In the Mountains

73 this morning, heating up to around 88 with very high humidity, then cooling off after a few thunderstorms passed through. We had showers here, no storms, but storms were all around us.

I mentioned the other day about being in Pocahontas county over the weekend, but not a whole lot about what it was like. So here's a better description.

Arriving: we drive down the one-lane road, first alongside a creek and then a river. Cross over the river on the new bridge. I remember the old bridge, a blue steel structure, one lane and creaky and much loved by all who knew what was on the other side. The old bridge is gone now, and there are cars parked where it used to end at the riverbank, people in the water swimming, a few fishermen. We wave and drive slowly by.

We have to drive a few feet on the rail trail, a right-of-way granted by the state to get to the cabin's access road. Suddenly we are in green; trees and bushes overhang, wildflowers brush the sides of the car and everywhere birds are singing. Ahead we soon see the bright yellow cabin, painted that color because that's what paint they had at the time. We pull into the yard, under the apple trees.

Two men are in chairs under the trees, and I cannot wait to get out of the van and run to hug my good friends Kirk and Dave. It's been a long two years since I last saw them, and even though they were sweaty from cutting back the bushes, we have a good long hug. Larry, Don and Nancy follow more slowly. I am already in animated conversation with my friends. 

We find more chairs, sit under the trees and talk. And talk. We catch up on news, on what the week's been like at Allegheny Echoes, the music and the writing workshops. Someone realizes it's time for the afternoon Master's concert, so all of us except Kirk get in cars and head up to the concert site, about 12 miles away. I ride with Dave, so we can continue talking. He's a special man, a gifted photographer and writer, quiet but with a lot to say to those willing to listen. I listen.

At the concert, I see many more friends, wave and then sit to listen to some of the best bluegrass a person is likely to hear. Bluegrass isn't my favorite music, but played well and presented with stories and jokes by some of the best musicians in West Virginia--well, what's not to like? After the Mudhole Control guys finish their set, I hug friends, talk a while, then we stroll around the motel where Allegheny Echoes is centered, greet more friends, stop and listen to a few jams. 

Back at the cabin, it's time to unload the van, set up our beds and get settled in. No one is hungry since we'd eaten a late lunch at a restaurant with outdoor seating overlooking the Greenbrier River. We clean up a little, put on warmer clothes because the evening will be cool, and go back to town for groceries. Quick return to the cabin to put the food away, then back to town again for the evening outdoor concert. Again, more incredible music, and poetry by Kirk that moves my out-of-state friends to tears. We see more friends, get more hugs.

We can't decide whether to go back to the cabin or go "up on the hill" to the motel for the late-night music jams that are sure to be some hot sets. But when we get to the cabin, Dave has lighted the bonfire and has whiskey. We stay. The night deepens, the frogs call, lightning bugs rise into the night air, the fire crackles, the whiskey warms. Dave and I go inside for a while so he can read me his latest poem. We get into a long conversation about the drive to write, the pull of other interests, how to decide what takes priority. 

Kirk arrives with a jar and passes it around. Dave and I move back outside to the firepit. Conversation is lively, interspersed with silence as we all gaze at the fire, the stars. Gradually people drift off to bed--Nancy first, then Larry, then Dave. Don, Kirk, and I stay by the fire. Don sings a song he wrote, I sing a ballad or two. Don heads to bed around 2am, Kirk and I stay by the fire, still talking, still catching up. It's well after 4:00 when we finally, reluctantly, leave the fire.

Morning comes too soon. At 8:00 I'm up and getting dressed. Kirk and Dave have to leave by noon and I have promised a big country breakfast. Usually that's a Sunday ritual, but since they have to leave, I do it Saturday. Nancy helps me. I make biscuits and sausage gravy, Nancy makes fried potatoes and scrambled eggs. Everyone is up and ready to eat. Coffee, tea, juice, sliced tomatoes, laughter. No one has a hangover or a headache. We are all glad to be together.

Don does dishes while the rest of us move outside for even more talk. We can't get enough, it seems. Soon Kirk has to leave, and then Dave. I'm so sleepy and consider taking a nap but Gerri arrives. She wants to take me and Nancy to our friend Mel's house to look at  some things Mel has for sale, things that would be good to have in my booths. We pile into Gerri's truck and go look. A couple hours later, we have boxes and baskets full, Mel's garage is emptier, and plans are in place for the evening. Another stop at the store for dinner things, and more breakfast things since I will be cooking once again.

Back at the cabin, Larry's got back from fishing, Don is pruning undergrowth, and we ladies go into the kitchen to prepare dinner, a mishmash of Mel's leftovers and some things we got at the store. Mel, Jeanie, and Greg have joined us. Everyone fills plates. They empty fast and fill  again. Someone lights the bonfire. Guitars come out. There is Key Lime pie. Faces are bright in the light of the fire. 

Songs are sung amidst the conversation, a casual round-robin as the songwriters in the group share some of their songs. Greg is a ballad-singer, and I am delighted because I meet so few who love the old songs as I do. He shares a ballad, then I do. As the music moves around the circle, I look at this group and know I am blessed to be in this place, at this time, with these people. Everyone joins in on choruses; everyone listens to the plaintive tales of the ballads. Magic is in the air, in the music. The jar passes around, just a sip each time. 

All too soon people begin to get sleepy and one by one drift off to bed. Our visitors leave for their own camp, promising to be back for breakfast. We are all in bed before 1:00am.

8:00am I am up and dressed. Larry makes coffee, I make my ginger tea. Gerri and Nancy are in the kitchen; they tried making a pot of coffee earlier but it was sludge. We talk about the evening before, share stories and memories and then slowly begin preparing breakfast. It will be the same as the day before, so we all fall into familiar roles. Larry begins packing the van, Don is still pruning trees. 

Mel, Greg and Jeanie arrive; at the table this morning are Gerri, Nancy, me, Larry and our three visitors. The food disappears quickly. Cleanup is fast, then we all move to the porch. We watch the hummingbird at the feeder, listen to the birds. It's time to leave. We set about closing up the cabin.

Hugs, promises to be back next year, to keep in touch. The weekend is over. We wind slowly back down the lane, the yellow cabin disappearing in green behind us. The mountains loom ahead, a long twisting road between us and home.

Next year. It seems such a long way off. Thank goodness for the memories to sustain us.

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