What stands today on the lushly landscaped plot (another of John’s talents) represents a lot of spit and polish. “You could say I was a little driven,” he laughed. Good thing John was just 22 when he got started.

John stripped plaster, sanded floors, painted, varnished and, with assistance from his father, wired and plumbed to complete the restoration. Named for the Rosabelles in John’s life – his mother and grandmother – the house had required quite an investment of time. Today, that tree casts its cooling shadow over Rose Cottage, a gracious home hugged by a generous porch with rockers that invite you to sit a spell. As if manifesting his dream, he had already planted a young tree to provide future shade for the house he believed would one day stand there. PHOTOSįor a pittance by today’s standards, the fixer-upper embarked on a journey from Pine Street to the Flud property in 1987 and was positioned in the spot where John had always envisioned establishing his own home. Restorations Mondays at Rose Cottage are a time for musical fellowship around the kitchen table. I always wanted a house like that and knew that it could become something beautiful.” “This house was going to be torn down, but I saw features in it that reminded me of my grandmother’s house. “I had always loved antiques and history – old things,” said John. It was a condemned property and required moving – a rather complicated pair of issues – but “complicated” is not in John’s vocabulary. He had plenty on his plate during those years, though, especially when he came into possession of an early 1900s home. When John started college, the violin played second fiddle to his studies, then continued its descension down the totem pole of pursuits until he stopped playing altogether. I just wanted to sit and practice my violin.” I didn’t want to be out on a field marching. “When they gave me the choice of band versus orchestra, I chose orchestra. “I remember my teacher telling me I scored high on a musical aptitude test,” John said. In that time, he relished practices, learning a few things about the instrument and himself. As it happened, the violin chose John and the two kept earnest company until high school graduation. When just a third grader, he was charged with selecting an instrument to learn as part of the school curriculum. Whether through influence or natural ability, John had a knack for all three. The interests of his parents and grandparents – gardening, cooking, music – were skills that had been passed down from one generation to the next. It was a rich environment for a boy but not just because of the running room afforded by the sweeping acreage. When John Flud was born in the mid-1960s, he was part of the fifth generation to be raised on the land his family acquired in the 1890s. The Flud name is as ingrained in the Pee Dee as the tree-lined waters of Black Creek that snake behind the family property. Especially in troubled times like these …

And if you listen closely as you read, you might overhear a lively conversation between three fiddles, their voices lifting and weaving in ways that silence sorrow and stir up joy – even in troubled times like these. It is also a story about caring and community, porches and “potatoes,” family dogs and a doublet of daughters with dimply smiles. In that sense, this is a story about restoration, specifically about how old ways can find revival in a modern world. The kitchen is the heart of many a home, but at Rose Cottage, it is a sacred, magical space where things forgotten are remembered again. How the Pee Dee’s favorite musical trio came to be

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