The UBB Memorial and More

It was, as Larry had warned, a good step out of our way to visit the memorial to the miners killed in the explosion at the Upper Big Branch mine. We followed the Big Coal River as it snaked its way through one mining community after another.

Most of the mines in the area appear to be shut down although there were a couple that looked like they were still in operation.

Empty houses lined the road in some places; in others, neatly kept homes with mowed lawns.

A damaged swinging bridge led across the river to what looked like a whole community of empty houses.

Whitesville has definitely seen better days.

Most of the storefronts were empty, and on this Saturday night the streets were almost deserted.

Larry remembered when tractor trailer trucks lined the main street and the sidewalks were crowded with people; today the lone stoplight seems like a leftover from those better days.

But the memorial is a work of art, well-kept and striking in its position by the side of the road. Another car pulled away as we arrived and I was glad to know we weren't the only visitors on this rainy evening.

More than just a listing of names and dates, the memorial includes a history of coal mining in West Virginia as well as a detailed account of how the explosion happened. For someone like me, both are valuable tools to understanding the tragedy and the reasons for it. Sadly, it was neglect, ordered by the mine operators, of standard safety procedures that caused this accident. While culpability was charged and some went to jail, even justice cannot bring back the men lost. One of them, I remembered, is buried in Larry's family cemetery. As far as we know he is no relation to Larry but must have some connection to someone in the Holstein family.

We left, both of us quiet as we thought about the miners, their families, the memorial.

The road twisted and turned and then opened up to several long straight stretches. This is the area known as Twin Poplars, named for two huge poplar trees that once stood at either end of the straight stretches of road. I remembered when, about 10 years ago, I told ghost stories at the middle school in Whitesville. the principal told a story about Twin Poplars. As I remember it, he said that the area was popular for drag racing back in the 1950's. One night two boys faced off in the game called "Chicken," where the drivers head straight for each other until one "chickens out" and veers away, avoiding a collision. (Flashback to James Dean.) This time, neither one veered off in time, and both were killed. The principal said that if you are on the road late at night on the anniversary of the accident, you may see a car coming right at you at full speed, but it will disappear just as you are sure you're going to die. I have never found any other version of his chilling tale.

Twin Poplars, WV

Southern West Virginia is struggling, and yet there is such heart there, and such welcoming courtesy. This last was exemplified by the man I asked for directions to the memorial. "Yes ma'am," he said, "you're goin' the right way. Just keep goin' til you get to Whitesville. You can't miss it." He touched the bill of his cap, and pulled away in his 1980's primer-painted Ford pickup.

Manners. Even hard times can't erase them.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Those Who Wander

...often find interesting people and places.

We took a wander on Saturday after delivering that pedal car and a set of glassware to their new owners. It was a chilly, damp day, but perfect for a drive through the countryside. We chose to travel north on Route 14 to the little town of Elizabeth, WV. It has been some years since we've been there and I remembered a thrift shop, a little restaurant with great pies and a pretty small town on the banks of the Little Kanawha River.

 The drive along 14 is always beautiful, in any season. This is rural, farming country. Few industries or job opportunities here but for those who want to farm, the wide river bottoms offer ample space--but farmland here is seldom for sale. I think Wirt Countians are happy to stay where they are, surrounded by hills and water and far from cities and noise.

Elizabeth, we found, has changed a good bit since our last visit. The biggest change is that the downtown area had a major fire so the quaint old buildings I remembered were gone, razed to the ground. This was one place that was for sale, this bare site in the middle of town.

The thrift shop I'd wanted to visit had been in the old building so it was gone too. The two diners I remembered were closed, and instead of pie I had to satisfy myself with pizza. Not a great substitute.

The town still offers plenty to see. Like the old hotel on the banks of the river,

and the museum (also closed when we were there) next door.

The hotel seems to be in the process of renovation, and I hope that one day it will be open for visitors.

Beautiful old homes line the streets; the house that held the funeral home once owned by the family of a friend is also for sale, as the company that bought them out ended up closing down the business.

On our way back down Route 14 we stopped to take photos of an old building that I was once told was a dance hall, built by a local wealthy oil-and-gas man for his daughters.

The house, apparently, was across the road from the dance hall, but all that is left is the steps and a man made of old exhaust pipes and mufflers to guard the entrance.

The small community of Palestine seems to be slowly dying out. I remember an elderly man, the one who told me about the dance hall, who had a junk shop and auto repair business here, but now it is all closed.

Not far away was a small old home with its swinging bridge across the creek still in good repair.

As we left Palestine we passed what must have been the general store, but long since closed. It is sad to see these places dwindling away when once they were thriving and full of busy people. Times change. I suppose, and people follow the two-lanes out to bigger and better roads and places, but I have to wonder if they left the best behind.

More of our trip in my next post.



Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Bridge Over Country Waters

I can't help it. I have to stop to take pictures of swinging bridges.

They speak to me of days long past when people didn't mind walking, when they took the time to build the bridges right, so that many, many years later someone like me would stop to take photos of them.

That's not the real reason, of course. They built them strong because they knew that their work would last not just for the time being, but for years and generations to come.

This bridge was located very near the Burning Springs Museum in Wirt County. I spied it through the trees, and commanded, "Stop! Let me out." My husband seldom questions that command--he knows I've seen something and need to take a photo. He pulled off the road, turned the car around, let me out, and then went up the road to turn around again. What a guy.

I walked down a steep gravel drive to the bridge. A sign hung on it: No Trespassing.

Oops.

Of course this was someone's land, and the bridge crossed over the Little Kanawha River to their home on the other bank. I quickly snapped a few pictures and walked back up to the road, but I had to keep turning to look at that bridge. Except for the one over the Coal River in my husband's growing up place, this one is the longest such bridge I've seen, I believe.

I think this bridge was built by oilfield men, especially since it's so close to the site of the state's longest producing oil well. Sturdy pipes and cables support it, and thick planks line the walkway. It took strong shoulders to put this one together. I wonder if there was once a little settlement on the other side. It seems likely, given the expense put into the bridge's construction.

These bridges were built for foot traffic, not vehicles. As you walk across the bridge springs under your feet with a swaying motion that would have to be uncomfortable for a man with a little too much beer in him. But that swinging is gentle, a rocking motion that moves up and down instead of side to side. You learn to walk with the roll, and it is almost a dance.

Swinging Bridge over the Coal River

On our return trip from storytelling at Twin Falls State Park in southern West Virginia, we decided to take the long way home and visit the area where my husband grew up.

He was so happy to see that the long swinging footbridge over the Coal River near Emmons was still in place and in excellent repair.

Larry remembers walking across the bridge many times to play baseball, go visiting, or to go swimming in the cool shade along the river. The bridge is very well constructed, with steel cables holding it together. I liked the way this big steel o-ring looked.

And after walking across, looking down into the shady river below, it was time to head on up the road. I think the old bridge will be in place long after we're gone, barring a bad flood or some other accident.