A Family Ghost Story

I am listening to the wind moan at my windows tonight and the clouds shuffle like sheep in a stampede across a leaden plain. In the graveyard on the hill, leaves rattle against tombstones, dry reminders of what once was fresh and green. It’s a perfect night for a ghost story, so I will tell you one.



My mother and father were married in Cambridge, England, on January 11, 1945. The war was still raging, the Battle of Britain was still being fought and air raid warnings were a commonplace occurrence. They were in love and even though their parents on both sides of the Atlantic expressed misgivings they were determined to wed. Their wedding day was cold and snowy and their witnesses could not get to the church so a couple of strangers passing by were pressed into service.



Housing was at a premium in England in those times. Although they searched hard, they found only one possible place to rent--a third-floor walkup to a one-room rental in a house where several other servicemen and their wives were living, in a little village called Royston.

Mom at the Royston flat

Mom told me a little about the time that she and Dad lived in the Royston house. At first it was a fun place to be--there were other wives there to gossip with and when the husbands were home it was quite a party place. Gradually, however, she began to notice that not everything was as nice as she had thought.

For one thing, some of the young women who lived in the house were bringing in other men when their husbands were away. Some of the women had children and Mom would be asked to babysit for them. She sometimes did so, but soon she found that she too was expecting, and didn't feel well enough to watch other children--and she didn't approve of the activities of the more "social" wives.


It was after she learned she was pregnant that she began to notice some odd things. Like the feeling of someone watching her, or a rocker moving when no one was seated in it. She heard footsteps moving in the hall outside her door, but if she looked out no one was there. The feeling of something sinister grew stronger and stronger, although there was nothing she could identify as the source of the feeling--it was as though the room itself harbored a malevolence that could be felt in the very air in the room.


One day while she was alone she pulled one of her dresses from the closet and saw that it had been cut, ruined. Another day, she told me, a knife whizzed across the room, inches from her face. It stuck in the window frame, but when she walked over to look at it, the knife was gone. The footsteps in the hall continued, and finally she and Dad decided to see who it was.

Dad at the Royston flat

They had a plan. Dad would crouch by the door, ready to pull it open when the footsteps passed on the landing outside their door. Mom would turn on the light at the same time and they would be able to see who was going up to the supposedly unoccupied attic.


They waited. The clock moved slowly towards midnight. Then they heard the unmistakable creak of the stairs. Someone was coming up, very slowly. They waited, barely breathing. The footsteps came closer and closer, and finally they were on the landing outside the door.



"Now!" Dad shouted as he jerked open the door. Mom switched on the light and they stared out at the landing.


There was nothing there. Nothing. But the footsteps continued up the stairs to the attic.



Mom miscarried soon afterwards. She blamed the miscarriage on the terror she felt living in that house. They moved out within a few weeks of the miscarriage.



My parents were very commonsense, down-to-earth people with little patience for ghost stories. But they were adamant about the details of their own experience, and when they spoke of it, it was always with a sense of puzzlement and dread.

Jordan's Wedding: a few photos

Finally! Here are a few photos from my granddaughter's wedding last Saturday. I have more to share when I get a few minutes. Jordan was a lovely bride, and the wedding was fun--simple and comfortable, but beautiful too--the best kind.

Groom, bride and proud Daddy (my son Jon). Jordan wore my mother's treasured blue necklace, which was the first piece of "good" jewelry my father bought her when she came from England to America. I remember when he bought it--I believe it was for their 15th anniversary. It wasn't real jewels, but it was quality, as Mom would say, and I have always loved it. Jordan was thrilled to be able to wear it and have a memory of my mother at her wedding.

Jordan and her youngest sister Allison, who was the flower girl.


Katie, the next sister to Jordan and the maid of honor.

Cassie, sister #3, who was a bridesmaid.

Some of my sons and their families at the reception.

The bouquet toss!

My sister Theresa cuts the cake. Being a cake maker herself, she was very comfortable with the role and did a great job.

More to come, maybe next week!

Gone Storytelling!

I'm on the road again, this time to northern and central West Virginia.

Tomorrow I will be at Westwood Middle School (beginning at 8:20am--early!) to tell ghost stories. Middle school kids can be a great audience, so I am looking forward to this day.

Then tomorrow night at 7:30pm I'll be telling ghost stories again, this time at the Grafton 1-2-3 Coffeeshop, which is owned by writer and blogger MK Stover. I have not seen the finished coffee shop, which she and her husband have been renovating for the past year, so I think I'm in for a treat!

