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Murphy keeps providing me unexpected slices of joy. With COVID-19 in retreat, my neighbors are poking their pale, isolated faces out in public. The energy in town is infectious, much like the disease that kept us all apart from one another this past, long year.
I recently had my first guest to visit my little house. I was terribly nervous, wanting everything to be just so. She’s my neighbor and typically walks with a cane, so I was worried about her traversing my charming mudslide of a driveway when she came ‘round for tea.
She would be my very first Murphy guest and I considered her visit a kind of initiation. I felt I could walk a little taller at the Ingles among the real locals who actually belong here, knowing that one of their own found me acceptable enough to sit in my princess chair and let me serve her tea.
I needn’t have worried about her slipping on the gravelly mud that coats my severely slanted driveway. One wonders if the cement layers decided on a two-martini lunch before they arrived to pour the concrete that day. If so, they were in good company with the fence builders, who erected the world’s most astonishing fence around a large piece of property up at the top of my neighborhood.
The fence is imposing, encasing the house and substantial property all the way around what feels like a city block. It was near this fence that I met my neighbor, who agreed to come to my house for tea.
Because it was raining on our appointed day, she arrived by car, reminding me of my grandmother’s axiom don’t borrow trouble. She was lovely and chatty, and our tea passed by with only one hiccup.
I had stopped by the Hot Spot that I use as a landmark to know when to turn onto my street in a hasty, last-minute effort to find tea cookies. Had I wanted beer, I would have found the place a paradise, but it wasn’t the sort of establishment that sold fancy tea cookies.
The cashier was friendly – they all seem to be friendly here – and told me where Hot Spot hid their cookies. I had a choice between Oreos or Lorna Dunes, which was no choice at all because Lorna Dunes were created to be dunked into tea.
I was hoping my guest would reveal Murphy’s special place. I have long suspected that locals hang out away from touristy spots in a secret location, where they laugh and dance and love each other as a fiercely connected community. I hoped that my neighbor would give me the password to get in, fit in and belong.
But, alas, if she knew of this secret society of Murphy folks, she wasn’t giving it up. I began second-guessing my Lorna Dune decision. Maybe Oreos would have loosened her resolve.
I aim to wear her down, though. It will take time, and I’ve plenty of that. In the meantime, I intend to keep diving into Murphy and getting to know my neighbors, one cup of tea at time. I should knock on the gate of that commanding fence up the street; those are the type of people who seem comfortable with passwords.
Abigail Hickman is a special correspondent for the Cherokee Scout. Email her at savvygirlsavvygirl@gmail.com. Listen to her Front Porch Productions podcasts at cherokeescout.com.