Have you ever completely upended your life to try something completely different?
We call that a Leap of Faith, and we’ve done it twice. This past summer we moved from a boat in Florida to a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Talk about a life change, but it has all worked out.
It’s hard to express how thankful we are for all of the blessings we’ve received. We have a sweet new home complete with peace and serenity. We bought a new car, new clothes (didn’t have winter wear), even a new fridge. We sold the boat and put some money in the bank. We’ve got great kids, all grown up and doing well. My grandkids will be coming to visit very soon.
We sit on the porch and watch the creek babble by, amazed by our new life and good fortune. Truly this is a time to give thanks.
I also want to thank you – folks who follow this blog, our Facebook community, and those who purchase my books. Without your support, none of this would be possible. I once had a dream to be a writer. Now I’m living that dream. Kim has the home she always wanted. We are thankful every day, but today, on this Thanksgiving, we express our gratitude to each and every one of you who has helped us along the way.
It is our sincere wish that you find thanks for your own blessings on this day. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
Breeze escapes his demons in Florida by moving to the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. He and Brody are settling into their new life when he stumbles onto a plot of marijuana plants on public land. Knowing a thing or two about growing weed, Breeze befriends the mysterious mountain man tending to the crop.
When his new friend is killed, he tries to help law enforcement solve the crime. When the authorities prove reluctant, he is forced to take matters into his own hands. In the process, he transforms from boat bum to a true man of the mountains.
For Pre-order. Get it now and get the discount. Price goes up on date of publication.
We travel Pigeon Roost Road to drive into Banner Elk several times a week.
Along the way, we pass through a small enclave of dilapidated buildings, falling-down houses, and trailers. Most have their own assortment of eclectic junk in the yard. One has a wooden sign, declaring the occupant “Mayor of Pigeon Roost.”
We started calling this stretch of road Mayorville.
(Not actual photos of Mayorville. I didn’t want to stop in the road to get photos, but you get the idea.)
Most of the times we pass through, there is at least one cat in the road. There are cats running all over the place. None of them have tails. Junkyard cats with no tails.
We have to drive slow through Mayorville, so we don’t run over a tailless cat.