We're spending the night tonight and tomorrow night with son Aaron and his family--and with my youngest son Tommy who is still waiting for his flooded apartment to be repaired (it flooded again over the weekend! more about that when I return). Then of Friday I'll be Sutton Elementary for their annual Heritage Festival. I've told stories at this school several times in the past few years and always, always it is a true pleasure to be there.

I've scheduled some new stories, etc to post while I'm gone, so I hope you enjoy reading those. (I may be able to sneak online briefly from Aaron's house, but it's hard to tell.)

I hope you all have a wonderful, spooky Halloween. See you in November! (and don't forget Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit on Saturday morning!)

ABC's of Homemaking

I saw this on Janet's blog and thought I'd give it a try.

Janet said: "I saw this at, Crafty Passions, who saw it at That British Woman ,who saw it at Niki's Rural Writings, who saw it at Pieces from Me, who saw it at Coffee Time At Home.Please feel free to copy and play along on your blog. Just take out my answers and put in your own."

So here goes:

A ~Aprons--y/n If y, what does your favorite look like? Yes indeed. Like Janet, I like vintage ones. I have one of my mother's, and a few others collected here and there. I use them and so do my granddaughters when we're baking.

B ~ Baking--Favorite thing to bake? Just about everything! I used to make a lot of homemade bread, but not now. I love to make pies and cobblers, and of course Christmas cookies.

C ~ Clothes line?No, sadly; but I plan to have one again within the year. I miss it.

D ~ Donuts--Have you ever made them? Yes, but not any more--too many empty calories.

E ~ Everyday--One homemaking thing you do everyday? Pick up and put away! There is always something that needs to be put back in its place. Cleaning countertops, that's another. I can't stand it when the counters are dirty.

F ~ Freezer--Do you have a separate deep freeze? Yes, a really big one that is completely full with our veggies, fruits, turkeys and pork. I feel good when I see it, knowing winter is coming on.

G ~ Garbage Disposer? Do my chickens and dogs count? Except when we have pigs, these are the only garbage disposals I have.

H ~ Handbook--What is your favorite homemaking resource?My cookbooks. I have many and use them all.

I ~ Ironing--Love it or Hate it? Or hate it but love the results? I don't mind doing it, but time is a problem. My mother loved to iron, even my dad's t-shirts!

J ~ Junk Drawer--y/n? Where is it? Wow--you mean someone doesn't have one? I have one in the kitchen, and one in the living room by the front door. And several other junky drawers that could qualify.

K ~ Kitchen--color and decorating scheme. Walls are pale sage green and golden yellow; decorating has a lot of red mixed in; early 30's vintage would be the theme, if I had to specify. It's pretty eclectic.

L ~ Love--what is your favorite part of homemaking? Seeing it all tidy after I've straightened up. I like making the bed too--my day always seems to be more organized when I get up and make the bed right away. I can't stand for it to be unmade all day.

M ~ Mop--y/n? Yes, two--one for the porch and one for the house. Also a dust mop that gets used daily.

N ~ Nylons, machine or hand wash? In the machine! I wear them almost every day to work. No fancy treatment for them.

O ~ Oven--do you use the window or open the oven to check? I open the door, of course. How else can I get my glasses to steam up? and smell the good things cooking?

P ~ Pizza--What do you put on yours? We don't eat it very often, but when we do either the supreme or the Hawaiian is my favorite. I'll settle for mushrooms and pepperoni, though.

Q ~ Quiet--What do you do during the day when you get a quiet moment? Go out in my garden and look around, pet my dogs, or write. I get very few of these, it seems.

R ~ Recipe Card Box--y/n? What does it look like?I made one from a Breyer's ice cream carton covered with contact paper about 20 years ago. It's big and messy.

S ~ Style of house--What style is your house? I guess you could call it cabin style--rustic, with an old log addition, rough wood siding, a big porch and deck, fireplace, etc. Homey but definitely not fancy.

T ~Tablecloths or Place mats? Both. Sometimes I use only placemats, other times I use both the cloth and the mats. Like Janet, I have several vintage tablecloths that I use from time to time, and one very old crocheted one that stays on the big table in the log room. It comes off if we're using the table for food.

U ~ Under the kitchen sink--organized or toxic wasteland? Organized as well as it can be.

V ~ Vacuum--How many times per week? Never. I don't own one, except for the little handheld type. We sweep, dustmop, wet-mop and wax our wood and slate floors. Much easier to upkeep.

W ~ Wash--How many loads of laundry do you do per week? About 5 loads a week, I think. With only my husband and myself, there's not so much laundry as there used to be. But when all the family is home, boy oh boy--then it's probably 10 or more loads when they leave and I catch up on sheets, blankets and towels.

