Wordless Wednesday: Fall in Taylor County, and that Glorious Trestle

 One-lane curve

 Overlooking Grafton

 This road takes you to...

 this!

(I can't help myself, I take photos of this trestle every time we pass by. It's just too amazing.)

Wordless Wednesday: Misty Morning, Grafton, West Virginia

Wordless Wednesday: Morning at Tygart

The Amazing Trestle and a Ghost Story

I have seen and photographed this trestle before. It is located between Grafton and Philippi, West Virginia, and is on a rail line that is still in use. It soars many feet above the marshy valley below, curving as it makes its way from one hill to the next. I do not know any history of this stretch of rail or why it was decided to build the long trestle instead of descending to the valley floor, unless the marsh just made that an impractical option.

The early morning fog provided ethereal light for photos of the marching, massive pylons on which the trestle depends.

Before we left, I stopped to listen and soak in the morning. Birdsong I did not recognize filled the air, perhaps from water birds hidden in the marsh. This area is the Pleasants Creek Wildlife Management Area and I wondered if birdwatchers often came here to listen and to spot the shy inhabitants.

This last photo is so ghostly that it calls out for a "haint" tale. A railroad story seems especially fitting, don't you think? This story is based on a small suggestion of a story in the Weirton, WV newspaper last week. Sometimes when the story is so sketchy, a storyteller has to imagine what might have happened, which is what I have done in the following tale.

In a small coal town in West Virginia, a young man walked along the tracks at night, on his way home from a late night of overtime at the mines. Jim could have walked by road, but the railroad tracks were a direct path to his house, which was located only a few hundred feet from the passing tracks. Often the rumble of the trains would rattle the windows of his home, and sometimes a dish would fall and shatter in the kitchen.

Jim didn't mind the noise and shaking too much, because the trains meant coal was being shipped out and that was a good thing. It meant job security and a secure home for his family. As long as he didn't get hurt, that is. He carried the danger of working in the mine in the back of his mind always and was diligent about following any safety procedures he could to help prevent any accident that might leave him injured or, worse, dead.

This night, he was bone tired. His shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of tons of black coal on them. His clothes were black with coal dust, and so was his face and his hands. He trudged homeward, mulling over the shift he had just worked and wondering who had called off sick so he'd had to work over. Not that he minded. Overtime was good money, and Jim was always glad to get it.

He never heard the train approach. Perhaps his mind was so busy with its own thoughts, or maybe he was so tired he walked in his sleep. By the time the engineer saw the young man, it was too late. Pulling the brake with all his might, the engineer shouted, "Get off the tracks! get off the tracks!" as if the young man would hear him over the screaming of metal of metal.

There was no thud, no sound at all when the train struck Jim, flinging his body far out into the darkness beyond the tracks. The train's crew jumped off as soon as the train stopped, and soon found the young man's lifeless body. Two little children and a young mother were left alone that night.

Years later, another man walking home along the tracks saw someone moving ahead of him. The walker looked tired and his clothing was filthy with coal dust. The rumble of an approaching train warned Henry to get off the tracks, but the walker ahead of him continued to walk on, oblivious of the train. In horror, Henry saw the train strike the walker and saw the man's body fly off into the darkness. The train never slowed.

Henry ran into the station to report what he had seen, but the clerk saw his face and said, "Don't worry. he's not really there. That's just young Jim, walking home to his family again. He's been doing that every year on this day--same time when he was hit and killed by a train. You're not the first to see him and you won't be the last."

Henry thought about Jim every day after that night. He could not get the sight of the train hitting the young man out of his mind. The following year, he returned to the tracks on the anniversary of Jim's death. He waited by the tracks and watched the trains rush by. Around midnight he saw once again the tired, slumped shoulders of Jim in his coal-stained clothing walking ahead of him along the tracks.

This time Henry rushed ahead, screaming, "Get off the tracks! Get off the tracks! The train is coming!" The walker turned and the man saw a skeletal, haggard face. He fell back in fright, but continued to yell, "The train is coming! The train is coming!"

The walker seemed to shake himself, as if waking, and jumped from the tracks just as the train rushed past. As Henry watched, the walker faded from sight. Young Jim had been saved at last, and he was never seen again.

