The Burgiss clan made all the difference ~ April 4, 1999

David Heiller

We arrived in Laurel Springs at about 6:30 Wednesday night. Our handy-dandy guide book said there were three bed and breakfasts there.

Any town with three B-and-B’s must be worth a visit, Cindy reasoned. She is usually right about these things, and this time was no exception.

The first thing we noticed about Laurel Springs was that there was no Laurel Springs. We drove down the road for three miles, in the gathering darkness, until I looked at the map and realized that Laurel Springs was two miles behind us.

David in North Carolina, 1999.

We turned around (it wasn’t the first time, nor the last) and realized that the crossroads of Highways 113 and 88 was pretty much Laurel Springs. Or so we thought.

We pulled into the yard of a big farm house, which happened to be a bed and breakfast, and asked if they had a room. You don’t just drop into a B & B at 6:30 p.m. and ask for a bed. It’s not the same as going to the Bronco Motel. And the B and B didn’t have a room. But the owner, who was so friendly and loud that I was secretly relieved, had his wife call Tom Burgiss.

“Tom, we’ve got a couple here from Mexico—”

“No, honey, it’s Michigan,” the man said. “Minnesota,” I corrected them both.

“Tom, we’ve got a couple here from Manna Soda,” the lady repeated. My state sounded like an Old Testament soft drink.

The Burgiss Bed and Breakfast in Laurel Springs,
North Carolina, April of 1999.

After she hung up the phone, she said, “Tom said come on over, since you’re from Manna Soda.” They gave us directions and we drove to Burgiss’s Bed and Breakfast, and Tom Burgiss told us right off that they liked people from Minnesota, which made me feel proud. Tom and Nancy had even been to Minnesota last summer on vacation, although after spending two days around their country, I couldn’t imagine why they would want to leave it even for Minnesota, even temporarily.

Tom and Nancy Burgiss had been gone all winter. They had been home only two days. They weren’t expecting anyone that night. They weren’t prepared for us. But they said yes, which, as it turned out, pretty much made our vacation in North Carolina last week a great one.

They took us in. “Yeah, for $90 a night,” you might cynically say. But if you met them and stayed there, you would become a Burgiss Convert. That’s not some snake handling mountain religion. It’s the state of mind of ex-guests at their place.

If they had been in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago, they would have found room in the inn, and the Bible would have a whole different nativity scene.

Before we could do anything, Tom said, “I want to show you my wan operation.”

I had heard enough North Carolinian to know that saw-such is sausage and a gree-ol is a grill and wan is wine. Tom had a winery on his property, and he took considerable pride in it, with good reason. We received a complimentary bottle each night, and it was as good a wan as I’ve had in a long time.

Nancy and Tom Burgiss of their very welcoming porch.

The next two days we came to realize what good hosts Tom and Nancy were. Tom quizzed us on what we wanted to do. He gave us places to see that we wouldn’t have discovered otherwise.

When he found out we liked to bike, he told us about two local bike trails that were stunningly beautiful, and we found that out by riding bikes that Tom lent us, which saved us about $100 in bike rental fees.

He told us about the Mountain House restaurant that served chicken and dumplings every Wednesday night. He even called the restaurant ahead of time. “Amy,” he said, “Ah’ve got a couple from Manna Soda here, Ah’m sending them over and Ah want you to treat them raht, y’hear?” Amy didn’t get to wait on us, but the, other waitress did treat us right. The food was delicious and cheap.

Tom and Nancy’s son, Brant, came for a visit with his wife and baby daughter, and they were just as friendly as his parents.

Southern hospitality can’t get much better than it was at the Burgiss farm.

I took my banjo with me on the trip. If you don’t take your banjo to North Carolina, you might as well stick to the accordion. On Thursday night, I sat on the Burgiss’s front porch and played some old songs that probably had their birth in a hollow not far from that very spot.

In between songs, I listened to the sound of water running from two creeks that passed close by. Is there any more enchanting sound the rippling water on a warm spring night?

The Burgiss’s dog, Lucky, howled quietly when I started playing, no doubt following the instincts of his forbears from that nearby hallow. Lots of people have howled when I play the’ banjo, but in this case, it was a compliment.

David and Cindy, NC, 1999.

When I finished playing I headed for οur side of the house to my lovely wife, who knows how much my music means to me, because it means a lot to her too.

 “Are there mosquitoes here?” I asked Nancy Burgiss. “Not many, no, not many attawl,” she replied, after first thanking me for my music.

No mosquitoes?!? Now there’s a reason to return to North Carolina. I didn’t dare ask about wood ticks.

This isn’t an advertisement for the Burgiss Bed and Breakfast. But something had been missing on our vacation before we met them and that was a personal connection. The human contact made all the difference.