X's--Do you keep a daily list of things to do that you cross off? Yes, at work and at home. I have to in order to remember everything.

Y ~ Yard--y/n? Yes, a big one, country style. Who does what? My husband mows and weed-eats. I take care of flowers, herbs, shrubs and some of the vegetable gardens. He takes care of the bigger vegetable patches.

ZZZ's ~ what is your last homemaking task for the day before going to bed? Turn off the lights, check the woodstove to be sure it's loaded (or turn off the AC in summer), and get my clothes ready for the next day.

I hope to read your ABC's on your blog! Let me know if you decide to play.

Bony Fingers

Melissa at the library made the most delicious treat for the program last night--Bony Fingers! Sounds terrible, tastes wonderful.

Here's how to make them for your ghoulish group:

Melt white chocolate. Dip large stick pretzels into the chocolate. Press a sliced almond or pumpkin seed onto the top of one side of the pretzel to be the fingernail. Let dry on waxed paper.

There you are--Bony Fingers! So simple, and absolutely delicious. I wish I had a photo, but I sort of...ate mine.

Here's an old favorite story to go with the recipe:

A boy was walking home from the store just as it was getting dark when he head something behind him. He turned around quickly and was scared out of his wits to see a horrible, bony creature following him. When the creature saw him staring, it said:

"Do you know what I can do with my long bony fingers and red, red lips?"

"No!" the boy shouted. He turned and ran as fast as he could, but he had to cross the street and there was a lot of traffic. As he waited for the traffic to pass, the creature caught up to him.

"Do you know what I can do with my long bony fingers and red, red lips?"

"Go away!" the boy screamed. He darted between cars, almost causing a crash, but at least he got away from the creature which was stranded on the other side of the road. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowed down. Just as he passed a shadowy doorway, something jumped out right in front of him! It was the creature, who looked at him with big staring eyes and said:

"Do you know what I can do with my long bony fingers and red, red lips?"

"AAAAGGGHHH!" The boy yelled as loud as he could and took off running again. But he tripped over a tree root and the creature caught up again. It stood right over top of him, pinning him to the ground with its bony legs and feet.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT I CAN DO WITH MY LONG BONY FINGERS AND RED, RED LIPS!" the creature screamed at him.

The boy laid on the ground, blubbering. "I give up! What can you do with your long bony fingers and red, red lips?"

"THIS!"

(and do a raspberry by moving your finger up and down over your lips to make a blib-blib-blib sound).

Jump Tales for Halloween

I mentioned "jump tales" in my last post, with a quick explanation of what the term means. Most of us have been the target of such a story--the kind that end with a boo, a scream, or a "gotcha!"

There are several traditional folktale jump stories that are excellent for telling at this time or year, or around a campfire in any season.

Here are some of the ones I like best. There are many variations to these stories, so what you find online may not be the same story you remember, and may not be exactly like my synopsis below or the way I tell the story, but you can find more versions at your library or bookstore:

Tailypo: an old man who lives alone in a cabin in the woods with his three dogs cuts off the tail of an unusual creature. The creature returns again and again for its tail, and with each appearance another dog disappears, until finally it is just the old man and the creature. Who wins? (For book titles and other information, visit the Applit site . To read a version by my friend and fellow storyteller Marilyn Kinsella, go here.)

Big Hairy Toe: someone digs up a big hairy toe in their garden. They take it home, and...you guessed it...the owner of the toe follows them home, moaning, "who's got my great big hairy toe?" Does the creature regain its toe? (find out in this online version of the story.)

Coming to Get Your Liver: little Johnny is scared to go to bed alone. Then he hears a very spooky voice saying, "Johnny, I'm on the first step, coming to get your liver!" Johnny hides under covers, etc (you can stretch these tales out as far as you have the imagination to do!) until finally the voice is...right...outside...his...door... Then it's in the room and... (read a version online that was collected by another storytelling friend, Tim Jennings.)

Golden Arm: a man or woman loses an arm and replaces it with a gold prosthetic limb. When the person dies, the arm is buried with them. Somebody digs up the grave and steals the golden arm. And of course, the thief is hounded by a voice that keeps repeating "who's got my golden arm?" (sound familiar?). You know the rest. (read Joseph Jacobs' classic version here.)

For more good Halloween stories to tell, visit Bare Bones for Storytellers: Halloween Stories. This is part of Jackie Baldwin's Story-Lovers site; it's a compilation of stories submitted by storytellers all over the world.

Okay, that's my list. tell us your favorite jump tale in a comment. We'd all love to read it--and jump!

(For free Halloween clip art, visit the hershey's chocolate website. They've got some great art for free: http://www.hersheys.com/trickortreats/downloads/clipart.asp#inner1 ).

