Ghost Towns, Today and Memories.

While we were in West Virginia we visited a ghost town. Nuttalburg, WV was a coal mining town in the New River Gorge. It is at the end of a long lwinding, narrow road, with several tiny, narrow bridges, a few places where wash outs had made the road even narrower, and some spots where you just had to question whether the trip was worth it. It was.

West Virginia is a place of magic, a land filled with deep, tree covered draws, steep, forested mountains and after a rain it is easy to imagine the white, cotton mist as a living thing. We met so many welcoming, wonderful people. The WV Department of Natural Resources does such an extraordinary job it is hard to think of them as merely human. And Nuttalburg was no exception. They mapped the ruins, describing the function of each, explaining the location, most importantly maintaining them in such wonderful condition, much better than the road.

This is the chute that moved the coal from the mine down to the railroad tracks. It was very elaborate. Careful plans were made to ensure that the coal was not damaged or reduced in any way, as it was conveyed down the mountain. Of course the miners had to walk up and down a long steep path to get to the mine. But, that’s the price of being human.

The ruins probably covered a half mile, a narrow strip of a forgotten time, hopes, wishes, prayers. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to hear the children laughing and playing outside of the ruins of the school house. Children with their own dreams, children whose parents made the long trek from all over to scrape out a living in the coal mine. Families whose lives were bound up in the mine, the coal, the trains that took it away. 

At the far end were the ruins of the company store. People traded their time for wages from the company and the wages from the company to the store owned by the company. It was a closed system,  the circle of life. Everything was there, everything rode the rails in or out. It was a perfect circle. It made me a little uncomfortable, it seems there should be some homage paid to the sacrifices made, the work, the industry, the ingenuity of these people. 

Today, I woke early and sat on the deck, and I thought of those people whose lives were tied to the mine, the railroad, the river, the company. Did they ever have the opportunity to set, drink coffee in solitude and wonder about the nature of living, the cost of being human? In a hundred years would people have different dreams? And, I couldn’t find any answers, so I looked at my pictures, said a silent prayer for all of humanity, past, present and future, and wrote this post. It’s the way I escape.

Summer, Old and New, the Battle Rages On.

Weekend in the summer, the yard versus me. An ancient battle, the clash of the titans, one blade of grass at a time. An epic struggle, crab grass lies just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce, and devour the neighborhood, dandelions pop up, almost too quick to notice, forget watching grass grow, try turning around after mowing and seeing the yellow, smiling faces spring from the leafy base, and laugh at you.

But, this year there is something more ominous, something odd, almost eerie. A bare patch, about 8 feet long and three feet wide where nothing grows. Grass, dandelions, clover crawl right to the edge and stop. It taunts me, defying explanation, it is unnatural, unreal, and odd. If I sat up a game camera I’m convinced it would prove animals won’t walk over the ground. Domesticated cats and dogs that prowl the neighborhood, and the wildlife, from squirrels, skunks, raccoons, even deer that travel from the park on the north side to the streambed and small farms that lie just to the south all would give the narrow patch of dead ground a wide birth. But, I’m not sure what else it would capture. Do wildlife cameras record an evil malevolence that is slowly awakening?

The Past

Maybe this neighborhood was built on an ancient Indian mound. Maybe it was a battle site, or hunting ground, maybe it was a miscarriage of justice in the name of progress.

There were rumors that the Memorial Tournament in Northwestern Columbus was cursed because Muirfield Golf Course was built too near the tomb of Leatherlips and the traffic and noise bothered him. Every year, like clockwork it would rain on the final round. To placate the ghost, end the curse, and finish the tournament on time they moved the tournament to the weekend following Memorial Day. This change seemed to work, because the tournament hardly ever gets rained out, Memorial Day weekend is much more meteorologically  pleasant and they didn’t even have to change the name to the “Weekend After Memorial Tournament.” Who knew a Wyandot Chief would be such a stickler for a government created holidays?

Southwestern Ohio and West Virginia are filled with tales of curses, hauntings and ghostly retribution from abuses of settlers, and the violence of local tribes spilling into the afterlife (I will have a full report with video after Our Amazing Vacation). Ohio is built on ancient forests, filled with dark spirits, whenever my wife and I get off the freeway, and take a state route I am reminded of the words of Marlow in Heart of Darkness “this, also, has been one of the dark places on Earth.” 

Meets The Present

When we walk through the old forests, and the rolling hills you can almost feel the old world trying to break through. Ancient powers straining just below the vale of modern civilizaztion. If you are lucky you can catch a glimpse of an old building, or power line or telegraph pole, slowly being consumed, torn down by the old world. We are only visitors here, and you see it in the casual disregard nature has for our powers of construction. 

I look at that bare patch and I see the power of history coming to reclaim its heritage. My wife, who is not as atuned to the old ways, the old worlds, sees a low spot that has been drowned too often (the curse of Leatherlips all over). Today, I will spread some topsoil, grass seed, fertilizer and water faithfully. Maybe it will work, maybe not. I will let you know. In fact, I might take pictures, kind of work in progress mixed with before and after, and then combine them into a blockbuster movie (actually more of a slide show) with music, special effects and a dancing skeleton (our newest travel mascot).

