Who would have thunk it? Andy's car in WV?

On the drive home from work last night, Andy of Mayberry passed me.

Well, not Andy himself, but his squad car.

Well, not the car didn't pass it on its own--it was riding on a trailer behind a big white pickup.

Still, what a surprise it was to see that car, like a flash from the past. Complete in black and white glory, emblem on the door and light on the top.

The car I saw looked exactly like these pictures from the website Mayberry Squad Car Replicas. It's owned by Steve Russell in Charleston, SC, according to the website. (I couldn't take a picture of the one I saw because I was passing it at about 70 mph, and you know it's just not safe to try to take pictures at a time like that.)

Who knew that people do this for a hobby, have get-togethers and contests and such? You cna even go to Mt. Airy and ride around in one--for a fee, of course.

Homemade Ice Cream and Ingenuity

Ice cream needed-
a lot of it.

Find someone who:

knows how to
make things.

Has stuff-
Gears, wheels, lumber.

Has a do-it-myself
mentality.

What you get is Lonnie and his amazing ice cream machine. Using old gears, new shafts, a long rubber belt, a BIG hand-cranked ice cream maker, various pieces of lumber, wheels, straps and whatever, he built an ice cream maker that can probably churn out five gallons at a time. The power source is the antique John Deere tractor he restored a few years ago (see it in the background?).

I snapped this at the annual Music Jam at the Joe's Run Community Center yesterday. We were on our way out to a storytelling gig, but I'd seen Lonnie earlier and told him I wanted a picture of his machine. I think it's safe to say it's one-of-a-kind, the Johnny Cash Cadillac of ice cream makers.

I love this kind of ingenuity and creativity. Doing what you can with what you have at hand is the mountain way of life, and Lonnie and his machine prove that the old ways live on in new and unexpected ways.

US Route 33 and the Long Way Home

We took a meandering route home from Pittsburgh and the Three Rivers Storytelling Festival . A stop at son Aaron's home in Fairmont, then on to our favorite road--US Route 33 across the center of West Virginia. The way is dotted with tiny communities--like Pickle Street (name derived years ago when a wagonload of pickle barrels overturned in what was then a rutted wagon track of a road), Stumptown and Sand Ridge.

We made several other stops along the way. I'll post the one at Lambert's Winery in a separate post.

This gravestone shaped like a tree has always intrigued me. Today we took the time to stop and look at it and others in the cemetery by the old octagon-shaped church (I thought I'd surely find a photo of it online, but no luck. So next time, a photo of the church--it's really a treasure). I wonder if the man it commemorates was a timberman?


In the same cemetery, my husband found this simple stone on the grave of a Confederate soldier, a member of the horse artillery named John B. Dawson.

Further along our journey, we noticed a sign in Spencer, WV that we'd not noticed before. "Civil War site," it read and an arrow pointed to a road that I thought led only to Wal-Mart.

We followed the road, that turned quickly into a rutted dirt track, to a parking area, then walked another 1/4 mile or more to the top of a hill to see what might be there. What we found was a Civil-War era graveyard, serenely looking over a stupendous view of Spencer and surrounding areas.

Also on the site: the ruins of the home of the Farm Superintendent of the former Spencer State Hospital for the Insane.

The house apparently burned, but the stonework is beautiful, with many arches, and a fireplace still intact.

Evidence of other visitors--raccoon tracks in a mud puddle.

At journey's end--a favorite spot on the porch to think about what we'd seen. Graveyards make us introspective, don't they? I thought about the many veterans' graves we'd seen, from different wars, all side by side in the cemeteries. I wondered about the many stones at Sand Ridge from 1922--what happened that year? An influenza epidemic?