Ghost Stories

Tonight I did something unusual for me (and likely for most tellers): I told stories in two different places within an hour.

First was the library. I promised to tell stories for a scary stories night, but I was also booked at an Elderhostel at the local state park. My husband was a godsend--he set up my display at the state park lodge while I told stories at the library. I told for 30 minutes at the library, drove to the park, and told stories there for an hour or so. It worked like clockwork, but I could not have done it without Larry's help.

What stories did I tell? At the library the audience was mostly children about 7-10 years old. I did the song Skin and Bones, then a jump tale. Jump tales are those stories that end with a loud BOO! or a scream that makes the audience...jump. Then I told a couple of ghost stories from Jackson County: one from Big Run called Sidna's Story that is a staple of mine, and a new one that I posted here about the Headless Dog of Tug Fork. I also told them one of West Virginia's classic ghost stories, The Wizard Clipp.

One boy asked me to tell The Golden Arm. I don't tell that story although I do know it; but I asked him to tell it instead. The librarian had set up a fake campfire and the boy sat by it and told his modern version of this old story so well that everyone jumped at the end. It was marvelous, and makes me want to start a storytelling club at the library.

At the Elderhostel, the audience was senior citizens who were taking craft classes like tole painting and stained glass. None were from West Virginia, so we started with a geography lesson so they could understand the geographic references in the stories (holler, ridge, head of the holler, run, lick). Then it was ballads, ghost stories, Wicked Jack (one of my favorites to tell, but so few opportunities to tell it!), my turpentine tall tales, a bit about coal mining and my display items related to that topic, and then The Headless Woman of Briar Creek, my signature story. Mixed in with the stories was information about ballads, folklore, and background on the stories told.

What a night. After the weekend wedding and all-weekend-long party, tonight looked like it might be a tough one. Instead I came home so pumped up I can't even think about going to bed!

After the Wedding: Home by the Fire

What a weekend! Lots of family, food, fun and memories. I will have photos from the wedding later this week--for now, here's a little taste of today:

Imagine 2 pounds of bacon, 3 pounds of sausage, several pounds of ham, probably 60 pancakes or more, two bottles of syrup plus some homemade blackberry syrup, and 6 pots of coffee and you get an idea what breakfast was like.

After breakfast, someone started the firepit and we gravitated outside.




Cousins horsed around

and went on a tractor ride

while their dads/uncles tested out the potato gun.

Friends came later with leftovers from the Octoberfest party Friday night and that made lunch. (Even in the pouring rain, the Octoberfest party was a blast. We got soaked but who cared? We had a bonfire, plenty of good food, and lots of people to have fun with)

This afternoon we ate, talked, gathered eggs, cooked, played with the dogs and had a good day just hanging out at home. I was sad to see everyone leave, but tomorrow it's back to work and the usual daily routine.

It is amazing to see my kitchen looking like this tonight, after breakfast for 21 people, lunch for 22, and supper for 13, plus a late night gathering last night of ten.

A Few More Fall Photos Before the Colors Are Gone

I took these two weeks ago, before frost. It was a gorgeous day for a drive, and I decided to try the road to Twin Rocks, which is about 2 miles or so from my house. Here a stand of poplar trees blazed yellow on the hillside.



A lone oak stands sentinel in a pasture.

The road started to look a little rough. No one lives on this part of the ridge now; four-wheelers and horses are the usual traffic. The weather has been so dry I figured I might make it through to the Twin Rocks.

At this point, I decided my new little SUV had gone far enough. Time to turn around and go back.

One of the many views on the way back to the good road. I was glad I got one more chance to get out the road before winter.

Is It Bad Luck or Just Bizarre?

Say you're a young college guy and you live on the second floor of an apartment building.

You're laying on your bed watching a movie on your laptop.

You decide to get up for a glass of water.

Your feet hit the floor and sink into 2 inches of water.

You slog through your apartment, open the door to the stairwell and see water flowing down the stairs.

In your room stuff is floating around and the water keeps coming.

There is a knock on your door.

Two pretty girls are standing there; their apartment is flooded too, but they invite you upstairs.

You go up to their apartment, which isn't quite as wet. The power goes off.

There is a knock on the door. It's the fire department, telling you to leave (fire department? There's no fire, just a LOT of water).

You leave. Where do you go? All your stuff is in your apartment. Which you are not allowed to enter by very officious firefighters. (Who might be trying to keep you from being electrocuted).

You head for home. You call your Mom on your cell phone to tell her about the situation. While you are talking...blue lights in your rear view mirror? How fast were you going? Do you even know?

