Tag: Rustic

Little Boys and Dirt Roads

Color Photography, West Virginia

I have often said that my highway to heaven is a dirt road. Dirt roads take us to places unknown and seldom seen. We enter another world where a good ATV ( commonly referred to as a 4 wheeler in my part of Appalachia) or your own feet are the best travel options. When I was a kid we would head out on an old dirt road like the one in the feature image ever chance we got. These roads often contain mud holes that more akin to ponds than potholes. In the spring and summer they’re normally full of tadpoles and newts. My brother and I would escape the heat of the mobile home by finding one of the largest holes we could back under the canopy of the trees to play in. We’d come home covered in mud after riding our bicycles through the mud as hard as we could. We were pretending to be motocross racers. We’d slam the brakes in mud and throw it out as hard as we could. Whoever could make the biggest splash was the winner. We’d play Evil Knievel too. (For those too young to remember he was the most famous stuntman of my youth. You can read about him here). My poor mother would have two boys who looked like mud monsters by the time we were done.

Later in life I would walk these dirt roads at a slower pace while stalking deer or just out exploring. Walking a road like the one in the feature image is kinda like being on a treadmill with people throwing mud, rocks and tree stumps at your feet. The mud settles in low spots and it’s a perfect way for a beginner to find animal tracks and learn about tracking.

Today necessity keeps me on the nice pavement. I walk through a world of concrete and asphalt. But I still long for an abandoned dirt road with a huge mud hole and a good off road bicycle.

Crossroads

black and white photography, Thoughts and Musing

The symbolism of the crossroads is well known. A person stands at the intersection pondering a decision wandering which way to turn in order to reach a goal. Crossroads are everywhere in life. I have observed a certain amount of anxiety associated with life’s crossroads. But, isn’t a crossroads as much an opportunity as it is anything else? It’s an opportunity to change your course, continue ahead or, for some situations it’s a place to turn around and correct a past error.

The most probable cause of the anxiety is not knowing what lies ahead. There are resources we have access to. Maps, compass and the knowledge of those who have been there. For life’s crossroads I turned to the Bible and church elders.

There’s no need to be anxious about coming to a crossroads. It’s really all a matter of perspective and planning.

A little more about Beartown State Park.

Color Photography, West Virginia

The first time I stepped out onto the boardwalk in Beartown State Park I fell in love with all the wonderful angels and stairs. I’m comfortable navigating by landmarks such as Terrain but the boardwalk made me feel like I was in Middle Earth and about to meet the elves. The picture here was taken in the Fall and every time the breeze came along it showered us with brightly colored leaves. Tall ferns grow on the tops of the large rocks that line the edges of path. Beartown is a place where you can really recharge.

A Short walk in the park.

Color Photography, Thoughts and Musing

After yesterday’s post about the tragedy of the swan and loss I want to get back to my normal outlook on life. It might seem odd after writing about the need for community and companionship to then blog about how much I enjoy solitude but the secret is a life with balance. I have previously said that my highway to heaven is a dirt road. A nice forest path will do even better. Even if it’s a boardwalk in a park. Just escaping from the chaotic noise and replacing it with the song birds and occasional tree frog does wonderful things to my soul. The image above was taken in the Fall but in my heart it’s always Springtime in the forest. Just thinking about it brings me to a point where I can almost smell the earthy aroma of the moss growing on a fallen log. I can hear the scurrying of tiny feet in the dry leaves. Insects are buzzing about the trunks of the trees and as they pass through the filtered light their wings are backlit giving the impression of fairies living in the woods. For a moment there’s the thumping of a grouse beating the air to establish his territory. The breeze occasionally shifts and brings the scent of wildflowers. The chaos and clamor of so called modern life is a whole world away and there is peace. Just beyond the trail is a large rock or a log that is the perfect spot for sitting. Taking time to enjoy nature is like listening to God’s whispers.

Relics

Abandoned, black and white photography

Every so often I find that my curiosity gets the best of me. I’ve always been an explorer at heart and when I see a piece of junk left behind my inner child wants to play Indiana Jones. I have passed this old drilling rig for thirty years and kept telling myself one day I’ll go down into the overgrown field and check it out. It’s not as simple as it sounds. I live in rattlesnake territory and they absolutely love to make their dens in old machines. It was still winter I figured that they were still hibernating if not frozen stiff and so I made my way to the rig. Since there’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity, I moved cautiously through the briars and winter grasses. I used my tripod to push back the brush and make sure I actually wanted to step there before moving forward. When I finally reached my goal a took a few minutes to appreciate the object before my eyes. I was touching history. Maybe not Earth shattering history but someone’s history. The drilling rig was more than likely used by miners to get core samples for the coal industry. I looked over the broken gauges and switches. The key that turned the machine on was still in the ignition. Levers that were frozen with rust had not been touched by human hands in decades. The steel cables sagged and the wheels had rotted away. I think about the men who operated the drill. I imagine the hot July and August days on the job site. The dust rises from the bore hole turns into mud when it lands on their necks due to sweat. The type of men who do this kind of work are hardy and take pride in the job. They deal with the misery of labor by laughing when it’s over. I would not be surprised if break time included some pranks here and there. There always at least one person on a crew like this who is afraid of snakes and a cheap rubber snake left near a lunch box is better than T.V. These men are not just coworkers. They’re family. They say that history is really his story . But it’s their story and our story. And when you come in contact with one of the relics, it’s your story too.