Our mountains are full of little trails. Pictured here is the Lover’s Leap Trail at Hawks Nest State Park in West Virginia. The legend tells of a Native American couple who would rather leap from the high cliffs than be separated. As you descend down the winding pathway, ancient and majestic trees line the sides of the rustic staircase. The walk down is easy but if you have long legs and large feet like me, the spacing is a little off and it’s easy to fall down. It isn’t until you look back up the trail that you really notice how steep the climb back will be. You might be tempted to turn around and climb back out early but don’t. As we’ll see in tomorrow’s post the view is well worth the effort.
Category: travel
The Cheylan Railyard
Tonight’s image is the railyard at Cheylan West Virginia. If you look closely at the background you can see one of our coal tipples. The coal comes down the river in huge barges and is offloaded to the tipple where it’s moved by conveyor belt into the train. It’s some of the most dangerous work in the mining industry. My whole life I’ve heard stories about workers stepping between two rail cars at the wrong moment. The large piles of coal have been known to collapse and bury men alive. I know that coal energy is controversial in the world today but it is our main energy source in a large portion of the world. Here in West Virginia coal lights our homes, cooks our meals and powers our internet connection. It even powers our electric vehicles. Through the paychecks paid to the miners coal feeds families whose members have never set foot in a mine. (Every mining job supports between 3 and 5 others. ) It all centers on hubs like you see here and the workers who risk it all to pull light out of darkness.
Escaping The Heat
North America is under a heat wave today. Everyone is retreating to shady spots or cooling off in one of the lakes and rivers. It’s been a long time since I was able to spend all day in Summerville Lake. On days like today I wouldn’t spend any more time on the surface than was needed to take the next breath. There was no scuba gear and very seldom did we even use snorkels. We were skin divers. When it’s 90 degrees Fahrenheit (32C) there’s nothing like the cool lake bottom. I could only go down about 10 feet or so but that was enough to escape being baked in the sun. I was one of those people who could open his eyes under water and still see pretty well. Occasionally I would find an old fishing lure with the hooks rusted away or a water toy of some kind that was left behind. Out beyond the buoys that marked the swimming area the boats would idle by. Under water the screws make a clicking noise and I got to a point where I could listen to the clicks and gauge how far away the boat was. As I got older I would swim from one side of the lake to the other once more surfacing only to take a breath. Sometimes a small fish would be curious about the stranger in the water and nip the hair on my legs. We would tease each other that the piranha were hungry. Perhaps at some point I can afford an underwater camera and I’ll be able to take you with me on a swim through the lake.
On The Go
Our days seem to be spent in such a rush in the modern world. Today has been no exception. One of my goals in life is to get to point where driving is more about the journey than just making it the next destination. That’s probably why I like antique cars. Not only is the body design more artistic but the ride seems to be more relaxed. In spite of rough suspension and so much road noise that you have to scream at each other to have a conversation something just feels right. If there’s a radio at all its probably going to be AM with all the static and crackling of yesteryear. And with that I come to the end of tonight’s journey. Shut down the motor, set the break and refuel for tomorrow.
Echoes on a foggy morning
I stood in the mists and listened, and I heard the echoes.
The echoes spoke to me and here is what they those echoes said.
Once there was a house and the house was a home.
Once there was friendswho would gather.
Once there was laughing.
Once there was a song.
Once there was dancing.
Once there was the smell of dinner cooking over an open flame.
Once there were games played on the lawn.
Once there was a warm bed and quietly spoken conversation by candlelight.
Once there was a sadness and a warm embrace to lessen the scars on a wounded soul.
Once there was work to be done and rest to be enjoyed.
Once there was love and love grew into life. And life was good.
The echoes fade away but love lives on.
Poetry by Lloyd A Dempsey II
The Feature image for this post is the Old Mason-Drennan house. Sadly, it’s a historic site that is quickly succumbing to the effects of time.
As I look at site I think about all the different stories that would have played out at the old resort. In the early Twentieth Century this was a destination for people who would travel from far away. I wonder how many family lines got started at the dances and social gatherings that were held there? That question was the inspiration for my poem. As the old inn fades away do the memories live on like an echo in time?
As the weather in the Northern hemisphere warms up people in Appalachia generally gather around a camp fire and tell ghost stories. But such stories don’t always have to be scary. After all, it’s just a story… isn’t it?
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