Mom (that's me) sits at home waiting to hear what the Blue Lights say. Dad pumps up the air mattress and decides that he'll pay for the ticket, if there is one, because you've had enough already.

So, you tell me--bad luck, or just plain bizarre?

Wedding Bells Are Coming

Our granddaughter Jordan is getting married on Saturday. Where did the years go? From the little baby to the fourteen-year-old with a voice like Loretta Lynn to the college student--and now to marriage.



Family will be gathering this weekend to welcome Ethan into the family, and to celebrate another milestone for our oldest grandaughter/niece/great-niece. I hope to have many good pictures to share with you after the wedding. It has been quite some time since we've had a wedding on this side of the family.



Another page of life turns.

Random Shots: Around the House

Welcome Window

Welcome Witch

Chicken House Welcome

Teepee Rock

That's what I call it. Apparently the rocks slid down the mountain and landed in the river (George, is this the South Fork of the Potomac?) to form this unusual shape.

I look for the rocks whenever I visit my oldest son because the formation is right beside the highway. Saturday I saw the rocks in a new way--the sun was coming through an opening in the top of the rocks and illuminating them inside. The light reflected from the rocks and was dancing on the water and on the rock walls. It was so beautiful.

I tried to capture the light in a photo but some things just can't be put into a still picture--like rippling, glinting water and rock.

Recent Blog Posts You Need to Read

Sharing some great writing by my blog friends:

Robbyn at Homesteading the Back Forty listed so many ways to use citrus rinds I was astounded! Who would have thought you could do all that with something you'd throw away?

(Something I like to do with oranges is to slice them, dry the slices, then hang on a piece of jute string in the window as a suncatcher. You can add other things to the string like a bunch of dried lavender, cinnamon sticks, etc and drape from one side of the window to the other like a swag. It's very pretty.)

Matthew at AppalachianLifestyles blog had a fun riddle contest recently. Stop by and see how well you do with his riddles, and be sure to read the post about the Haunted Halloween--it's a true-to-life description of old-time Halloween fun in the backcountry of West Virginia.

At From My Homestead, you will be amazed, as I am, at the frugalness and simplicity of the way of life described. These are not pioneer people, these are people who live simply and within their limited means, and in the process have developed a peaceful relationship with their home and world. Sallie's post on selecting cast iron cookware is beautiful-as is her blog.

My storytelling friend Ellouise recently lost her mother. Following her journey through her mother's last days was heartbreaking and heart-filling at the same time. Any of us who has lost a parent will understand the words in this post. Having others who can share their thoughts--and grieving--with us helps us understand the true depth of love that we all share for those we love.

Two New Poems for the Season

In Cold Blood

Frost killed the rose
as quickly as a knife—
the murderer struck at night,
her crime discovered by morning light.

(First hard frost this morning)
S. Holstein 10.20.2008



Departed

Shadow hand on shaded form,
A whisper of a silenced voice,
Moonlight brings you near to me.

Your shape is clouded and unseen,
Still I know your scent, your step.
You hover close. I feel your breath,

Clammy cold it cools my face,
Earth-damp lips they kiss my cheek.
Bones scoured clean of healthy flesh

wear the dress funereal,
slip from my grasp and back to rest,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

S. Holstein 10.20.2008

Farm Financials

Hedge Fund

Frozen Assets

Stock Market

Nest Egg

Haley's Day with the Old Folks

She started the day learning to make fried eggs with her Poppa Larry while I stayed in bed a little longer (hey, I was tired from all that traveling!). They cooked a good country breakfast of homegrown eggs and sausage, toast with elderberry jelly, Earl Grey tea and coffee.

Then Haley and Larry went outside to get in wood while I unpacked, did laundry and cleaned house. They hauled in two loads before stopping for lunch.

Who is that girl in the tree, and how did she get up there?

After lunch we found baskets and buckets and headed for the black walnut trees to gather in some of the bounty these trees have produced this year. Haley wasn't contented with getting the nuts that had already fallen; she had to get up in the tree to shake it. Mind now that it was over 12 feet to the lowest branches! She used her Poppa Larry shoulders as a boost and then shimmied the rest of the way up to the first branch. I don't think I've ever been able to do that in my entire life.

Hickory nuts were next. Haley was fascinated with them; she got two rocks and cracked a few to see how they tasted. I have to say she was no help gathering the nuts--she spent the whole time cracking and eating them!

Haley drives Larry's truck over the wlanuts to de-hull them. What 13-year-old girl would not want to drive this hunk of truck?