Those thoughts (and a writing prompt on the WV Writers Roundtable) led to this poem:

Follow Me Home

Follow me
to mossy graves of soldiers
from old wars long past
and soon forgotten

Follow me
to farms and land abandoned
where fireplaces stand
to mark their place

Follow me
along a lonely highway
that traces a course
through history

Follow me
on US Route 33
through Pickle Street, Linn,
and Leatherbark

Follow me
remember your ancestors
who lived, worked, died
and left small trace

Follow me
along this twisting two-lane
into the shadows
follow me home

Allegheny Echoes: writing class

At the fish hatchery. I wondered if this might have been the site of an old mill, because there was a millstone nearby.

I spent three afternoons with the creative writing class. I took that workshop two years ago and it was excellent. The way Allegheny Echoes is structured, afternoons are open to attend any workshop of your choice. On Tuesday afternoon Sherrell Wigal led a workshop that led to some creative writing by focusing on a day of the week, a time of day, a body part, and an adjective. Sounds odd but it was very effective.


View from the graveyard in Pocahontas County.
Wednesday the group went to local sites-the fish hatchery, the graveyard where oldtime music legends the Hammons family are buried...

I liked this poem on a gravesone for a man who died in 1875. "Rest, father, rest, a quiet sleep, while friends in sorrow o'er thee weep."

Hamlin chapel. Date was 1832, I believe. It's no longer in use, but in the back some restoration work was being done to the foundation. You can see the dirt that's been dug out on the left. That's Kirk Judd, creative writing class instructor, in the photo.

I jotted down impressions and thoughts that will develop later into poems. What was important to me was soaking in the atmosphere, feeling the places and the history behind them. I am usually fairly quiet during such times because talking interferes with the process somehow.

The handrail with its moss and the lock on the door seemed symbolic to me. The unused handrail could be interpreted as loss of faith or passage of time, and the lock on the door--old churches used to have no locks. Locking up religion? Locking out people? Holding onto the past? These are the kinds of thoughts that often lead to poems.

Sparklers, Sunrise and Street Fair

Sparklers! Just as much fun today as they were when I was young. Haley wasn't going to eat hers although I'm not sure just what she was doing when I took the picture. At 5:30am, the sky was washed with color, while fog hung in the valleys.

One of many dressed-up catfish, and a belly-dancer in the street! Today was Street Fair at the library where I work. The Fair is part of a city-wide arts festival. I worked part of the day and then "touristed" with my granddaughter Hannah (in balloon hat).

An Hour Outside with My Camera

Starting at the old cellar door...

and onto the porch, the snakeskin found by Haley and Hannah in the chicken house...

to the grape arbors and the bluebird who has a nest in the hole in one post..

to the second snakeskin, also in the chicken house (and the probable reason for the sudden decline in eggs)...

and how odd to see where the eyes and mouth of the snake were...

to the deck, where a wasp has found an easy waterhole...

out to garden where a bumblebee feasts on coneflower...

joined by a Black Swallowtail...

and on the peach tree, an Eastern Fence Lizard who posed for many photos...

as you can see...

It was a lovely hour, and I was never more than 100 feet from my front door.

Where Will the Princess Sleep?

It appears that she will have a hard bed, since this truck is hauling away ALL her mattresses. I wonder if it was the princess' complaints about the pea that forced lodge management at Cedar Lakes Conference Center to remove all the mattresses during the writers conference?

I never heard from anyone if the mattresses were replaced. Although after the late night (early morning, really) party at the bonfire, I doubt anyone noticed whether or not they had a mattress when they rolled into bed. Since I didn't stay at the conference, I'll never know.

Today's Journey

All over the world in stories, but just along the Ohio River in reality. A few pictures of the trip below:

Chester Bills' store in St. Mary's is a junker's delight. Mr. Bills can tell you where every single thing is inside and outside his store. I've spent a few dollars here, and more than a few minutes in good conversation.






Willow Island Memorial. 51 men lost their lives on April 27,1978 when a cooling tower under construction at Willow Island Power Plant collapsed.

Twenty years later, a boy doing a social studies project spearheaded a drive to establish a memorial to their memory.



The power plant with reconstructed cooling tower #2 (on left) stands sentinel over the memorial.








