My limited childhood exposure to the South included The Dukes of Hazzard and something about Jimmy Carter and peanuts, plus George Washington Carver, additionally regarding peanuts. I'm not kidding when I say that's about it. Okay, and the Mandrell Sisters. So as young adult moving to Georgia could you blame me? I was filled to bursting with curiousity about this Land That Time Forgot. Was there TV? Electricity? Paved roads? Cows a'roaming the towne centres? And I was excited to meet the barefoot overalled crowd. Happens Athens is many things, but shoed to a fault. Well then, I'd make my own nature-toed way. Enter Furman Thornton, proprietor of an amazing mountain music shop up 441 in Rabun Gap. His wares beckoned, and I took home an Appalachian banjo and soon after (and ask if you're privy to this wordplay) a "one-holer," both lovingly built by John Huron of Bristol, Tennessee. The two are my opening to an aesthetic universe a thousand miles from my Yankee adolescence, but very close to my heart. And this foundation inspires and informs my public work. Everybody needs secrets, so I'll say no more. Sassafras, walnut, and cherry. Things of beauty.