I had never heard this song before and I most certainly had never seen inebriated cowboys line dance to it. A chorus from the evening still rang in my ears, one that had made even me want to scream, “Amen!” It was “Copperhead Road,” by Steve Earle. There were some stragglers from the night before, folks like Sandi, Jethro, and Bud now praying off a hangover, resting the Good Word on their bellies. I thought there’d be more people after all of those Cowboys for Christ emblems I’d seen around. I attended Sunday morning service with approximately fifteen others, all lopsidedly seated in the pews on the right. The second building constructed was the Love Valley jail, where men were held to dry out in three barred cells by a pot-bellied stove. I watched a young couple trot by, bouncing on their Confederate flag saddle blankets past the first structure Andy Barker built: the Love Valley Presbyterian Church, situated slightly aslant at the top of Mitchell Trail. Flash-front stores and saloons bring to mind a John Wayne movie, but also conjure an eerie ghostliness at quieter times of day. 1Ī recreation of pioneer days, only horses and foot traffic are allowed on the dirt Main Street. We can keep young boys occupied and out of trouble by letting them help run the place. I know I’d never make a preacher, but can build a church and help out personally in many ways. My part of the bargain is to build a town, a Christian Community with clean recreation and strive to help people know more about God and His outdoors. I know that with Him, my purpose and complete faith, anything is possible. best idea yet since I’ve gotten my new partner, the Lord. Dear Momma,īeen in a fox hole all day-tonight I’m thinking and planning. He had one dream: to build an old Western town, a valley that would embody “a boy’s dream and a man’s reality.” He had dreamt of this idyllic town while serving in the war, writing descriptive dream letters to his mama back in the US of A. Love Valley was established in 1954 by the late Andy Barker, a successful contractor from Charlotte, North Carolina, who at the age of thirty uprooted his wife and two children to this remote area of the Piedmont’s rolling hills. On the way out I read another sign: “MY NEXT HUSBAND WILL BE NORMAL.” While the signs encouraged me and other women to be a cowgirl and “PARTY ’TILL HE’S CUTE,” I calmly drank in the words of my new friends and the neon essence of the Busch Light, Miller Lite, Natural Light, Bud Light, Coors Light, and Michelob Ultra logos on the walls. Nobody in our nation’s lineup quite resembled him, but, yes, I thought, I should be careful. In the bar afterwards, Larry’s friend Patch (for his patched eye) told me to be careful. To be honest, I couldn’t hear much of anything he said to me over the cart’s engine and his slurred speech. “You want a beer?” he asked, as he cracked open a Bud Light from under the seat. Get in!” I hesitated but jumped in alongside Larry. “You want a tour of Love Valley? I’ll take you on a tour. A man who looked like Larry drove one-handedly in a cowboy hat and sleeveless T-shirt, his wife watching the world pass from the back seat while stroking her pet Chihuahua. I hoped all ninety-eight residents would prove it to me.Īnother golf cart whizzed past. 2 square mile town was declared a “Cowboy Capital,” the only place for cowboys East of the Mississippi. “I just came to check it out.” I first saw Love Valley on Visit North Carolina’s tourism website under the “quirky” section of “Things To Do.” It promised me that I would depart from the ordinary when arriving in this remote town nestled in the foothills of the Brushy Mountains. “You ain’t from around here, huh? What’re you doin’ in Love Valley, girl?” “I’m just kidding with you, girl!” he wheezed. “You know there’s a fifty dollar fine for taking photos in Love Valley.” My camera dangled from my neck as I approached him. I think I’d been there five minutes when Larry pulled up alongside me in a golf cart, abruptly.
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