I knew James Taylor before he was "the" James Taylor. I knew him from summers on Martha's Vineyard, and New York City. I'd watch him play with the "Flying Machine" at the "Night Owl" in the village. I understood why James sang lovingly of his home state. However, it wouldn't be until years later that Ashton and I would also come to love North Carolina.

James called me once from a concert, and Ashton follwed me into the kitchen while I talked with James on the phone. He wasn't jealous or threatened; he was in awe of James. Ashton loved playing the guitar, and he was quite good, but I could see a hint of envy whenever he heard James on the radio or watched him on television. He thought James was a "helluva musician."

Ashton and I used to go to Virginia to visit my father. We always considered the start of our trip to be North Carolina. The mountains. We love North Carolina.

Of course our last trip was not without incident.

We started at "Cherokee Village". We didn't like tourist traps, but we had heard a lot about it. Ashton had told me to pack his jacket for cold weather. Did I remember? No. So, there we were, with the top down on the car, and it was... cold. We decided he'd buy a sweat shirt. That should do it. Well, there wasn't a sweat shirt to be found in the village. So... Ashton bought a "local" "sweat shirt". It was so ugly. The colors were loud. Obnoxious. Embarrassing. But Ashton loved it only because I couldn't stand it. He teased me about it -- said if I hated the colors I should have seen the one he didn't buy. But, he also bought me a handmade jade necklace that is gorgeous. That was Ashton. He never bought something for himself, without buying something for me.

We stayed the night at a great hotel. Not on the main drag. We brought Ashton's little dogs on the trip, and walked them before we settled in for the night. They are house broken, except for this night. Disaster... on the bed.

Ashton was frantic. What to do about the pee on the bed? Clean it of course, which we did. But Ashton was worried they'd never let us back at the hotel.

Then on to Asheville. We'd been there before, but this time we got lost. I was navigating, the map in my.... lap. I told him to turn left. He was sure I was wrong. No, we turn right, so we did. An hour later we discovered that we had been traveling east, when we wanted to go north.

I could have told him by looking at the sun, but he wouldn't have listened.

Then Ashton finally relented. I had been right. He had been wrong.

Into Asheville proper. On the freeway. Crowded. Cars speeding. Suddenly the car in front slammed on the brakes. Ashton slammed on the brakes, as he looked in the rearview mirror.

The driver behind us wasn't paying attention. She was looking out the driver's side window. Ashton moved our car two feet forward, almost to the bumper of the car in front of us. The car behind finally slammed on the brakes and was hit from behind.

The inattentive driver missed us by a mere foot.

Then on to the Blue Ridge parkway. This was Ashton's place. Ashton loved the Blue Ridge, as did I. We both had lived many years in the foothills of Virginia. Our son was born in Front Royal. We felt like we were home.

Ashton was sure this is where you touched God. He rode with a smile on his face, marveling at the beauty, although we had passed this way before.

The last time we rode the Blue Ridge a puppy had dashed out in front of the car -- in the middle of nowhere. No houses. No valley. We were near the top of the mountains. It didn't seem odd to us that a stray should find us on this lonely road, because we were always taking in strays at home.

We stopped. Backed up. Ashton grabbed the last of our Danish pastries and climbed from the car. He got on his knees and let the frightened puppy take as long as it needed to feel safe near him.

The puppy finally found the courage and ate from Ashton's hand. He was still hungry, so we found more food, and Ashton fed him until the dog was satisfied.

We were going to stay at a relative's house in Virginia and could not bring the puppy with us. Ashton and I both felt miserable as we drove away from the pup. We felt guilty. But, we considered, perhaps the car that stopped as we were pulling away would take the dog with them. We hoped so.

On this trip we didn't find a stray. We found a wild turkey that was on the road... around a bend. As we came around the bend Ashton swerved. I looked up. The Turkey took off -- vertical it seemed, right by my door. The top was down, and had I reached out my hand I could have touched the bird. He was so close that I could see individual feathers.

Finally, the tallest mountain in the east. Ashton was adamant; we had to stand on the top of the world -- at least in the east. And we did. Freezing. So cold our smiles froze on our faces. But Ashton stood grinning in that horrible "sweat shirt" and his military desert hat. He loved where he was, and so did I. Most of all, I loved seeing him so happy.

Ashton died a month after he stood on top of the world.