A pretty, deep hollow along Highway 2, near the Pioneer Community Road. I love road names--today I passed Adonis Next Road too. Where on earth did that name come from?

The Abandoned Leg Brace and 500 Used Chickens in an Econoline Van

It leaned on the brick wall by the door of the coffee shop, its velcro bands spread wide as if some mighty muscle has burst its hold and gone on alone. Who did the brace belong to? and why did they leave it behind? Had a miracle occurred on that very spot? The questions and possibilities have chased each other around my mind all day. At 6:00pm, it was gone.

The anomaly of that brace reminded me of another brain teaser that happened a few years back. I needed some new chickens--mine were ready for the retirement home. An ad in the paper prompted me to action. The man on the other end of the line explained, "I've got chickens. A lot of chickens. They're used, though.

"You see, my buddy decided to go into the chicken business. He ordered 15,000 baby chicks. He didn't think about where he would house them or how much it would cost to feed them or where he would sell the eggs.

"He raised those chicks and he had eggs everywhere. First he kept the hens in a small building, but he couldn't sell all the eggs and he couldn't afford the feed. So he turned them loose. Well, coyotes got a lot of them. Others died for lack of feed, whatever. I told him I'd try to sell them. There were only 5000 by then. I've sold a lot and there's about 500 left.

"So here's what I'll do. I'll bring them to town in my gray Ford Econoline van. You'll know it's me by the side of the road. And you can pick out as many as you want."

I was fascinated. An Econoline van filled with 500 chickens flying loose? Would they be coming out the windows? Would he have a chicken sitting on his head? Would we open the doors, grab a chicken, slam the doors and then do it again to catch another one?

I couldn't wait to meet him. We drove to town and sure enough, there was the gray-primer van by the side of the road, and a wild-haired young man in a ball cap waving his arm out the window. Why weren't chickens flying out too?

I was disappointed. All the chickens were in cages, not flying free in the back of the van. Still, it was a sight as they clucked and squawked and stared at us with beady eyes. We picked out 20, paid for them and headed home. The young man continued on to Charleston with his ladies. I never saw him or his chickens again. But I thank him every time I remember that telephone call. You can't get better mental stimulation than that.

5 golden things before bedtime

1. The pileated woodpecker flew with the setting sun over his back. Glorious color, glorious flight.


2. The greens of the trees backlighted with golden light at 7pm. So many variations on the theme of Spring green, undulating and shading from ridge to ridge.












3. Yellow-gold flames leaping in the fireplace. It's cold this evening, and the fire in the stone fireplace in the old log room felt good. It's calming to watch the fire as I sit in my rocker, looking out over the trees to the mountain on the other side of Bucket Run.

4. Joseph's Coat roses in a vase on the table. I planted the rose Sunday, but I knew the open blossoms would not survive the transplant. So now they grace the table with their orange-yellow blossoms.

5. Old ballads on the tape in the CD player. Golden oldies from the mountains, songs that traveled across the ocean with early settlers, to live on in seclusion in the mountains until the songcatachers discovered them. Tonight, it was Phyllis Marks singing to me.

What I Saw Today

1. A jack-in-the-pulpit growing very near the place we planted a weeping willow tree this morning. (No storyteller or balladeer can not have a weeping willow tree--they are mentioned so often in song and story, and there is a wealth of folklore about them). The jack was a small one, all green with no purple striping. It's the first one I've found on our land, although I have found them down in the Hawk Hollow behind our house.

2. A robin's nest in the twig wreath over the door to the log room. My sons call that wreath my "bad hair" wreath, but I love it. I made it about 5 years ago, twisting grapevine and sticking in stems from a spirea bush. It hung inside the log room until last year, when I decided it would look better outside. The robin seems to like it. I'll post a photo when I get a chance to take one.

3. A girl in a red satin evening gown and a Mickey Mouse hat at Wal-Mart this afternoon. I have no idea. Where is my camera?