Visitors and Places to Visit

A few visitors to our place recently. Can you spot them?

And if you're in the mood to go visiting, there are so many good things going on this weekend.

Like:

The Appalachian String Band Festival at Clifftop, WV, where I'll be telling stories tomorrow.

The Dublin Irish Festival in Dublin, Ohio.

West Virginia Music Hall of Fame fundraiser concert at the Clay Center in Charleston, WV.

The re-enactment of the shooting of Sheriff Sid Hatfield at the McDowell County Courthouse. This was a pivotal moment in the Coal Mining War in West Virginia and in our state history. Tomorrow is the anniversary of his murder.

Braxton, Mercer, Morgan, and Marshall County fairs, to name just a few of the counties having their annual summer 4-H fairs this weekend.

And don't forget--tomorrow is August 1, so say Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit first thing when you get up in the morning if you want to have money all month. You have to say it with capital letters, of course.

Signs, Signs

I wonder how many lanes they thought we had on Joe's Run? One is all I've ever been aware of.

Maybe they thought we just never noticed that it was only one lane, and wanted to let us know?

Which reminds me--if you weren't a reader a year or so ago, you may have missed this post on the etiquette of driving on country roads. Be sure to read the comments too--readers offered a few more tips on comporting yourself on the byways of America.

Happy Birthday, Tommy!

Happy 23rd birthday to my youngest son! He's away this week, with his girlfriend in New Jersey and having a blast, I'm sure. So we'll hold the cake until he returns (and he probably won't eat it anyway. He eats healthy--smart boy).

With his girl on July 4th.

He's into bodybuilding, can you tell?

He's in college now at WVU and doing well. What more can a mother ask than that her sons be happy and healthy?

Corn and Squash and Garden Talk

Menus this week:

Corn, tomatoes, cucumbers.
Corn, tomatoes, squash, chicken.
Corn, tomatoes, squash.
Corn.
Tomato sandwiches.
Corn, steak, squash, salad.
Do you see a theme here?

Larry's corn patch--some of the stalks of sweet corn are around ten feet tall. I began to wonder if he'd planted field corn instead of sweet corn.

Corn is at the top of the agenda, and the menu. Right now our corn is at its peak, and it is something to experience. Did you know that two bushels of corn in the husk equals one bushel of husked corn which equals 8 quarts of frozen corn? Except tonight, one bushel of corn in the husk yielded 6 quarts of frozen corn.

A different variety meant smaller cobs, more corn. This year we raised Sunglow for early corn and froze corn on the cob. Next to come in was Seneca Chief, big ears of yellow corn that clean super easy, hardly any silk, and mighty tasty. Now the Honey and Cream corn is ripening--smaller ears, but extra sweet with both white and yellow kernels on the same cob. Hard to clean though, lots of silk and bits of husk to deal with. I had not noticed these differences in other years, mainly because usually I only grow Sunglow and Silver Queen. This year we experimented and I'm happy with the results. Seneca Chief is a keeper.



While I often can corn, freezing is much easier. And I'm out of pint jars, so freezing is the only sensible option because the two of us would never eat a quart of corn at one meal and it would go to waste.


To freeze, we cut the kernels off the cob, blanch for one minute in boiling water, dunk into cold water, spoon into bags and freeze. So far we have 14 quarts in the freezer and I expect to add another 8-10 quarts.


Every day that I am canning or freezing I bless my big enamel pans and wonder how I managed without them in the past. I bought them last year, some at an antique store (but at a good price), others at the Rockport auction for a song. One is a sieve, excellent for rinsing.

By this time next week, fresh corn will probably be a memory.

Of course, the Indian corn is nowhere near ready...

There Are Bare Nekkid Ladies in My Garden

...and aren't they beautiful?

I love these lilies that are also known as Magic Lilies, Surprise Lilies and probably several other names.

The leaves come up thick in the Spring, then die away. At the end of July, bare stalks emerge from the ground overnight, and are in full bloom in a day or so. It is pure magic.

This year's lilies are the most beautiful they have ever been. They are over two feet tall and full of blooms, creating a froth of pink at the edge of the garden. I planted these years ago (at least 10 and probably more like 15 years back) and ground moles almost did them in a few years ago. The attack seems to have strengthened them and the bulbs are evidently multiplying in the dark under ground. To my great joy.

