The beauty of the South continues to surprise me. Birmingham turned out to be a small city nestled among hills blanketed by forest. Unfortunately, the b&b I stayed in (which shall remain nameless) was decorated by mad antiquarians with an obsession for ugly Victorian furnishings. No wit or whimsy, just manic clutter, like a 19th c. bordello posing as an antique store. Then, I spent too much money on a disappointing meal at a restaurant (which shall remain nameless) receiving national attention these days.
Next morning, Sunday, I drove by the 16th St. Baptist Church, where on Sept 15, 1963, a bomb planted by white supremicists exploded in the church basement and killed four young African American girls. I remember my mother telling me about this when I was a little girl. I wanted to see it. The 50th anniversary of the bombing is a month away.
Back in the car and off to Asheville.