the story of weaverville.

So the trip my mom, dad and I took to Weaverville, nc has its roots set in time. A few years ago, my mom, knowing my love for coffee and the vessels that hold it, bought me a hand made coffee mug to add to my collection. And I fell in love with this mug. I loved it as much as you can love an inanimate object. It was beautiful, the color was the deepest most radiant blue, and its shape fit my hand perfectly. And it was the following Christmas on a cold wintry day, as I was working on a puzzle (one of the ones that comes on top of the tin of popcorn that my sister buys me, which has now become a tradition) that the unspeakable happened. (if you are an art lover and are squeamish, you may not want to look at the following pictures.)



as i was searching for a piece of the puzzle i accidentally knocked my mug clear off the table, and i watched as my mug fell in slow motion to the floor. i was devastated. I just could not believe it. I was in shock. I immediately called my mom, and told her what happened. We shared in our regret and vowed to find another one.

So, this past winterbreak, found us in the car on the way to Mangum Pottery Studios in Weaverville, North Carolina. Of course we had never heard of Weaverville, and now only knew its whereabouts thanks to google maps. After driving an hour and a half through mostly rural and mountainous south and north Carolina we arrived. It was a great little town too. A very quaint town with main street running right down the middle. We headed straight to the studio and immediately started the search for the ‘replacement’ mug. I was quite settled on the fact that I would never find a mug that had the beauty and character of the first one, but… after minutes of searching through their display at the front of their studio, my eye caught one. And the rest is, as they say, history. I guess it won’t ever have the same qualities as the first one, but it sure is a good replacement.



so, this one is now the new workhorse for coffee drinking. i haven't been able to start a puzzle again, though. the traumatic experience previously mentioned scarred me deep. i don't think i could yet subject my new mug to the rigor of working a puzzle. all in good time i suppose.

you may be asking what happened to the 'old' mug? well, it has found a new home. it was since reassembled from the found pieces and adorns one of my book shelves.



a memory of good times from years past.