Monday Morning

On my way to work this morning
across the ridge and around
the end of the world turn
I looked in my rear view mirror
and saw what I was leaving behind.

Sometimes it is not easy to keep going
when I know that behind me
the dew is soft on bending grass,
the birds are calling from nests,
turkeys herd their young,

tomatoes hang ripe for picking,
dill and basil are ready for harvest,
and flowers turn their heads,
just as I did,
to welcome the morning sun.

Crisp Dill Pickles--With Salmon

For 35 years I have tried every recipe I have found to make CRISP dill pickles. I have failed, time and again. I finally gave up and decided that while I could make killer bread-and-butter pickles, and even sweet alum pickles, dills were out of my reach. I bought them at the store. And complained.

I decided to try again this year because we have lots of cucumbers and I love dill pickles. So if the pickles came out wrong, oh well--the chickens could enjoy them.


I searched online and consulted Joy of Cooking, my kitchen bible. A recipe I found online was very like what I found in J of C and seemed easy enough.

Well.

I started with the online recipe, which called for slicing the cucumbers and putting them into ice water for two hours. I was okay with that, but I only had four trays of ice and it didn't seem like enough to really keep the cukes cold. What to do?

In the freezer I had a big plank of salmon, frozen solid. Why not put the frozen fish on top of the pickles to add a little extra frost? I put the salmon (sealed in plastic) on top of the cucumber slices, and covered everything with two thick, folded bath towels.

The online recipe didn't call for sprinkling salt over the cucumber slices either but I remembered from past attempts that salt drew the moisture out of the cucumbers and made them crisper. And Joy of Cooking recommended it. So I sprinkled some salt (non-iodized, the only kind for pickles) over the slices beforecovering them with the towels.

After two hours the fish was still frozen. Time to move on to the next part of the process. I drained and washed the cucumber slices, put the salmon back in the freezer, heated water to sterilize my jars, and heated the brine (made with 2 cups vinegar to 1 cup of water and 1/3 cup salt, with 2-3 cloves of garlic for each jar). I packed cucumber slices and stems of dill into the sterilized jars, covered them with the boiling brine (leaving the garlic cloves in the kettle) and screwed down the jar lids.

Today's canning books recommend hot water baths for pickles, but I have never done that. I recommend that you follow the most recent guidelines for canning pickles however.

After two days, we decided to try a taste test. Verdict? CRISPY dill pickles, full of flavor. Success! After so many years of trying, I think I've found a process that works for me. I made another 13 pints this weekend and I am so glad I've finally made good dill pickles.

I think it was the salmon. Although the ones I made yesterday I used frozen steaks...you decide. You think it might have been the salmon that made the difference?

I am pretty sure it was.

West Union, West Virginia : A Photo Journey

Fingerpuppet makers worked intently after the storytelling and made some creative puppets. About 50 children participated, a testament to the parents and to the library for encouraging children to be part of the summer reading program.

This is a quick tour of West Union, West Virginia, where I told stories on Thursday for the library.

West Union's Public Library was once an opera house, sponsoring visits by many famous performers in its heyday.

Beautiful homes along some streets testify to the affluent past of the town, where the driller and logger was king when West Union was established. The town was originally known as Lewisport, but in 1857 the B&O railroad put in a station and the name was changed, first to Union and then to West Union. The town is the county seat of Doddridge County, named for an early West Virginia settler named Phillip Doddridge.

The City Hall appears to have been a bank building in its beginning, and there must have been other buildings adjoining the now lone-standing hall. I believe it was a bank because so often banks were built on corners like this in the late 1800's-early 1900's.

The courthouse is the most outstanding building in West Union, and is on the National Register of Historic Places. It crowns the highest point in town and is beautifully restored. We did not have time to go inside, so we have that to look forward to on our next visit. I have been told that the interior has all original woodwork--and the stained glass windows must be gorgeous with light coming through.

Lady Justice with her scales is a focal point of the courthouse's architecture.