Want more?

The story of Screaming Jenny comes from the Harper's Ferry region of West Virginia, where many ghosts reportedly are still in residence.

From Marion County, WV comes the story of a young man traveled to Texas to discover a ghost train instead of the relative he expected to meet.

Probably the most widely known railroad ghost in West Virginia, The Silver Run Tunnel ghost is one that trainmen still talk about.

Author Extravaganza and Grafton Night Life

The Author Extravaganza (don't you love that name?) at the Bridgeport Library was an interesting event. Each participating author had a table to display (and hopefully sell) their work. Each author also was given a 30-minute time slot to present, read, interpret, etc from their work. The library staff obviously gave much thought to the event, decorating tables, making food and beverages, planning the schedule, inviting media and promoting to library patrons. Turnout was good for a first-time event. I was so busy I took only one photo:

This is Debra Conner, portraying a History Alive personality. The audience was larger than the photo shows, and Ms. Conner's presentation was done very well.

Larry snapped this shot of Terry McNemar, president of West Virginia Writers, Inc. (of which I am a card-carrying member) and me as we were deep in discussion. There were children's activities and presenters all day too.

My presentation was at 3pm and I knew I needed to leave around 4 to get to Grafton and be prepared for the evening storytelling event. As we were preparing to pack up a few people asked me to wait--they wanted to buy something! I'd sold only one CD all day, not surprising given the economy; no one else was selling much either, it seemed, except for the two children's authors. So of course I waited and by the end of 30 minutes I'd sold quite a few items. Nice!

The storytelling at Tygart Lake was for a fundraiser for the Tygart Lake State Park Foundation. I was the first event, to be followed by a Haunted Hayride sponsored by the Grafton Fire Department and then refreshments. Since it threatened rain, I was inside the rec center. There was an overflow crowd when I arrived and people kept coming. It got so crowded that many stood outside and listened. I'd say the event was a huge success, and I hope they do it again next year (and invite me!). I have no photos because I had the camera up front and Larry was in the back and there was no way to get to him. One of my biggest pleasures of the day was meeting a man who reads this blog every day, and his friend. They were interesting people and I hope we cross paths again.

I sold a few CDs and gave away a few of he leftover advance copies I'd made for the Book Festival to a few of the children who were there. Some of them had heard me earlier in the week at the WV Storytelling Festival at Jackson's Mill. This time, they heard ghost stories! I was glad to have a chance to try out a new story and a new ballad, The Cruel Ship's Carpenter.

After storytelling we made our way to the Grafton 1-2-3 to meet son #4, Aaron, and his family for some live music and conversation. The food at the 1-2-3 is excellent--the bread is homemade and the coffee is the best I have had anywhere, including Seattle. It was good to see owner MK and her family again too.

Michaela had her 7th birthday party earlier in the day, a Princess Party; she and Jaime were both pretty tired but I am glad we were able to get together.

When we left the 1-2-3, I snapped a photo of the exterior and my, my do we have orbs! Grafton haunted, you think? Those who believe in orbs would certainly argue in favor of that.

As we left, I told Larry I wanted to take photos of the trainyard at night. Grafton was in its day a railroad hub and was significant in the Civil War. The trainyard is still in use, and at night it's a ghostly place. But as we pulled down the hill, a colorful local guy asked if we could aim our lights on the painted wall so he could make out who painted it. We talked with him and I took a few photos of the wall too--it's quite a sight. Apparently there had been a decrepit building on the site and it was torn down, exposing the old logos on the wall.

We went down an alley, turned this corner,

and there were the trains, steam rising from them into the darkness. (more orbs, you'll notice)

Tomorrow I'll post about our trip home, and we'll talk about ghosts. This train kinda looks like a ghost train actually....

Grafton National Cemetery

I knew there was a national cemetery at Grafton, but I had never seen it. No wonder--it is hidden away in a part of town called Fetterman, which used to be a separate community. It is on the opposite side of the Tygart River from downtown Grafton, and feels like a different place. And the cemetery early on Sunday morning had a somber feeling all of its own.

