Book Review: When the Whistle Blows

First, a little background:

I had a pleasant surprise last month when a visitor to this blog mentioned that her family was from Rowlesburg, West Virginia. When I visited her website, I discovered that she'd written a book that is scheduled for release this June. Further conversation revealed the book was set in Rowlesburg, and that author Fran Cannon Slayton was scheduled to visit my library in June. The Internet world is really a very small place, it seems. Or perhaps this is just further evidence that in West Virginia, there are not six degrees of separation--there are two.

Last Spring I had the opportunity to visit Rowlesburg, West Virginia for a storytelling performance. The town was celebrating its anniversary. I had wanted to visit this little community ever finding it mentioned as the home of an ancestor in my family's genealogy book. Although I never learned whether or not this relative--a doctor, apparently--married or had children, I liked to think of him as my claim to West Virginia-hood. (If you're not born here, it takes many years to be able to claim your statehood--even generations, I think).

Fran sent me a review copy of her book, and this weekend I sat down by the fire to read it. I didn't get up until the last page. The story is the kind that pulls you into the place and the people. I didn't want to leave, even at the end of the book.

Now, the review:


(The entrance to an old school in Rowlesburg--perhaps the scene of the first-day-of-buck-season revolt?)

Set in Rowlesburg during the days of World War II when the railroads still drove the town's economy, When the Whistle Blows by Fran Cannon Slayton chronicles the life of Jimmy Cannon, his family and friends from 1943 until 1949. Each episode occurs on a specific date: Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve as Jimmy's parents call it. It is not just a day for tricks and treats for Jimmy's family, though--it is also his father's birthday.

As the story begins, Jimmy is about 13 years old and not happy to be in school. He'd rather be doing anything else. He wants to be a railroad man, just like his father and older brother. What 12-year-old boy wouldn't? Each year Jimmy's narrator voice matures. Boyish pranks gradually become life lessons, and during a football season in his sophomore year Jimmy begins to see his aging father's vulnerability and also his wisdom. The coming of the diesel age marks a turning point not only for Jimmy's family but for the town itself as a way of life slowly becomes the way of the past and the future looms uncertainly for those who cling to the place they call home.

Within Jimmy's story is the story of the Society, an organization that includes only men. The Society is a dark thread in the fabric of the town, and Jimmy is horrified when he learns its rituals. As he grows up he learns to accept and eventually understand and embrace the group's unusual mission.

When the Whistle Blows by Fran Cannon Slayton is a compelling story with a strong voice that will appeal to readers of all ages. Most especially it is that rarity in the book world, a story that will appeal to boys. Young male audiences can be difficult to attract, but Slayton's book will pull them in like such classic works as Where the Red Fern Grows, Old Yeller, and Holes. It is a coming-of-age story not just for Jimmy, but also for Rowlesburg and its people. It is a chapter of West Virginia history often overlooked, but in her first book Slayton has managed to bring the story of a small Appalachian railroad town to full-blooded, full-throated, colorful life.

Traveling Rosedale Road

Leaving the library conference last week, I suggested to Larry (my ever-patient husband) that we try a different way home. We've been on Rosedale Road before, but it is not that easy to find because while it's called Rosedale for part of its length, it's called Gassaway Road at its end and Chapel Road at its beginning. Very confusing. And it had been a few years so we weren't entirely sure where the road was in the first place. But Larry turned off the interstate and we went up the road we thought was the right one.

This drive led to a tiny little camp at its end. It looked like something from a fairy tale to me.

A beautiful barn made us turn around and go back to get a good photo. This use of wood not only makes the barn stronger, it also let the builder use up shorter lengths of wood. Note the cut-stone foundation.

This empty house was the homestead on which the barn lived. Although no one lives here, it seems someone is mowing the grass. Brave daffodils continue to bloom.

Further up the road (we still weren't sure where we were) we saw this well-maintained barn. I believe we were in former dairy country, back in the days before so many federal health regulations forced the smaller dairies out of business. I understand the need for precautions, but I remember when you could visit farms like this and buy raw milk for $1.00 a gallon and make your own butter. Even in northern Virginia, we were able to do that in the early 1970's. Now it's impossible to buy raw milk at any price.

Yet another beautiful homestead. Even on a gray, rainy day the care put into this place is obvious.

An old meeting house, maintained but no longer in use. Thank you to the person who is keeping this place in shape for future generations.