When we finished that chore, Larry started making pear-and-apple cider. Haley decided to see what black walnuts tasted like, so using a few of the nuts I gathered last week, a hammer and a pair of pliers, she cracked some. She was amazed at how delicious fresh nuts are. They're not easy to get at, being tough to crack, hulls to deal with, etc, but the flavor is astonishing.

Haley and Larry took turns with the cranks to make cider and ended up with about 4 more gallons. Three will go in the freezer, and one we'll let go "hard." (We experimented with a gallon recently, and I will tell you it is good! A little kick, but not much. We left the lid loose on a gallon jug and left it out at room temperature for 3 days. Then it went into the fridge with the lid still loose for anothr couple weeks. Today it was perfect--fizzy, a bit of a bite, and a bit of a buzz--very like the Hornsby's hard cider you can buy at some stores.)

While they made cider, I made homemade Italian wedding soup and blackberry-peach cobbler for dinner. A loaf of crusty bread, some fresh cider and we had a wonderful supper. Then we lit the fireplace in the log room and for the first time this year, the big Fisher stove in the living room and settled down to read and relax.

I was sorry to see Haley go home, but she and Poppa Larry have plans for a squirrel hunt sometime this week.

Sounds like another good time is ahead.

Friday Travels

On the road before daylight to travel to the next performance, a small elementary school located in a beautiful spot on WV Route 29. No storytelling photos of this trip because the classes were rolled through so quickly I barely had time to get things ready for the next group. But what great kids, and good staff too. The morning went smoothly, then it was a quick lunch and off to the next school, a larger elementary only a few miles away.

The view along the road between the two schools.

Again, performances went smoothly for the three groups of 120+ children.
Raccoon was his usual saucy self, and Genevieve the witch learned the meaning of plagiarism as she tried to lay claim to a poem she most certainly did not write.

Puppets are so much fun to work with because they can say things that are surprising even to me, the one who is giving them life! I don't use a stage--the puppets I use are storytelling partners. I'm not a ventriloquist by any means; the children are quite aware that I'm the one talking, and it makes not one bit of difference to their enjoyment of the puppet and the story.

Homeward bound (or at least to my temporary home for the trip) after nine performances in 7 hours. This abandoned store is on the road that leads to my oldest son's house. The trees were at peak in his area, I am sure, because I could not stop catching my breath at their beauty.

Surprisingly, I still had a voice! Will wonders never cease.

Road trip: Boone County and Traveling North

Wharton Elementary, deep in the heart of Boone County, West Virginia and coal country.

It was Harvest Day, and the children dressed up to represent the various cultures and heritage of our area. Some had creative ideas about who lived in these hills.

This conveyor to a coal tipple was a typical sight on this trip. There were several big mines--some deep, some strip mines--along Rte 85.

Rain hit as I traveled north on I-79. One thing I saw that almost made me wreck my car--a big bobcat making its slinky way across a small patch of grass along the road and into the woods. As long as I have lived here, I have only heard, but never seen one of these cats. Their scream is terrifying, but I did not expect the cat to be so big. Usually nocturnal, the one I saw was out in mid-afternoon--perhaps his resting place had been disturbed by the rain? Of course, there was no way to take a photo because it was raining, I was going fairly fast and a semi was passing me. Darn.

The fog was beautiful but dangerous, so dense it was difficult in places to see the road ahead. But as I crossed the Eastern Continental Divide in Pendleton County, the rain vanished and the roads were clear for the rest of the four-hour drive.

Living Country

When we moved from northern Virginia to the mountains of West Virginia in 1974, people (especially my parents) thought we were nuts. Didn't we know that the state was steeped in poverty, the people were ignorant and there were no jobs?

No, we didn't know any of that. All we knew was John Denver's song. An accidental trip over the mountains was all it took for me to fall in love. I vowed I would live here one day. It took three years to accomplish the move, but finally I was able to turn my back on the speeding, chaotic world that Manassas had become.

We learned the hard way. There were few jobs, and we weren't really trained for any of them. The people, contrary to the opinion of the folks in Virginia, were not ignorant at all--they were pretty damned savvy and we were caught green-handed many a time. Poverty, we found, is a relative term. People had less but they were happier, more satisfied and less stressed. All the kids wore the same clothes to school, and all of them had muddy shoes, no matter how much money their parents made.

What we found was a place where everyone supports the elementary school festivals, there is time to stop and talk to your neighbor along the road, and food is abundant if you're willing to do the work required. Hard work is admired, big talking is not. Family and church come first. Home is a close second.

Drought and the uncertainty of farm income sent me to work full-time and gradually we moved away from farming, although we stayed on the farm I have owned since 1976. Life got easier, but crazier as we juggled child care for a new baby, jobs, school, and other responsibilities. It seemed like it got crazier as the years passed, not better; although there was more money, there were more expenses too.

