"You Can't Go Home Again, Oatman."

So I'm back in Montreat for the summer. This is my second sojourn here, something I decided to do last year, in large part because of my fond memories of Asheville in the 1990's when I spent my summers working at Ridgecrest (just a few miles from Montreat) and later lived in Boiling Springs (about 50 miles from Asheville). I wanted a break from the "Midwest Moments" typical of life in Carbondale, and spending a few months in Western North Carolina, where it's spring all summer long, seemed like a great idea. It went well for the most part, but I was disappointed to find most of the local businesses/hangouts I had loved so much were gone. The new of life in Montreat blunted the blow last year, but this time it's harder to bear.

I have written two novels (both still unpublished, unfortunately) which are set in Asheville. Most of the scenes occur in real places. Or, I should say, places which once existed. If these books ever hit stores, readers who visit will find the Asheville of the stories far more fictional than was intended. There is now no Vincent's Ear, no Be Here Now, and most of all no Beanstreets.

This last alone has changed the culture of downtown, as I have known it, beyond recognition. Where once there was a "come as you are, you'll be accepted" coffee house with local art on the walls and mannequin limbs hanging from the ceiling tile, a place where I twice witnessed a mayor having coffee with a homeless person, there is now an overpriced Asian restaurant (cheapest thing on the menu: $16). Just a few blocks away, on Haywood, where there were once small local shops with cozy old apartments above them, there are now $300,000 condos for stock brokers and investment bankers. The whole thing reminds of the scene in Grosse Pointe Blank when Martin comes home to discover the house of his childhood has become an Ultimart. "You can't go home again, Oatman," he tells his shrink. "But I guess you can shop there."