West Union celebrates its founding every July with the WestUnionFest. Who can resist bed races, outhouse parades, Native American encampments and Civil War re-enactments and a Liar's Contest? We didn't hear about the Fest until too late to attend, but it's on our calendar for next year.

Want more? Google Books offers an online version of a history of Doddridge and Ritchie counties, complete with many historic photos.

Berdine's Store

Where did we find this treasure trove of toys and folk art? In a place that is sure to delight any storyteller, child or young-at-heart adult: Berdine's Store in Harrisville, Ritchie County, West Virginia.

The store is celebrating its 101st birthday this year, and if you visit you will immediately understand its longevity.


Where else will you find men's underwear hanging right beside a rubber chicken, and above delicate china figurines? (Maybe in the house of the lady who was our next door neighbor when I was growing up, come to think of it.) Or parts for kerosene lamps, old-remedy salves like Porter's Liniment, light-up, noisemaking bouncy balls, bulk candy in an original-to-the-store case, and a nose flute? The biggest mall in America could not offer up that variety, I would bet.

Larry wandered--and wondered--like a kid in a candy shop (that's more truth than cliche'), looking at toys, tools and just plain amazing stuff.
Need a cookie cutter? Rolling pin? egg beater? pencil eraser? handcrafted pen or glass vase? marbles? kaleidoscope? wind-up somersaulting gorilla? You can find them all at Berdines, along with quality candy and old-time treats like Necco wafers (even the chocolate ones!) and wax Nip bottles filled with sweet syrup.

Karen Harper, who runs the store, is a great saleslady. She never pushes or urges you to buy, she just shows you neat stuff like how the nose flute works, complete with a rendition of Yankee Doodle. Her own delight in her wares makes shopping a pleasure. We lost ourselves in Berdine's for well over an hour, and left a good bit lighter in the pocketbook and in spirit.

If you happen to be traveling US Route 50 between Clarksburg and Parkersburg, West Virginia, be sure to allow enough time for a little side trip to Berdine's. The store is worth a special trip in itself, and you can pretend that you're just shopping for the kids or the grandkids. Odds are you will find something that you really need for yourself! I mean, who would not want to be the proud owner of the amazing disappearing frog. It's still on my want list, but the pirate puppet came home with me.

Berdine's is currently collecting stories and memories about the store on its website. Go to www.berdinesdime store.com to participate, and check out the photos and store history. Better yet, make plans for a visit. It's not too early to do a little holiday shopping.

Tonight's post is a photo blog of yesterday's journey to two libraries for storytelling, and a few things in between. It's not a complete picture of the day by any means; I'll have more to post. But this is a sampler of my day:

First stop was West Union, West Virginia, county seat of Doddridge County. The town sits high on a a hill and the lovely courthouse is on the highest point in town. The brickwork is stunning.

We were sad that we could not get back to West Union this evening for--I kid you not--the Outhouse Parade. What is an outhouse parade? I have no idea but I most certainly want to see one. Tomorrow they will have a bed race down Main Street, all part of West Union Fest; three people can push the bed and one can ride. I love this town!

Raccoon came out to play, even though he was still grouchy from being up all night in my corn patch. The tried and true story of Mud that I tell with him continues to work with audiences. And I continue to thank Don Leonard, the Florida storyteller from whom I learned the story. Over the years of telling it has become a good bit different from Don's version, but I owe this successful story to him.

The crowd of 60+ parents and children had a very good time making fingerpuppets. More photos of that later too.

At the Center Point Library, we had storytelling and then made wooden spoon puppets. This puppet is especially delightful. About twice as many children showed up as expected, so we had twice as much fun.

I have wanted to take my husband to Berdyne's Store for years; finally yesterday we were in the right place at the right time. We drove a little out of our way to Harrisville to visit this unique shop. Above is a photo of just a tiny bit of the amazing variety of items for sale at Berdyne's. I will do a complete post on the store this weekend. It's one of my all-time favorite places to visit.

At a rest area on the interstate, we met this gentleman from North Carolina and his "new" car. Isn't it gorgeous? The car, a 1953 Chevrolet station wagon, was in immaculate condition. He'd just bought the car in Ohio and was driving it home to North Carolina.