Vacation Hero, the Video Game, (not really)

This summer we were not sure what to do on vacation. Normally we have our plans made, and our anticipating the sweet joy of irresponsibility by now. This year we were uninspired. So, we decided to spend a week in a small cabin at a state park. My wife suggested we go a little farther, maybe another state.

We drove through West Virginia on a trip to North Carolina a couple of years ago, and I fell in love with the state. Steep mountains, deep valleys, mist covered and beautiful. Green, explosions of green, bursting from the mountains that climb straight to heaven. So, I chose West Virginia.

"Find a nice place and make some reservations." My wife said.

"What?!?! I don't make reservations." I said, in shock.

My wife normally picks the place we stay. Carefully comparing cabins, looking at pictures, reading reviews, measuring locations against some sort of internal grading system. She spends hours researching, weighing, analyzing choosing. And she always comes up with a great place. She is thorough, careful and considerate.


I pick a place and start panicking. Then I look at other places and start hyperventilating. Then I go back to the first place and realize it might be ok, and then I fall completely to pieces, and start looking for something, anything that might make sense in a world gone mad, filled with cabins surrounded by God knows what, filled with terrors unimaginable. George Bernard Shaw said "you cannot be a hero without being a coward." I'm covered.

Traveling Mascot i

Then I go back to the first place, make a reservation and start putting my affairs in order because I know the end is near. Sweat beads on my brow, my hands shake, I start to develop a nervous tic, and at night I hear burglars.

"But, I am much better at picking the traveling mascots, and you are much better at picking the place we stay." I explain, in my most logical, reasonable, careful voice. We should both be on the on the same plane here.

"You have already picked the traveling mascot." She says, exasperated, her eyes looking to Heaven for strength.

"Just the first one, the easy one, the still photo one. I still have to pick the animated mascot."

"And the cabin," She said.

So, I picked the cabin, made the reservations, found the nearest Kroger, only 14 minutes away, chose the animated travel mascot, and rushed this video into production. No thanks to my wife. I have to do everything. 

Our coming vacation, and a look at the past.

It is easy, as we age, to fall into patterns. The comfort of routine provides a haven as worries about the struggles of aging are realized. It becomes tonic to find something pleasant and just let it wash over us. A cocoon of the familiar, wrap yourself in the cozy experiences you have lived before. Restful, peaceful and safe.

My wife is a little crazy, though, she thinks we should try new things, take a few chances, gamble a little on the unknown. And she is right. We spent years going back to visit our mothers, and when they passed away we have barely gone to the same place on vacation twice.

Last year we went kayaking on Lake Superior, the biggest lake of the Great Lakes. We took a kayak and a canoe and paddled around on the lake that never gives up her dead. Due to a last minute cancellation we had a huge cabin all to ourselves, and we found that we still like each other, after all these years, we are still friends. In fact, best friends. And we decided vacations alone are the way to go. 

So we have done some exploring. A friend of mine told me about a hidden gem in southern Ohio. Lake Hope, we rented a cabin, spent a long weekend kayaking, grilling, hiking, exploring the beauty of our state. It was illuminating. 

Since that was such a success we branched out, two weeks ago we went to Shawnee State Park.  We spent four days exploring the park, Portsmouth, small parts of Kentucky, Wayne National Forest. It was too cold to kayak, but there are two lakes just perfect for that. And we will go back.

Since we have no real plans for vacation this summer, and we have had such good luck with state parks we have decided to make that our plan. A week in a state park cabin. But, we decided to try something a little different, of course, my wife is crazy after all. Two years ago we vacationed in Holden Beach NC, a small haven on the eastern seaboard. To get there we had to drive through West Virginia. A rugged state, filled with majestic beauty. Deep caverns looking up at forest covered mountains that seem to climb straight up to the sky. When we drove through there were mists clinging to the mountain sides, haloing the tops and covering the valleys, it was beautiful. I am keenly fond of mountains. And it is only about five hours away.

Since it is right next to Ohio we decided to try it. We found several state parks with cabins and lakes made for kayaking. So, we are off. In June, sometime we are headed to WV to relax, kayak, and check out the area. I am excited to try something new, new sights, new places, a chance to immerse ourselves in different cultures, foods, and scenery. 

With that in mind I decided we needed a travel mascot. This little guy was trapped on a window in Portsmouth, and we liberated him.  He is traveling with us from now on.

Of course we still have the Traveling Sunnies show, thanks to Trina Emmerson.  

And, if you have been paying attention I am dedicated to making videos of all our trips, and we need a good introduction. So, this morning I spent a ridiculous amount of time making this opening. I borrowed most of it from the Grateful Dead movie, because I love the Grateful Dead. 

 

I remember one empty night in a cheap motel in Kansas, run down after a long day of construction work on a farm where they raised swine. We were building a new barn. I smelled even after the shower, I stunk for days afterward. Years later I still remember that smell. I was sore from toting heavy crap through the mud and offal. It was a very bleak night, and I was questioning the decisions I had made to get there.

Flipping through the channel there was an Uncle Sam Skeleton riding a chopper through a wild cartoon scene. I lit a joint and watched the movie and life was ok for awhile.  I still love that movie. The next day was awful, as was every day until we finished that small building in that smelly, muddy place, but for one evening, in one dumpy little room life seemed ok. 

Here is my intro video.