasn't quite a banana split.

It was its own thing.

And somehow it tasted exactly like summer.

Like a day at Kerr Lake.

Like wet swimsuits draped over car seats.

Like sunscreen, sunshine, and the ride home.

At least once a year, we still make the trip for one.

It costs about five dollars.

But a cup full of memories from thirty years ago?

Well, that's still priceless.

05/28/2026

If you recognize that first picture, you've been making summer memories around here for a long time.

Back when a trip to Kerr Lake meant piling into the car, rolling the windows down, and stopping for something cold before heading to the water.

You'd walk up to the window and stare at the menu way longer than necessary. Strawberry made with real strawberries. Banana made with real bananas. Not flavors. The real thing.

And if you knew what you were doing, you ordered the fruit salad. Not the kind your doctor recommends. The kind piled high with fruit and ice cream that's basically a banana split that forgot the banana.

Generations of families have stood in line here. First as kids hanging onto their parents' hands. Then years later bringing their own children back to the same window.

The building may have moved, but the tradition never did.

And around Henderson, summer still tastes a whole lot like Freeze Maid Dairy Bar.

There once was a lamp in downtown Ayden.Not a crown jewel. Not a family farm. Not the last jar of Duke’s mayonnaise befo...
05/28/2026

There once was a lamp in downtown Ayden.

Not a crown jewel. Not a family farm. Not the last jar of Duke’s mayonnaise before a snowstorm.

Just a lamp.

A pretty one, sure. Blue and white. The kind that looked like it belonged in somebody’s meemaw’s front room beside a Bible, a candy dish, and a couch nobody was allowed to sit on.

But still.

A lamp.

And that’s what made the whole thing funny in a sad little human way.

Because a lamp is supposed to bring light.

That is its entire purpose. You plug it in, turn the little k**b, and suddenly a dark corner is not so dark anymore.

And yet somehow, over this one little lamp, folks found a way to bring all kinds of darkness into the room.

All over something built to shine.

There’s probably a lesson in that.

Maybe the lesson is that people will argue over anything if they feel like they’ve been crossed. Maybe the lesson is that being right can still leave everybody standing in the dark.

Or maybe the lesson is simpler than that.

Life is too short to argue about lamps.

Too short to let pride turn something beautiful into something bitter. Too short to forget that most things aren’t nearly as important as the people standing in the room with us.

Because at the end of the day, it was just a lamp.

And now it lights up my home.

05/28/2026

Headed to Ayden to get some BBQ and a Lamp, anyone know any good spots...🐖🫣💡

05/28/2026

NC Events or Fest happening near you this weekend...📆

The NuWray Hotel in Burnsville, North Carolina, is a spot wherein time doesn’t just pass, it lingers. 👻Built in 1833, ma...
05/28/2026

The NuWray Hotel in Burnsville, North Carolina, is a spot wherein time doesn’t just pass, it lingers. 👻

Built in 1833, making it older than the town itself, it’s hosted presidents, poets, and legends like Mark Twain, Thomas Wolfe, and Elvis Presley. You don’t just check into a room here. You inherit it, if only for a night, with all its age-old quirks, creaks, as well as unspoken memories.

We stayed in the Bacchus Suite, a King bedroom overlooking the peaceful charm of Town Square. It’s a beautiful space, touched by modern comforts, but a section of its wall still bears the preserved bones of the oldest part of the hotel, dating back to 1833.

That wall watched history walk past. And that night, we had the distinct feeling it was still watching us.

There was a sealed-off fireplace in the room, no longer in use, just a quiet feature now. We noted it, unpacked, plugged in our phones, and got ready for bed.

The room was calm. Still. Until it wasn’t.

We’d just pulled the covers back when we both caught it—sharp, sudden, and unmistakable. The odor of struck matches. That sulfur snap. Then the dry, woody smell of a fire beginning to catch.

Not the cozy kind you settle into, but the unrefined start of something sparking to life. It was strong enough to make us both sit up and start checking the outlets, corners, anything that could’ve caught.

Nothing.

No smoke. No warmth. No fire.

Just that smell.

It stayed for minutes. It wasn’t just a passing draft or an old chimney scent caught in the wall. It appeared as if someone or something was trying to light a fire right there in the room. Not symbolically. Not in memory. In real time.

There was nothing left to do but get back in bed and pretend the smell wasn’t still hanging there.

We faced opposite directions, each listening for a sound we hoped wouldn’t come.

It’s one thing to visit a piece of history. It’s another to feel, even for a moment, as if that history is aware of you, watching you back.

The NuWray Hotel • Burnsville, NC • Built 1833

Like Morgan Wallen sings about the ‘98 Braves, we remember the ’15 Mudcats.Back when summer nights in Zebulon meant pack...
05/28/2026

Like Morgan Wallen sings about the ‘98 Braves, we remember the ’15 Mudcats.

Back when summer nights in Zebulon meant packed bleachers at Five County Stadium, the smell of popcorn and grilled hot dogs drifting through the air, and folks unknowingly watching future Major League stars before the rest of America learned their names.

For two short seasons from 2015 to 2016, the Atlanta Braves called the Carolina Mudcats their High A affiliate, and somehow this little ballpark off Highway 64 became a front porch for the future of baseball.

You could grab a cheap ticket, sit close enough to hear the dugout chatter, and watch young players who’d eventually become All-Stars, playoff heroes, and household names. But back then, they were just kids in Zebulon signing baseballs over the rail before first pitch while somebody’s granddaddy kept score with a pencil like he had for 40 years.

Humid Carolina evenings. Stadium lights glowing against the pine trees. The water tower watching over left field. A cold drink sweating in your hand while the cicadas tuned up beyond the fences.

That era felt different.

Maybe because minor league baseball still belonged to regular folks then. Or maybe because deep down, we all knew we were seeing something special before the rest of the baseball world caught on.

Like Morgan Wallen, and the south, had the ‘98 Braves…

We had the ’15 Mudcats.

It’s National Burger Day & NC got burgers worth the drive 🍔
05/28/2026

It’s National Burger Day & NC got burgers worth the drive 🍔

05/28/2026

3 goals in 2:47 seconds!! 👕🚁

“I’m talking, to my friends”
05/27/2026

“I’m talking, to my friends”

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