In the past few years, we've been making our way back to the way of life I loved so well. It feels very good, and as the economy crashes around us, we can look to the full cellar, freezer and woodshed with a sense of security. It's not everything a person needs, but it covers a lot of the basics for survival.

When we visited my parents in northern Virginia, I was always struck with a sense of make-believe--the too-big houses, fancy cars, incredible number of stores selling high-dollar wares, and everywhere a sense of people spending like crazy for...what? The place was crowded, full of traffic, roads lined with trash and billboards for new housing developments that promised "luxury living" and "restricted community" (ugh--what does that mean? I hate to think). A trip to buy groceries could mean taking life in hand to dodge traffic and angry drivers. Mothers in stores talked in loud voices about their child's various activities, the sale at a specialty store, and their latest golf outing, as if they needed to let the world know that somehow these things made them better than the rest of us. Or perhaps that was my perception because I felt alien to the things their life.

I was always glad to return home, where the road is bumpy, there is high interest in what a neighbor is building in his barnyard, and wood smoke perfumes the air. It's not fancy here, but it's real, and we are always surrounded by beauty. Those who thought I was nuts for moving here probably still think so. But I'll take my nuts country style; it's the flavor I like best.

Home Again: Mountain Journeys

I am home again after a 700-mile, three day journey to tell stories at three schools and one library--and to visit my oldest son and his family.

Driving home today was like beauty on speed. The trees with their changing leaves are stunning, and I stopped often just to stare at the mountains in awe--there are no words that I know to describe the beauty of autumn in the Allegheny mountains and foothills.

The other thing that struck once again with full force was the simplicity and yet the common-ness of life in the mountains. Here was a woman picking up hickory nuts on the side of the road, wearing old work clothes and her gray hair in braids; there a man and his son walking along a trout stream, the man bent over and talking to his boy as he explained something about the fishing pole the boy carried; a man filling jugs at a roadside spring, carefully filtering the water through a homemade sieve; two little girls holding hands and singing as they sat on a swing; a man on his porch stroking a big orange cat in his lap; smoke curling from chimneys of small, modest houses that were buttressed by huge woodpiles of split firewood; apples hanging heavy on trees even this late in the fall; barns full of hay and a cow nuzzling a young calf that lay on the ground...

So many vignettes like these scattered along my path like pearls that glowed with the truth of what it is to live in the hills--hard work, family, simple needs met by simple means. What an important reminder in these times that life can indeed be as basic as this: food, shelter, heat, water. What more do we really need, except art?

And the art is there, in simple, simply living.

Happy Birthday, Miss Shakin'!

That would be Michaela, our youngest grandchild and daughter of Aaron and Jaime. Shakin' is short for shake-n-bake, and I have no idea how she got that nickname.

Michaela will be six--my have those years flown by!

The Old Ghost

by Thomas Lovell Beddoes (June 30, 1803 – January 26, 1849)

Over the water an old ghost strode

To a churchyard on the shore,

And over him the waters had flowed

A thousand years or more,

And pale and wan and weary

Looked never a sprite as he;

For it's lonely and it's dreary

The ghost of a body to be

That has mouldered away in the sea.

Over the billows the old ghost stepped,

And the winds in mockery sung;

For the bodiless ghost would fain have wept

Over the maiden that lay so young

'Mong the thistles and toadstools so hoary.

And he begged of the waves a tear,

But they shook upwards their moonlight glory,

And the shark looked on with a sneer

At his yearning desire and agony.

Am I Too Short?

Or are all clothes just made too long?

I am so tired of hemming things up--sleeves, pants legs, skirt hems! Almost everything I buy must have a hem.

And if that isn't bad enough, the shoulders are usually positioned wrong too. I have to figure out how to take dresses and blouses up at the shoulders and still maintain the look of the garment. Often this involves the use of a safety pin or two! Because I get lazy or there just isn't time.

Then there's the waist--usually coming at the wrong point on my body. Sometimes taking up the shoulders fixes it, sometimes it can't be done.

Coats are a problem too. Ever tried hemming the sleeves of a heavy coat? Impossible to do and get it to look right. The shoulder issue returns, too. And the waist--because it the coat is too long before the waist, then it doesn't want to button over my butt! What a pain. I end up buying a bigger coat, which doesn't fit right in the shoulders and is too long in the sleeves just so it fastens correctly all the way down. Even jackets have the same issues.