My friend MK Stover told me how to find the cemetery after the storytelling session Saturday night. I had mentioned T. Bailey Brown during the program--Brown is believed to have been the first Union soldier killed in the Civil War. He died on May 22, 1861, in Fetterman. I read about him in a small WV guidebook that has all the test of the historical markers in the state (a very handy thing to keep in the glovebox!).

I was surprised to find that MK knew so much about this soldier. She has, I learned, done a great deal of research on the topic (see her article about him here) and she got me interested in seeing the gravesite of Bailey Brown. For example, she told me that the mother of the founder of Mother's Day said the eulogy for Mr. Brown because no one else would do it--no one wanted to appear to be choosing sides, you see. I am hoping MK will write an article for Goldenseal magazine; I'm sure many people would be interested in learning about little-known bit of history.

So we found our way to the cemetery. Soldiers from the Civil War,, Spanish American War, World War I, World War II, and Korea are buried here. We did not see any graves of Vietnam veterans, but there may be some.

Pictures describe better than words what we found in this place of rest for those who saw so much unrest.

Bailey Brown's resting place.






Rest in peace, soldiers.

Tygart Lake Storytelling

This was the view from our room. It was so restful. Then...
a piper (as in bagpipes) passed the window, followed by many people. Men in kilts two days in a row? It seemed bizarre; the previous day at Prickett's Fort there were several men in kilts for the Celtic Heritage Festival. Had they followed me to Grafton? Larry slept right through the music and commotion while I stepped outside to see what was going on and found...

a Scottish wedding in full swing. You can almost see the piper in the background, and there was also a harpist (you might be able to see her hands on the strings to the left center of the photo---everyone stood up just as I snapped the picture). I didn't stay because I didn't want to intrude on the private ceremony but it was so fitting to hear that music sounding over the water.

As night fell, I began my storytelling set at an outside location. The naturalist worked hard moving and cleaning benches as more and more people arrived for the session. We ended up with about 45, I think, of all ages.

I tried out a new story and feel comfortable with telling it. I plan to add a Civil War ballad to the story, probably Going Cross the Mountains, along with more information about the Civil War in West Virginia. And maybe, when I have time to learn it, I'll also add the Casto Hole, a Jackson County ballad that is linked to my ex-daughter-in-law's--and so to some of my grandchildren's--family and homeplace in Statts Mill, WV.

The evening extended until almost 10:00 as we talked with some of those who attended. The best part of storytelling (besides sharing the stories, of course) is the people I meet; second best is the many beautiful places, like Tygart Lake, that I have been fortunate enough to visit. Being a storytelling is like being a modern-day wandering minstrel in some ways--taking stories and songs to people where they live, traveling the countryside in search of audiences and new tales to tell.

Grafton Images

This is a photo collage of Grafton, West Virginia, taken Saturday and Sunday as we passed through. I'll have more photos of Grafton's National Cemetery and Tygart Lake in a later post.

The view from inside the 1-2-3, Grafton's coffeehouse and in my opinion home of the best coffee in West Virginia. We stopped for lunch but our friends, owner MK Stover and family weren't in. Still, we had a great lunch and MK and children stopped by to listen to me tell stories later in the evening. MK writes the Taylor County blog--stop by to read more about this unique area. (And hey, even the Governor stopped by the 1-2-3 for coffee!--read it on the 1-2-3 blog.)

Rollicking and colorful trim adorns and otherwise ordinary home. I wondered if the former residents were from Switzerland or Germany?

The layers of brick, block and stone testify to the many past enterprises of city residents. And to the hardiness of plants that find a foothold in cracks in the masonry. A lady stopped to ask me, "Are you taking pictures of what bad shape our buildings are in?" How could I explain to her that this one wall contained a whole history of optimism, entrepreneurism, and craft? Different eyes see the same things through different lenses.

Advertising signs were discovered when a dilapidated building was torn down. What a cool surprise for the demolition team!

Crocks in the hardware store window.

Old jeep trucks retired by an abandoned building.

There is much more to Grafton, of course. You can see other images on some of my past blogs about the town. Remember I tend to like photos of old, worn, quirky and unique. Grafton has new buildings and stores too, but I don't see any reason to photograph those when there are so many more interesting things to see and capture before they're gone.