Rolling meadows and pastures wear their mantle of fog and rain beautifully.

Rosedale Road is only one of hundreds such drives in central West Virginia. You won't find these places listed as tourist destinations but for the real flavor of West Virginia, these are the places a traveler needs to visit.

Blog Visitors

I am always amazed at where my blog visitors come from. Yesterday there was such a spike in activity I knew something odd had happened.

Odd indeed. Apparently an anime blogger (anime is the name for the Japanese-style graphic novel so popular with teens today--and a lot of adults too) wrote a cartoon based on the Aesop fable of the Golden Axe. The blogger linked to my blog for the story so that his readers would understand the source of his tale.

That link has generated well over 500 visits here! Will the new visitors go further than that post from a year ago? Probably not, but how amazing that they were here at all. If you are one of those visitors, welcome. I know this isn't your kind of place, but welcome just the same.

Another visit to an older blog came from a screenwriter who visited and left a comment on my "Raw Head Bloody Bones" post. Again, an old story drew in a new reader. He may never come back, but I am glad he came and left a comment that he'd been here.

You just never know who will connect with something you write. Which is why I love to write, and why I love to blog.

People Watching at the Auction

Aaron and I both took pictures yesterday. Some of the ones below are from his camera, some from mine. Both of us seemed to be watching people as well as watching the sale.


There's more to do than bidding and buying at an auction.
Mud-bogging: a big guy slogs his way across one of many muddy, muddy places in the outside large equipment auction field.


Talking: catching up with friends is an important part of the day. Jaime enjoys the natural breeze as a lot of manmade breeze blows by in the conversations around her.

Exploring: Michaela is content to say on firm ground as James climbs to the heights above the animal pens in one of the barns where the auction was held.

Remembering: an elderly gentleman with his homemade walking stick passes piles of draft horse harness, perhaps remembering the days when he followed a team of Belgians across a mountain cornfield.

Playing: a young fellow peers through a crack in a piece of machinery. I have no idea what this thing is supposed to be. Anyone know?

Contrasting: modern machinery with old ways. A group of Amish men pass the horse barns at the auction, against a foreground of farm equipment.

Cogitating and splashing: Aaron ignores the mud as he examines a piece of equipment. Michaela? I think she's completely enjoying the mud.

More auction photos coming in another post.

Growing

Growing weather. Fog, rain, and not too cold this morning on the ridge--which means the green will be bursting forth rapidly in the coming days.

Growing cleaner. Window washer in downtown Charleston on a ladder that looked mighty rickety to me.

Growing minds at my house this evening as grandchildren Michaela and James figure out the nesting dolls.

Growing warm and sleepy in the log room. Aaron looks like a man who's had a good day of fishing and is ready for bed.

Tomorrow is the big FFA farm equipment auction, so we'll be up and out early to get to the sale. It will be wet and sloggy, but it's bound to be interesting and fun.

Larry's Ramp-Hunting Trip

"Larry Loves Ramps."

This should be my husband's bumper sticker.

Every year about this time he starts talking about ramps and planning trips to go dig them. He probably dreams about ramp feeds.

What are ramps? You might be sorry you asked. To some people, they are a delicious, gourmet garlic/onion treat that adds a unique flavor to many dishes. To others, ramps are to be avoided at all costs--these people call ramps odoriferous, malodorous and downright offensive.

I've written about ramps before. If you'd like to see a photo or two, and find links to ramp festivals and more click here to read those older posts. I have no new photos to show you because...

Larry didn't find any. Not one. Nada. He went to his usual place along the Williams River, but came back empty-handed. Sort of. He got ramps, but he had to buy them. He did not plan to come home without, plain and simple. So when he saw a guy selling ramps on the side of the road, that was that.

I think he's plotting. I think he wants an excuse to go back to Williams River when the mollymoochers are ready. Maybe I just have a suspicious mind, or maybe after being married for 23 years I just know him well?

However, he did come out of the woods with some cool photos. And he has an excuse to go back.

If you want to read about one of West Virginia's largest (if not the largest) Ramp Festivals, you need to read the Richwooder's website. All over the state, churches, schools, fire departments and other civic groups will be hosting "ramp feeds" during the next six weeks. You can have your ramps steamed, fried, raw and just about any way you want them--I have even seen Ramp Wine for sale, and have some Ramp Dressing in my own fridge.

