The Apremont of the Piedmont

Carrboro, I kid you not, is nicknamed the Paris of the Piedmont. I'm not sure which aspect of the town made them think of the City of Light, although all the streets tend to converge downtown, and people do eat streetside at the co-op's cafe, and there are a lot of galleries and music stores. At any rate, I always figured that if I got serious about a creperie of my own downtown, I would have to call it Le Paris Piemontais.
On Friday the container holding my portion of my late Dad's furniture arrived here. It was a shock to see all those pieces of furniture and other objects, full of childhood memories, here in this new place. The biggest shock still is our great-grandparents' hutch, which stood stalwart and monumental in our family home's main dining room all the time I was growing up. There is a sadness to knowing that it's now clear my Dad really is gone, not just on some long extended absence.
The movers did a fantastic job. At first it was Harry and Sean, Harry from Ghana and Sean from Durham. When I saw them I asked if they knew there was a piano in the load, which they did not. They later had to call for help, and after four hours of back-breaking labor they tackled this one last monstrously heavy piece, four men of color straining up each step, and though I am happy to be reunited with my piano, it now seems to me a monument to the apparently immutable order of things, the sweat of people's brows.
Well, the day of the move, the weather was rainy, though it paused after the first piece was unloaded, and returned just as the piano came out. After the steady wash, though, this weekend has been gloriously sunny and now all around us leaves are pushing out in their neon green, including poison ivy, as my brother-in-law Kenny showed me today. It ain't nothin' like our obvious poison oak, this one. I'll try to take photos tomorrow of the wild wysteria and dogwoods for y'all out West, they are just stunning.