Up & Coming Weekly

The Republic of Floyd by PITT DICKEY When the going gets weird, the weird go to Floyd, Va. Once upon a time, Floyd, was a sleepy little village off the Blue Ridge Parkway about two hours north of Greensboro and about 40 years behind the current calendar. Way back in 1972, my wife’s dad, Barney Davidson, bought a mountain called Walnut Knob about 10 miles outside of Floyd. The Knob had a reasonably run down mountain cabin built in the 1920s complete with no indoor plumbing. In 1972, downtown Floyd had the court house with the mandatory Confederate Soldier monument, the Floyd cafe, barbershop and general store. That was about it. Floyd had more cows than people. In short it was Mayberry, U.S.A. Big Barney restored the cabin, adding plumbing, electricity and a kitchen and bought a bulldozer. You have to admire a man with his own bulldozer. Anybody can have a dream, but Barney had a bulldozer. Barney didn’t buy the bulldozer for decoration. No, sir. He used it to cut roads along the sides of the mountain and built a dam and a pond in front of the house. He had a beat up jeep there that he used to drive in places that a mountain goat would be afraid to go. Barney crossed the Great Divide when his name was called up yonder about a year ago. His health had not been really great in the last 10 years and the cabin had nestled into disrepair when he was no longer able to maintain it. We hadn’t been there in about 15 years until last year when my wife decided it was time to restore the cabin. When we finally got back to Walnut Knob after a decade and a half we discovered that modern times had come to Floyd. The town is now a colorful mixture of mountain people, artists and aging hippies who have moved in to make their last stand before the coming Apocalypse. The town ambience is Key West in the Blue Ridge. The residents have declared themselves to be the Republic of Floyd. The capital is the Republic of Floyd Emporium, which sells posters, key rings and coffee mugs with all sorts of Republic of Floyd propaganda. My favorite poster looks like a 1930s post card from Florida that says “Greetings from Floyd, your End Times Vacation Destination.” Floyd now has several excellent restaurants featuring things like eggplant tapenade, veggie burgers and Russian potato salad. Floyd recently hosted the 9th annual Floyd Fest music festival featuring blue grass musicians from all over. Floyd even has a non- Starbucks coffee shop with old Rolling Stone magazines. The social center of Floyd is the 100 year old Country Store where every Friday night they have blue grass bands and clogging. Folks have dancing feet up in the mountains. We went to Floyd recently to clean up after the major reconstruction projects that had left wallboard dust everywhere. Surprisingly it was hot up there, mid ‘90s. Global warming had made it to Floyd. I made four trips to the Floyd city dump which stars a garbage crusher from the scene in Toy Story 3 where Buzz Lightyear is about to be crunched. We found a slightly dead mouse on the cabin floor which I honored with a flameless Viking Funeral in the pond. Due to the unrelenting heat I learned why country guys typically go around without their shirts on. It’s much cooler that way. The water heater for the shower was out which led to several cold showers. Cold showers are poignant when you first get in, but afterwards you feel great. Zen monks may be onto something with cold showers. Nature is very prominent at Walnut Knob. The early mornings are cool and perfect. The wind blew audibly through the trees until about 10 a.m. when it stopped and the heat returned. I saw two wild turkeys and numerous deer. Every night we had a bullfrog concert in which the frogs had a contest to see who could croak the loudest to become Lord of the Pond. Howard, the frog on the right, won each night. I think ol’ Howard is on steroids. Floyd summers are outstanding but be warned, the Republic of Floyd website warns that there are five months of harsh winter which resemble the Donner Party without the fun. There are still more cows than people in Floyd. If a native of the Republic of Floyd trips on the ice on his way to see his psychiatrist, is that a Floydian slip? PITT DICKEY, Contributing Writer. COMMENTS? 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