‘I always come right back here’ — to Tings

It’s nearly dark as I pull into T’ings Tavern for the first time. The woods are pitch black, but in the dim light of dusk I can still make out the mountain ridges, silhouetted with pine trees.

Near the bar entrance, two men lean over the open hood of a white pickup. When I walk inside, the bells on the door jingle and the sparse evening crowd turns as one to take me in.

“Howdy,” says an older gentleman.