Camping On Summersville Lake (An amalgamation of memories)

The late summer sun turns the lake into a fire. In the distance I can hear the crickets chirping. A lonely bullfrog sings out in his booming bass voice as the night birds add a chorus of songs and the nightly concert begins. There’s the occasional splash of a fish leaping from the water to catch an insect that flew too close to the surface of the lake. The smell of the fire drifts in as kids roast their marshmallows on freshly cut poplar or birch twigs. I’ll ease back in my chair and take a sip of coffee. The flavor mixes well with the oak in the fire pit. As the sunset fades into the velvety sky the fire in the lake is replaced by silver. Throughout the campground the voices of the people begins to soften. Some campers are already asleep with expectations of being out on the water before the dawn. Scuba divers have told stories about catfish large enough to swallow a human being and each fisherman is convinced that they have the secret to hauling it in. Other campers are setting close to the red glow from the embers of the fire. They’re telling ghost stories about the civil war soldiers who once camped in that very same spot. As I finish my coffee I look out across the campground. Tents glow from the lanterns inside. They look like little hot air balloons preparing for take off. Silhouetted against outside of tents the shadows move on the inside as they turn in for the night. A few of them seem to merge as the lanterns go out one by one. I’m not sleepy. I pour the last of the coffee into my tumbler and stir the embers of my fire. The sparks rise into the air. As I watch the sparks rise and disappear I notice little greenish lights flickering in trees. The fireflies are putting on a light show if their own as the males signal for a mate to answer with the matching code. My tired eyes drift from the trees to the stars above. The coffee is gone and the fire is almost out. It’s time to take in one last breath of the night air as the dew falls. I crawl into my tent and sleep deeply. That’s camping on Summerville Lake.

Old Barn On Muddlety Creek 

What is that we love about old barns? Is it the rusty old tin on the roof? Is the texture of weathered wood? Is it the skeletonized framework? I don’t really know why but I love old barns.

I have taken several pictures of this one and processed several versions but it just feels right in black and white.

Image was taken on Muddlety Creek Road in Nicholas County West Virginia

Crossing Over

There are many crossings in this world. Places where one leg of life’s journey ends and the next one begins. Human beings are a funny lot. We dream about moving forward into adventure but don’t want to leave the familiar behind. We can’t wait to graduate from school but spend the rest of our lives in nostalgia.

I occasionally pull out a playlist of music from the 80s and play the roll of a silly middle-aged man for my twenty something and thirty something coworkers. I recount the days and tell the stories of the times that formed who I am today. It’s entirely for entertainment purposes. The truth is that our glory days are ahead of us not behind us. We need to take the next step if we want to achieve our full potential. We need to trust the bridge and cross over into that new territory.

The image above was taken at Hawks Nest State Park in West Virginia.

Taking a walk 1.11.18

I  had an opportunity to venture out beyond my normal routine today.  As I walked along the trail at Salmon Run I found this natural threshold.  There was a homestead close by at one time but the mountains are quick to reclaim anything that isn’t maintained.  Perhaps the threshold here is a warning.  “Beyond this point you must leave the outside world behind”.   As I walked on a little further the forest began to strip away the domesticated part of my spirit.  My feral nature returned.  I could smell the wood and stone.  I could hear the scampering of small feet just out of sight.  The birds are chirping but something caught my attention.  There was a hole in the noise. If one stays very still and listens the forest will tell you what is happening around you. As I tracked the silence a jogger came down the path.  Once he and his dog passed the noise came back.  

It was good to get out of the house even if only for a few minutes.   Today was a good day. 

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

The mountains of Appalachia provide a lot surprises.  Common sense told me that there are tunnels here and there but I had never spotted one until the day I took this picture.   As I look at the image the obvious thought is about the light at the end of the tunnel.   It’s a phrase that we use when encouraging a friend who’s having a tough time.  But,  we never really think about what the tunnel represents.  The tunnel at Kimberly West Virginia was put in this spot to ease the efforts of traveling through the steep landscape.  The  tunnel made the path straight and eliminated a grueling climb.   

The times in life when it seems like we’re in the proverbial tunnel just trying to make it to the light at the end it helps to remember that it’s a shortcut.   Just stay on the tracks and keep moving forward.