Earlier on the same day we stopped in Asheville, we were descending from Cherokee on the east side of the Great Smokey Mountains, heading east on highway 19, when we passed a few shacks perched on the edge of a short, steep cliff. They were selling cheap cigarettes, antique odds and ends, plates, junk, fruit, vegetables, and assorted preserves.

I found Scuppernong Cider. First time I'd ever seen it. I'd never heard of it until I'd read about it in Faulkner, and then I became terribly curious. I was delighted to find some. It's not alcoholic, so perhaps in that way it's not faithful to the Scuppernong cider in the books, but that's okay. I bought a cold bottle and drank it. It tastes like a cross between grape juice and apple juice. I like it, even if it is quite sweet.

The shop also had jars of local, home-made jams, jellies, preserves, pickles, and other relishes. I bought a jar of Ethel's Raspberry jam, with a simple printed label, her name written in blue ball point pen. On top of the original Ball's two-piece lid was a small sticker with the name of the fruit written on it. I also bought a jar of the most sour, garlicky pickles I've ever had. They are quite good. They were especially interesting eaten out of the jar from the back of the car after sitting in the trunk for six hours in 100 degree weather.

Both made it home fine.