Do I like ramps? Yes I do--in moderation; chopped up and cooked into fried potatoes and served with scrambled eggs and a side of ham, they can't be beat. I am not as crazy about them as Larry, though, and that's a fact.

If a person eats raw ramps, they will smell like a garlic factory for several days if not weeks. I don't exaggerate here, as any of you who have tried them can testify.

So if Larry eats them raw, he's sleeping outside with the dogs. I love the man, but even the truest of love should not have to sleep with a smell like that.

Traveling Angerona

Our Sunday shortcut that turned out to be a long cut also turned out to be a picturesque drive. Here are a few photos of the countryside referred to by most people as Angerona (or Angerony)--a broad generic area between Evans, WV and Cottageville, WV that includes beautiful meadowlands along creeks, steep ridges, and many old barns. The locust posts piled at the right side seem tobe holding this barn in place.

Looking back at the same barn. What a beauty.

A quick shot out the back window of daffodils lining the road beside an abandoned farm. I love my digital cameras but sometimes that delay before snapping is just too long.

The sun was dropping low as the road stretched before us.

Rolls of hay are barely visible in the setting sun, and manure in the road testified to this farmer's activities of the day.

An abandoned homestead in a field obviously still being mowed for hay. We tried to see if this was a log house but couldn't tell from the road.

I want to go back--there were numerous side roads to explore (who would not want to see what it looks like along Silver Valley?) and pictures I missed for one reason or another.

Which brings me to something I think about frequently: I explore my little part of the world, often places within an hour's drive of home. There is a wealth of sights to see and appreciate, from small things like budding trees to old barns to rivers and streams, old bridges and stores. Sometimes a different time of day or different season brings new insights, making each place new again.

How much can one person see, just in their own back yard? How long would it take to record it all, in words or in pictures? I suppose that was a question Thoreau also explored in his year at Walden Pond, yet I would bet he still missed some things even with his careful attention to daily changes.

This world is an amazing place indeed, and never boring.

Joe's Run Traffic Jam

Here I am, sitting in traffic, waiting for my lane to clear:

Sometimes I don't mind being held up in traffic at all.

Into the Greenhouse

Yesterday was the day to get my little seedlings out of the house and into the greenhouse. I had not yet transplanted them from the starting containers to flats, so that was also a task on the list.
You can see the seedlings not yet in flats; they're the patch of bright green on the bench to the left.


I'm trying to figure out what I did with all the cottage cheese and yogurt containers I saved last summer. I had many, many of them, but can I find them now? Of course not. I walked around and rooted around in almost all our outbuildings with no luck. So for the moment I'm stopped on transplanting until I can either find them or get more containers. I'm about 75% finished, I think. The Early Girl tomatoes are in bigger pots because I want them to move along fast so we get tomatoes as soon as early in the season as possible.

I am really liking this greenhouse. There is plenty of room and it stays very warm during the day. The electric heater I used last night just barely kept the temperature warm enough, so I will be looking for another option for heat, or a bigger electric heater. Larry is checking out our old kerosene heater today to see if it can be used--I'm leery of it because the last time we used it in the greenhouse it smoked and coated everything with black. Not good for the plants. I don't want to go there again.

What are these dead-looking things? These are the geraniums we pulled up last fall and hung upside down in the cellar. some of them seem to have weathered through just fine, and even have some green on them. Others I'm pretty sure are no good at all. But all it will cost me to find out is a little soil, water and time. If the ones that look promising actually do make it, we'll have saved a good bit on new plants. One of them was a survivor from the 2007 garden so this will make its third year.

I did one flat of broccoli, one of Savoy cabbage, and 4 or 5 of tomatoes yesterday. I still have more tomatoes, all of the peppers, and celery and leeks to transplant when I get more containers. I think I'll get some flower seeds started too. Might as well since I have the space in the greenhouse. Do you have any suggestions of flowers I might want to try?

A Warm Welcome to Spring, and Goodbye to a Guest Who Overstayed His Welcome

As I got in the car last night, who did I see in the back seat, neatly strapped into his seatbelt?


Old Man Winter! He thought he was going to the party to have fun. He even brought a bottle of wine with him.

But he can't fool us. We know that's a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from Grey Ghost Winery where my sister works. She brought it to us last week. And he can't hide those horns either--see them sticking through his hat?

