Eating some breakfast at Blue Ridge Restaurant the other day when a local approached.

“You that photographer up at the dairy barn?” The locals call The Jacksonville Center “the dairy barn.”

“Yep.”

“Where you from?”

“Willis.”

“Nah. I don’t mean where you’re living now. Where you from?”

“Willis.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Graduated from FCHS in ’65.”

“Then what are you doing with them hippies up at the dairy barn?”

“Making new friends. You should try it some time.”

Say what you will about Mt. Airy, North Carolina. This is a town that takes a lot of pride in its community.

We weren’t out of the car for more than a few seconds when a group of people walking across the street greeted us and asked: “Where y’all from?”

Turned out they just came from a Mt. Airy Chamber of Commerce meeting on tourism. When they heard we were from Floyd County, they wanted to know more about our area and told us about plans for a meeting of regional chambers that includes Hillsville and Galax.

We’re off to Mt. Airy this morning. Yes, the hometown of Andy Griffith (and model for Mayberry). Also the hometown of Donna Fargo, country’s Luckiest Girl in the USA. Guess her luck ran out because nobody’s heard much of Donna lately.

Why Mt. Airy? Two reasons. First, to check out the Main-Oak Emporium as a possible place to display our photos. Second, the munch on the always-filling pork chop sandwich at the Bluebird Diner (and leer at the waitress who looks a lot like actress Lea Thompson in her younger years).

Later.

A woman wondered into the studio the other day and said she needed some photos taken at an event.

I do that, I said.

“Well,” she said, “I need them done for free.”

I don’t do that, I said.

“Why not?”

Because I’m in the business of photography, not a charitable organization.

“Well, I heard you did some photos for free for some other folks so I figured you would do them for free for everyone.”

Not bloodly likely.

That’s always the problem with doing someone a favor. Word gets around and, suddenly, people think your services are available — without cost — for everyone.

Now, finally, the holiday is over.

Or maybe I should say holidays.

Floyd shot off their fireworks on Saturday, July 3rd.

Other places celebrated the Fourth of July on Sunday. New York and Boston created the rocket’s red glare on the 4th.

But for the federal government, most state offices, banks and the Post Office, the holiday was Monday.

Now we can get back to the normal routine until the next long holiday weekend (Labor Day).

OK, so it’s a holiday. July 5th. Monday.

But wasn’t July 4th the Holiday? That was yesterday. Today is the 5th but the banks are closed, the mailman ain’t coming and the streets are quiet.

Maybe it is a holiday.

But I’m working, so maybe it’s not.

But nobody’s walking in the door so they must think it’s one.

What the hell. Time to close up and go to a movie.

Let’s see. It’s July 3rd. That’s what the calendar says. But the July 4th fireworks at the high school are tonight (the 3rd), not tomorrow (the 4th). There’s a crafts show and other goodies up by the football field.

It’s the 3rd, right? Must be the 3rd.

NASCAR has the same confusion. The Pepsi 400 (which used to be called the Firecracker 400 back in the good old days before sponsors) runs at Daytona tonight and it’s their 4th of July race.

Life can be so confusing.

Late last year, we made the call to give Floyd County a tryout for a new home.

Yes, the county I left after graduating from high school in 1965, the place from whence I vowed never to return, had gotten back under my skin.

Well, the tryout is over and we’ve decided. We’re coming home. Once the summer rush is over at our studio in The Jacksonville Center, we will return to our home in Arlington, pack up our belongings, and sell it.