Then another truck pulled in, this one hauling a 1963 Willy's Army jeep. Larry loves these things, always wants to look at them wherever he sees them. Imagine his delight when the owner offered to let him sit in it! This jeep is in pretty good condition, even had the axe mounted under the drivers side, a shovel on the other side, the original gas can, roll bar, frame for the roof canopy, and a spare tire. The owner had bought it over the Internet from someone in Ohio and he was one happy man.

I didn't think we'd ever leave the rest area, but Larry finally (reluctantly) got out of the Jeep and we headed home after a full and completely interesting day.

Always there is more to storytelling than meets the eye--or ear.

End of the Puppets and Summer Reading Trail

Today was my last performance for this year's Summer Reading Program at West Virginia libraries. I am sorry to see it end. There were so many highlights:

• about 300 fingerpuppets were made, and about 20 wooden spoon puppets
• at least 700 children attended events at 9 programs
• 100 children attended writing workshops
• at least 300 parents were delighted that their children enjoyed the storytelling and puppet-making
• about 2000 pompoms, sequins, fake jewels and google eyes were attached to puppets
• about 500 feathers adorned puppets and/or library floors--ditto felt pieces, foam pieces and other assorted craft odds and ends
• 20 or more different stories were told, crafted, improvised and enjoyed
• one storyteller has a pile of craft supplies to sort and memories to hold

It was a great summer in West Virginia libraries, and I am sorry to see it end.

However--more storytelling is on the way:

• August 1 at Clifftop, along with an incredible array of old-time music events
• August 5 at Camp SummerFUNdamentals for WV Rehab

Then a long break until October. In the meantime, I'm prepping for next year's library programs. Arrggghh, Matey! 'Tis pirates, sea creatures and more on tap for next year!

Photos and more tomorrow. Tonight I feel rode hard and put up wet. See you when the sun is high!

Secret Hiding Place

Tipper at Blind Pig and the Acorn wrote a post about her children's "camps" made with sheets on their Granny's porch. Her post made me remember things from my childhood and the ways we played, especially in the hot summer months of the pre-air conditioning world.

When I was little we lived in a tiny house in the woods that offered opportunities of all kinds for play. Pine forest, a crawl space under the house, sheds and ditches and a rose arbor were all perfect for the kinds of games we played. I was only 5 when we moved, but my memories of the little house are vivid. I remember well my first secret hiding place; it was in the woods, surrounded by bushes and not visible to anyone passing on the path nearby. A perfect place to hide.

(photo below was taken in Centreville, before we moved to the big house in Manassas. Apparently a game of cowboys and Indians was in progress.)

Our next house was big and old with large rooms, high ceilings, tall windows, and cool plaster walls. In summer, the windows were open and sliding adjustable screens let in any breezes that might stir the mimosa in Mrs. Blakemore's yard or the old silver maple in our back yard. A large fan on a stand rotated in the dark downstairs entrance hall and often we'd put our fingers through the open cage and let them rat-a-tat-tat on the blades as they whirled. Sometimes an unfortunate child would get their fingers in the wrong place and get whacked hard by the spinning blades, but I don't remember any cuts from the fans.

Dad made schedules for his thirteen children in the summer, and created to-do lists with incentive prizes for doing certain chores. This worked well to motivate us right after school was out, but after a while we'd get tired of the lists or we'd have developed a game we liked to play. So we'd do the assigned work but the incentive lists usually languished after the end of June. Dad's strategy was probably to keep us busy while we adjusted to being home--and to keep us out of Mom's hair while she adjusted to us being home.

By July one or two games were usually in full swing. We didn't play games like most people think of them; for us, games went on for days or weeks, even all summer. Our favorite was the Town we created in the back yard. There was little grass in the area immediately to the right of the back porch steps. We kept it worn off with our play. In the bare dirt we used our little beach shovels or Mom's garden trowel to create roads, dips, curves, intersections, shopping centers, schoolyards and farms. Each of us had a role to play--farmers, mothers, fathers, shopkeepers, teachers, doctors. I was usually the orphanage keeper and my name in our games was Uncle John and Aunt Susie (dual personality, I guess). Many an emergency, conflict, injury, death, wedding and party happened in the course of an afternoon ---who needed General Hospital with all the drama we had going on in our yard?