We took the scenic route to the bonfire, winding through Beech Grove and Angerona roads. A wrong turn made the trip a little longer, but who cared?

The scenery was beautiful and I have lots of photos to share this week.

When we arrived the fire was burning nicely. We left the Old Man in the car while we put the seven things that start with S on the table (sourdough, spinach dip, spring salad greens, seeds, Sauvignon, strawberries, and a sweet cake).

At a time not particularly selected for any reason, the Old Man was brought forth and carried to the circle around the fire.

A last toast and look around at the gathering, and then....

(Ruby the Bassett is not at all sure about these goings-on)

Into the fire! Did I feel a twinge of remorse? Well, a little, but I seemed to be the only one!

The flames quickly took care of Old Man Winter, and we all celebrated.

The end..in more ways than one. The Old Man is officially gone as far as we're concerned. His ghost might hang around a little while, of course, and try a few tricks.

But today, I am moving my seedlings to the greenhouse.

It's Spring!

Good-bye Old Man Winter

Who is that stranger in my swing?

He was resting pretty comfortably when I returned from work, but never bothered to say hello. Just grinned at me.




Larry seems to know him pretty well. He introduced me...


To Ol' Man Winter! He was comfortable when the sun was shining,

But tonight it's pretty chilly to be hanging out on a swing. It hasn't bothered him yet. He'd look more worried if he knew what is in store for him tomorrow night.

Bonfire. Need I say more?

Tomorrow night we'll gather with friends to celebrate the end of winter by burning our effigy of Old Man Winter in the fire! Larry did a pretty good job of making him, didn't he? He's a crafty man, my husband. (Or warped. I'm never sure which. Maybe both.)

What else will we do to celebrate the new season?

1. Give seeds to our friends--maybe lettuce? or flowers? I'll decide tomorrow.

2. Try to balance an egg on its end. I know, I know, it's old stuff and probably more legend than fact, but I have got to try it.

3. Have seven things beginning with "s" on the table. This is borrowed from Middle Eastern tradition, and I like it. So, what seven things? Maybe:

Strawberries
Spinach dip
Stew (I know this will be there already!)
Sauvignon (Cabernet, of course, but I need the "s" to be first)
Sweets of some kind
Sourdough bread
Salt? or salad? or ....any suggestions?

It will be a good time, maybe with some singing (I'm hoping my throat is better by then, but if not, I'll be happy to listen to the others), and maybe someone will play some music. We'll watch the stars circle and enjoy the swing of seasons.

Here's to the new year!

Spring is Springing in

Coltsfoot! Finally in bloom. Usually I can expect to find it blooming in early March and occasionally in February. This year it apparently was waiting on the vernal equinox. Such a simple little flower, but with such portent. Botanical.com says that an old name for the plant means "the son before the father" because the flower blooms and withers before the leaves appear. Botanical lists several medicinal uses for the plant. And in The History and Folklore of North American Wildflowers, author Timothy Coffey notes that the plant was used for coughs, and that according to Pliny, "the smoke of this plant is said to cure an inveterate cough, if inhaled deeply through a reed, but the patient must take a sip of raisin wine at each inhalation." (p. 281)

Ahem. Well, yes. Enough raisin wine would probably make you forget the cough.

Rhubarb is beginning to show its green in the place along the driveway where I should never have planted it--but where it thrives. Go figure.

And oh the daffodils! Just days after my sister Julie left, the yard is ablaze with yellow and cream flowers. While Julie was here, the gardens were, in my opinion, at their ugliest state.

You know--no green, all the dull mulch and dead leaves covering the ground, along with a few things the dogs dragged in. Then a gentle rain and a little sun, and voila!

Green and gold everywhere. Why couldn't it look like this while Julie was here?

Things are a little a-kimbo at the moment as we haven't really set to work straightening every up for the season. But the lush green is slowly returning.

Even at the edge of the woods, naturalized daffodils spread sunshine over the sprouting daylilies (which, by the way, are at the perfect size for salads--crunchy and sweet!).

It's time to get out the rake, buy some mulch and really get things cleaned up. Will I get it done this weekend? Nah. But I will be enjoying the green and gold. And eventually the mulch will be spread. The dogs' treasures will be picked up and tossed. Annuals will be planted. All the things that need to happen will happen.

For now it's enough to look and look and look at the flowers, and to know that Spring is on the way. That suffices for now.