Okay, I know--I could get a smaller butt! But really, there are many, many women in America shaped like me. There are Petite sizes available IF you have the megabucks to be able to afford them in my size. The selection is limited, however, and since I'm a consignment/resale type of shopper, the options are pretty limited. I'm too cheap to pay that much for clothes.

Are there others out there feeling my pain? Sometimes I think the only choice I have is to make my own clothes as I did when I was a teenager.

How do the rest of you cope with this?

Oh, for two more inches of height (instead of width)!

Gone Storytelling

Again. I'm off to Boone County, Grant County and Hampshire County for the next few days, telling stories in schools and at a library--and visiting my oldest son and his family in the bargain. Ain't I a lucky woman?

I've scheduled a few posts ahead of time, so there will always be something new to read here while I'm gone.

I'll be back with stories of my trip, and I hope some great photos too.

See you on Sunday!

Book Review: The Pages in Between

I know people who read every book they can find on the Holocaust. I am not one of them. The topic is so horrific I cannot bring myself to delve into it too deeply.

After my father died, I found photos of a concentration camp after the end of World War II in his desk. I remembered him saying that he had been in Germany and Poland after the war, and had helped clean up a camp, but I did not know he had photos of the place. I took one look at the top photo, and quickly stuffed them back in the envelope. The pictures were too terrible for me to look at. (My family agreed later that the photos needed to go to the Holocaust Museum).

So for me to read The Pages in Between was unusual. The story, however, intrigued me: Erin Einhorn traveled to Poland to find the family that had cared for her mother when her mother's parents were taken to a concentration camp. I had heard a little of her story in an interview on This American Life, an NPR radio program, enough to whet my appetite. I wanted to know more. Would Einhorn actually find the house she was seeking? Would the Polish family welcome her? Would she find some unknown part of herself in the experience?

The answers are more complex and far more involved and interesting than a simple yes or no.

Rather than dwelling on the Holocaust itself, Einhorn focuses on the effect of the war on ordinary people--the long-term results of actions taken so long ago in desperation, and the continuing struggle of those who inherited, in one way or another, those old tragedies and joys.

Imagine this: a hurried message that the Nazis are coming; a young Jewish family taking flight, and finding in their panic a woman who is almost a stranger to care for their daughter. The father survives, the mother does not. After the war he returns for his daughter, travels to America and drops all contact with the family that sheltered, protected and nurtured his little daughter. Now imagine the Polish family who cared for and loved the little girl, only to have her abruptly taken from them after the war ended. Add a young woman seeking the truth of her past, and you have the basis for a compelling story that explores changing cultures, complex relationships and conflicting views of history.

The story takes unexpected twists as Einhorn tries to get information from her mother, who prefers to look ahead rather than behind, and as she struggles to understand what really happened to her grandparents and to the Skowronskis, the family that took her mother in. Instead of joyous reunion, for example, there is a complicated issue with the house that belonged to her grandfather, where the Skowronskis still live. As Einhorn struggles to untangle the web of the house's ownership, she finds that her dream to reunite her mother with the Skowronskis is more difficult than it might have seemed, and that feelings of wrong, abandonment and confusion had festered over the years when there was no contact between the families.

Einhorn's story kept me reading long past my bedtime. I felt her confusion and frustration, exhilaration, grief and joy. For those of us who had family members serving in or affected by the war, she opens yet another window into understanding and, I have to admit, to sadness. Would that war would be no more, so that no one had such stories to tell.

And yet, after I closed the book on the last page, I was very glad to have had the opportunity to know the people in its pages. None of us is perfect; we all have flaws. But sometimes we are given an opportunity to do what is right, and to love when that love may cause us pain in the future. Einhorn's story explores people who know these truths only too well.

Einhorn, Erin. The Pages in Between. A Touchstone Book published bySimon & Schuster, NY: 2008. $24.95

ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5830-9

ISBN-10: 1-4165-5830-6

Monongah

Aaron looks at the bell donated by citizens of a small town in Italy, where many of the dead miners were from.

I've mentioned Monongah several times on this blog. This small town is located in Marion County, West Virginia, and in 1907 it suffered the

worst mine explosion in West Virginia's history--probably the worst in US history.

372 were confirmed dead (the sign says 361, so take your pick),

although most historians agree that the total was actually more like 500 because many young children worked in the mine and they weren't listed as employees. There were very likely other undocumented workers as well because the mines were worked by a large immigrant population, and some may not have actually been listed on the payroll.

To visit Monongah today, you would see little sign of the disaster. The community is making a comeback from the days when mining was in a slump. But if you go off the main street, and down to the place where this statue is,

The Monongah Heroine, dedicated to the wives and mothers of the lost miners.

you get a glimpse of what Monongah may have looked like in 1907.