When it rained the fun moved indoors. Upstairs would become a Wild West town. We'd raid the attic for clothes, Joe would wear his play gun and holster, someone would have the popgun, and always we'd have a dance with Joe as the caller, standing on the dresser and singing ("I belong, I belong, on the lo-o-o-ne pray-er-ee"). Indians would raid, cattle stampede, gunfights were many and bloody and bodies often littered the floor. Joe or Tom played the sheriff and would pronounce guilt or innocence and generally keep the peace. When the town got too rowdy, the real boss--Mom--would make us settle down.

We played long-running Monopoly games that resembled some of the pictures I've seen of poker games--intent faces, piles of money, deal-making and breaking, occasional fights and tears. A single game once lasted almost a month, with money changing hands as quickly, and probably as crookedly, as on Wall Street.

When we got tired of each other's company, we all had our secret hiding places. I had several: the attic was best for reading, and there was always a breeze through the little half-moon window in front with the far-off view of the Bull Run Mountains. Under the front porch was cool and damp and kind of scary, and a good place to go with Judy if we wanted to be alone. The cherry trees were excellent in June when they were filled with cherries and a girl could climb into the branches and eat to her heart's content. There were plenty for me, the birds and for mom's jam-making. The side yard with my redbud tree and bluebell garden was fairly sheltered and if Miss Mary, who lived next door, wasn't home I could climb up into the redbud tree where I would be out of sight and could spy on brothers and sisters who played on the swingset. Why did I want to spy on them? I have no idea. Maybe I should blame it on Nancy Drew, since I read every one of those books and all of the Hardy Boys too during my attic visits.

I wonder if children still play games like these, and if they still have secret hiding places? As an adult, I sometimes long for the redbud tree and the sanctuary it offered when my little life felt too tumultuous and overcrowded with siblings.

Tipper's daughters still have that magical gift of childhood, the gift of play. I hope there are many other children out there with the same gift, touching the past and inventing futures to suit themselves. I am afraid that today's children are losing the magic of creative play. I hope that in some small town in America, there is a child building a castle under the dining room table or a fort behind the sofa. I hope a little girl or boy is exploring under a forsythia bush and finding a hidden-way world that only he or she knows. I want to believe that children are still chasing birds with salt shakers, looking for four-leaf clovers, lying on their backs and finding shapes in the clouds, catching tadpoles in puddles and finding wild berries along the sides of dusty roads.

I hope childhood is still the place of possible hopes and inspired dreams, where anything can and will happen for the child who imagines it into being.

Granddaughter Haley in the yellow apple tree--one of her hiding places at my house.

Easy Way to Freeze Corn

So the guy who tells me about this is young and single. Why did I believe him? Because I had a bushel of Early Sunglow corn to deal with and no time to do anything fancy like cutting it off the cob and blanching, etc.

"It's the easiest thing ever," he said. "Just trim the outer leaves, pull the silk to remove what you can, then pack in freezer bags, vacuum seal, and freeze."

"That's it?" I asked. "No blanching, cutting off the cob?"

"Nope," he said. "Easiest thing in the world."

Easy things usually don't end up well. Usually you get what you pay--or work--for. But I had all that corn, and it would go to waste if I didn't try something fast.

So we followed his instructions, feeling doubt all the while. I trimmed the outer leaves, pulled at the silk tassel and packed the corn in bags. I don't have a vacuum sealer so I pressed out as much air from the bags as I could. They were pretty flat around the ears.

This evening we tested the corn. We started the grill and threw on a few ears straight from the freezer, and wrapped others in foil and put them over the coals. The result?

The ears put over the coals in their own husks, minus foil, were perfect and delicious. Steam from inside the husks evidently loosens the silk, so when we pulled back the husks the silk came away too.

The ears in the foil took longer to cook and weren't as good. They were a little softer. Perhaps with hotter coals they would have been fine. They were still just as good as any frozen corn on the cob I've ever eaten and better than most.

Bottom line: this is absolutely the easiest way I've ever, ever put up corn. Amazing.

Will it be as good in a month? Two months? I don't know, but after one week it was delicious.

