Kenneth's House

This is the view that took my breath away the first time I came to Jackson County, West Virginia, in 1973. We stopped in the road (the same place from which I took this shot) and ate peanut butter sandwiches and listened to the silence. The only differences between then and now are that Kenneth Parrish has passed on, the vehicle in front is a car (his widow's) instead of his old green Chevy pickup, and the road is marginally better (but still dirt, and still rough as a cob).

Today you can still stop in the road, eat a sandwich and enjoy the silence without worrying too much about another car coming. There have been some changes here, but it's slow and manageable.

I miss Kenneth's radical liberalism, pointed jokes and staunch independence. He never worked a day anywhere but on his farm, and didn't marry until he was 70, when his mother died. He kept his farm cleared with a scythe, reluctantly taking up a gas weedeater when he was about 75. On a day when I thought it was too hot to work, I could be sure to find Kenneth out cutting weeds, bandana under his hat and a smile on his face.

His breed is dying out, and it's our loss. I will continue to remember him each evening as I bounce up the rough hill that bears his name, and crane my neck for a view of his place from the top. That was one good man.