Weekend Road Trip: Part 1

Second post today! 

We took a road trip Saturday, which ended up being a big circle. 

Our goal was Hawk's Nest State Park, where the New River Gorge Historical Society was sponsoring a ramp dinner. Ramps, for those who aren't familiar with them, are an Appalachian plant (they may grow elsewhere but I am not sure about that), that is a cross between leeks and garlic, as best I can describe them.  They grow only in certain locations, and have been sought by mountaineer as a spring tonic, and an early fresh green, for generations. 

Ramps are famous for making a dreadful stink. If you eat them raw, you will literally ooze that pungent smell from your pores for days. Boys used to wat them to get kicked out of school. But prepared properly, they are delicious (although they will still make your breath pretty strong!).  In Soring, mountaineer communities across West Virginia put on ramp "feeds" as a fundraiser and they are always well attended. 

As you can see on the above map, the first leg of the trip was easy, down I-77 to Charleston. Then we took US Route 60, the Midland Trail, which follows the Great Kanawha River to its beginning at the junction of the wild Gauley and New Rivers, we'll known for their whitewater and class 4 rapids. This route was the path for early settlers here, and is also the home of the Dickinson Salt Works. Back in the day, it was a very active coal mining area, but today many of the mines are closed. The tipple below is still operating, so there must ve a working mine or mines somewhere in the area still.

This is a beautiful drive in Spring, before the trees leaf out, because you can see the river almost the whole way, winding along on the other side of tge railroad tracks.

Another feature of this drive is waterfalls. This little falls doesn't seem to have a name I can find.

No one was there when we stopped, but there were so many butterflies! We saw this one, a red spotted admiral, I believe,

Here he is with wings folded.

And this one, o e of the comma butterflies,  but I couldn't get a good enough picture to be sure which kind.

Isn't this a great rock cliff?

If you embiggen this photo you can see some of the butterflies. It was honestly like being in a butterfly house. We saw tiger swallowtail, zebra swallowtail and a spicebush swallowtail in addition to the admirals. There must have been 50 flitting around, often flying right by our noses.

Tracks and road intertwine in several places on this road.

We passed by Kanawha Falls, where we stopped last year for lunch one day, but couldn't resist Cathedral Falls. There were quite a few people there, but only one butterfly.

First wild geraniums I have seen in bloom this spring. 

And finally, Hawk's Nest. Such a view! 

More tomorrow!

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

Caring

40°f/4.4°C, clear, with a heavy morning dew.

It's National Poetry Month, so I am trying to write a poem a day for NaPoWriMo. Here's this morning's draft.

Caring

Ernie loved his cats, 

all twelve of them,

but when his heart gave out,

and suddenly he was gone, 

neighbors wondered,

What will happen to the cats?

The young girls, the ones

who lived up the road

with their war veteran Dad,

knew what to do.

They just fed the cats,

and one by one, 

they took them home.

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

Easter Sunday, 1959

46f/7.8C, overcast after a night of rain. Yesterday's high was 87f. Crazy weather.

Our family in 1959, probably the Easter photo that year as Stephen, the baby, was born in January.

Patent leather shoes, vaseline-polished,

white lace-timmed anklets,

wide-brimmed hat freshened from last year 

with tiny fake flowers, a ribbon 

to tie under my chin--

crinolines of stiff tiered nylon net,

dress a cousin's hand-me-down,

ironed and new to me,

pale blue with a white collar--

hair pin-curled, held

with pink and blue barrettes;

clean white gloves,

a little pocketbook to hold

my hanky and my pennies

for the collection plate.

It was ritual: the getting ready

on Easter morning,

the two-block walk to church

to sing joyful "He is Risen!" hymns,

then home.

The table set for breakfast

with an Easter basket 

at each child's place, 

gleaming, enticing

candy riches

which could not be touched until

after eggs, bacon toast, tea.

Ah, the anticipation! 

Jelly beans and squishy peeps,

chocolate eggs and a big

chocolate rabbit

all just the prelude 

to the sugar-fueled adrenaline rush

to find the first, the best, the most

eggs tucked under boards, into bushes,

some never found, some

found by the dog and devoured,

leaving only shells for seekers.

The rest of the morning--

being quiet while weary parents

napped after Bunny duties.

We sorted jelly beans, trading the licorice

for anything, even yucky green ones,

trying not to eat all the chocolate,

and eating all the chocolate,

believing in the miracle,

believing in the magic,

believing all the world

was fair and good

on Easter day

in 1959. 

Me in 1959

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