July

July spills a surfeit of vegetables onto my kitchen floor--
fire red tomatoes, golden squash,
green cucumbers and royal purple beans
tumble from white enamel washpans and broken oak baskets.
They glow like rampant jewels

retrieved from long-lost treasure chests buried in the garden loam.

It is mid-summer; the bounty is effortless and wanton.
I choose only the best to be preserved for winter use.
The imperfect offerings are tossed aside—
a scarred skin or a spot where a box turtle has nibbled a hole
is enough to send a tomato to the garbage bucket;
the chickens will enjoy a feast of discards.

In winter, the bruised tomato and spotted bean
would be carefully trimmed and the good parts
saved to be added to a simmering pot of hearty soup.
In winter, soup from even imperfect vegetables
recalls the freshness of summer.

In July it is the chickens who savor the leavings.

After the lavish destruction and careful preservation of the day

--cut, chop, boil, freeze, store--

I rock in my chair on the porch,

listen to the chickens' contented cackles,
survey the gardens and plan tomorrow's work.
The ruby sun filters through leaves

already suggesting the coming autumn gold.

Weekend Wedding

It's about 6 and a half hours from my house to Richmond, VA ,but in many ways it's like a journey to another world.


We're country folks. We have dogs and chickens and gardens and gravel roads. In Richmond, this was the view from our window. My goodness.










And this was our room on the 12th floor of the Marriott. Goodness times two.




We had a great time. Our room was beautiful and comfortable and we tried to think of ways to spirit out the down comforters (the windows didn't open, and they were too poofy to fit in our suitcase...).









We were in Richmond for my nephew Matt's wedding. It was held in the lovely Italian garden at historic Maymont Park (which will have its own post later this week). Never have I seen two people enjoy their wedding so much--they laughed, joked with the minister during the cermony, smiled a lot--we were all included in their joy. The reception was a feast of good food and good company, and the late-night gathering with my sisters, brother Tom and assorted other family members was absolutely classic Connelly get-together.









We had a wonderful time and we were very, very glad to get back home this evening. Being in the lap of luxury is nice; being home is every bit as nice. As Larry commented, it was nice to visit Richmond, and even nicer to get back home to our own front porch.


I wish the newlyweds well. They certainly started out with a solid send-off from their two large, loving families and many friends.

Missed Communication

"Are these your jeans?"

"I don't know. I have a pair of black jeans. Might be mine."

"They look like women's jeans."

"Is there a tag in them? You can tell by that."

"Yeah, here's a tag. Let's see. It says size 18 Wide."

"That's size 18 WOMEN'S!"

I should have looked myself. Now I will forever be size 18 Wide in my husband's mind. And my own. That's enough incentive to lose weight right there.

And honestly? Looking at the jeans he was holding, I have to say that 18 Wide is more accurate than I'd like to think.

Flash 55: Harvest

picture by USDA

Harvest

He bent to pull chickweed away from the zucchini plant. No squash yet, but bloom was plentiful.

The snake, harboring in the cool shade, raised its head.
The man froze, hand clutching the wilting weed.

Slit eyes met blue eyes.

Seconds, minutes passed.

A voice called, “Henry, where are you?”

The snake turned its head.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, your turn to write a flash fiction piece--55 words no more, no less. Post your piece as a comment to Mr. Know-It-All's blog for today on his site. What easier way to get inspired and get writing?

Possum Tales

This is just too good not to tell. Name omitted to protect the innocent.

He had to get up at 3:00 am Monday morning. Now that is not a friendly time of day to rise and shine, and he was afraid he might oversleep. As it turned out, he didn't need to worry.

At 2:44 am, he heard a commotion on his back porch, right outside his bedroom window. He knew right away what it was--a possum in the bag of dog food he left on the porch. He'd meant to move it after a possum had gotten in it a few nights before, but like I said, it had been a tough weekend. He'd taken a shot at that possum and winged it. Had it come back for more?

He grabbed his .22 and crept to the door. The possum must have heard the door creak because it scrambled out of the bag so fast he thought it was going to run inside the house, so he slammed the door fast. Through the window he saw the possum waddling off. He walked out onto the porch and took aim.

But...were there two possums? Apparently so. He could see the rotund behind of the one that had been in the dog food bag waddling off into the night. The other one, however, was just standing still and staring at him. He could see its eyes gleaming in the dark, that peculiar orange glow so familiar in headlights. He decided that the one looking at him was a) more likely to take the offensive and attack, and b) an easier target than the quickly vanishing hiney of the other possum.

So he took careful aim and hit it right between the eyes. When he walked over to inspect, he found that his aim had been perfect--he had perfectly shot the kids' kickball.

(Did you know that the reason animal's eyes shine in the dark is something called the Tapetum lucidum, more commonly called eyeshine? I just learned that myself as I researched to be sure I had the right color for the possum's eyes.)

Another thing about possums: you should always take one on a hiking trip with you. If he can catch one out and about at night, just shine a light on him and he'll play possum. You can pick him up and stuff him into a backpack and he'll travel comfortably all day.

Why would you want to take a possum hiking? Well, if you get lost, all you have to do is take the backpack off your back, open it, and wait. Sooner or later the possum will come ambling out and will make a beeline for the nearest road.

Ouch.

Then there is the story of the best coon and possum dog anyone ever heard of. It was a hound that just had to be shown a skinning board, and that dog bring in a possum or raccoon with a hide exactly the right size to fit the board. But one day the dog didn't come home. After three days its owner went looking for his favorite dog. He found him way back up on a ridge looking just worn out and pitiful. He had to carry the dog home, that's how bad he was. But when he got to the house, he found out the cause of the trouble. Seems his wife had been doing laundry and had left the ironing board leaning against the house. The dog was looking for a coon or possum big enough to fit the ironing board. Poor thing. We grow 'em big in West Virginia, but not that big.

picture by Bob Gress

Other possum stories you might like:

A Brer Possum tale about how he gets in trouble with a snake, told by one of America's finest storytellers, Jackie Torrence. She is gone but her stories and legend live on.

Brer Possum gets in trouble again, this time with Brer Rabbit, in Mr. Rabbit Nibbles Up the Butter.

Why the Possum's Tale is Bare was one of the first stories I learned as a storyteller, and it's still fun to tell.

De New Han' An old tale collected in the South in 1871 is told in dialect.

Ever wondered Why the Possum Has a Pouch? Find out in this story. Or Why Possum Has a Large Mouth? Click and learn!

You can find a flannelboard story about a coyote and a possum in Spanish at this site.

Lots of possum lore in this article that someone has kindly scanned into the computer and shared with all of us. Don't you love people like that?

Urban possums? Not an urban legend, apparently.

If you prefer your possum on the dinner table, you can find out how to cook it at Chow.com .

(I kid you not.) And you can read about one family's possum meal at Truth and Progress. A true story and they lived to tell the tale.

I think I'm about possumed out. Got any possum tales of your own to share?

Grafton National Cemetery

I knew there was a national cemetery at Grafton, but I had never seen it. No wonder--it is hidden away in a part of town called Fetterman, which used to be a separate community. It is on the opposite side of the Tygart River from downtown Grafton, and feels like a different place. And the cemetery early on Sunday morning had a somber feeling all of its own.

My friend MK Stover told me how to find the cemetery after the storytelling session Saturday night. I had mentioned T. Bailey Brown during the program--Brown is believed to have been the first Union soldier killed in the Civil War. He died on May 22, 1861, in Fetterman. I read about him in a small WV guidebook that has all the test of the historical markers in the state (a very handy thing to keep in the glovebox!).

I was surprised to find that MK knew so much about this soldier. She has, I learned, done a great deal of research on the topic (see her article about him here) and she got me interested in seeing the gravesite of Bailey Brown. For example, she told me that the mother of the founder of Mother's Day said the eulogy for Mr. Brown because no one else would do it--no one wanted to appear to be choosing sides, you see. I am hoping MK will write an article for Goldenseal magazine; I'm sure many people would be interested in learning about little-known bit of history.

So we found our way to the cemetery. Soldiers from the Civil War,, Spanish American War, World War I, World War II, and Korea are buried here. We did not see any graves of Vietnam veterans, but there may be some.

Pictures describe better than words what we found in this place of rest for those who saw so much unrest.

Bailey Brown's resting place.






Rest in peace, soldiers.