Mostly Wordless Wednesday: Barn, Mushrooms, and Dogs

47°f/8.3C, mostly clear. No rain in sight til the weekend.

This old barn is on my son's property. 

Wish I could remember the name of this wildflower.

Along my son's road.

And up by Sarah's cabin,  Larry spotted these mushrooms and thought they were Chicken of the Woods.  Unfortunately they were actually Jack-O-Lanterns, and are poisonous.

We went to the shelter yesterday and found a dog. Buddy is thrilled to have a playmate! His name was Mr. Pibb, but we are calling him Pip, which he seems to like. Pip is 6 months old and had been at the shelter since he was 2 months old,  so he has much to learn. Everything is scary and wonderful to him!

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

Old Barns and Back Roads

36°f, about 3°C, overcast, a damp chill in the air.

Today we had a leisurely day planned. Online van-hunting in the morning, then lunch with a friend and the last, I hoped, of Christmas shopping. I think I have remembered everyone.  Usually we give quite a few homemade gifts--things from the cellar, dried herbs mixes, baked goods, etc. But this year I just wasn't feeling like it, so we made our small contribution to the economy instead. 

We met our friend Suzy at our favorite place, the West Virginia Artisan Market. When Shari started the business in 2020, she had no plans to get into the food business, but she did want to serve beer and wine to customers strolling the aisles of arts and crafts. In order to get the proper State license,  however, she had to serve food. Weird, she thought, but she devised a simple menu and figured she wouldn't sell many meals anyway. Wrong. Her prices are reasonable,  the food is good, and now in her new location the place is usually packed. 

As we dawdled over our coffee, my phone rang. The auction company, reminding me that the online auction pickup would be over in an hour and did I want my stuff. I had totally forgotten! So off we dashed, fortunately being only 35 minutes away from the auction site. 

Google maps took us to the place expertly, but boy was it out there. I mean, I live on a gravel road, 4 miles from the 2 lane highway, 12 miles from town. This place was 9 miles back on a one-lane road--paved (called a hard road here) but narrow and twisting with many a blind hill and curve. Just the kind of road we like. 

As we drove,  I was struck by the number of barns and silos. 

While there was some good bottomland here and there, this was hilly, steep country. 

Where, I wondered, did they grow all the corn to fill those silos? 

Obviously most of them were no longer in use, just silent reminders of the days before regulations shut down almost all the small dairies. But still, they had to have grown the corn somewhere. My mind is still ruminating on that.

There were so many things I wanted photos of, but I was only able to get a few as we drove along.

Our destination, Ghost Hollow Road. And my mind is also busy with that: where did the name come from? Was it based on the 200 year old story from that area of the bear hunters who camped under a shelving rock one night? It was winter, so the men built a fire right at the front of the shallow cave. The rock here is sandstone, which can have water trapped between layers of rock. The rock exploded from the buildup of steam, crushing the men. Sadly they did not die instantly but sent a young boy who was sleeping outside for help. The area was so remote that it took hours for help to arrive, by which time the men had died. Is it their ghosts this sign refers to?

Well, enough of that chilling train of thought! A few other sights along the way:

And finally, after picking up the few things I had won, we made our way down the steep driveway to the road...

and back to town to do that shopping.

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

Barns

Old barns fascinate me. Brick, block, wood or stone, their homely shape and voluminous interiors speak of hard work and careful husbandry. Standing inside a vacant barn is a sensory smorgasbord—the faint odors of sweet feed, hay, horses and cattle linger, the lofts filter sunlight softly through drifting dust, swallows dart and sing in the eaves and for an imaginative mind, shadows of thin, muscular men and sturdy women seem to pass just out of sight. Sadly, these monuments to the industrious farmers of the past are becoming obsolete, no longer needed for their massive haymows or long lines of milking stanchions.  

Farming has changed significantly

in the past 50 years. Where once draft horses ruled the hill farms of West Virginia, four-wheel-drive tractors plod across today’s landscapes. Dairy farms were once numerous, providing products for local communities and sales to larger processing plants. As awareness of the health risks of raw milk grew and regulation became the order of the day, the small dairies gradually disappeared. Herds of black and white or soft Jersey brown were gone; in their place came the red and white Herefords and deep black Angus beef cattle. The huge dairy barns were no longer a necessity; many were abandoned or used for storage, and the concrete block milk houses turned to other uses or left to slowly sink into the ground.

Haystacks, carefully raked and stacked to withstand rain, wind and snow, were replaced with neat square bales produced by chugging balers trailing behind smoking tractors. The square bales are quickly going the way of the stacks as the large round bales provide faster processing and require no building for storage.  The popularity of round balers has signaled the sure death of hundreds of hay barns across our state.

One kind of barn is still holding on in some regions: tobacco barns. When I see a barn hanging full of gold-green, upside-down plants, I smile. I know fully the dangers of tobacco use; we raised tobacco for several years and regretfully gave it up when our consciences could no longer take the strain of knowing we were contributing to a known health risk. But I still appreciate a field of tall, lush tobacco plants topped with a crown of bright pink flowers; I still like seeing those barns of golden leaf, and I miss the excitement and music of the annual tobacco auctions. Today I see fewer and fewer tobacco fields, and many of those airy drying sheds and tobacco barns will probably go the way of the dairy and hay barns.

I am sad when I see the skeletal remains of a barn etched against a horizon, the tin roof flapping in the wind. I realize that time marches on and I try to march along with it, although I am often looking over my shoulder at what we have left behind and wondering if the changes are worth the price.

Published in the September 2013 issue of Two Lane Livin'.

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

The Impermanence of Things

I could not believe it. Someone was tearing it down.

I had always meant to take a picture of it; I like old barns and this one had character, a history that almost shouted from its worn boards. Now it was being disassembled, all its skeletons exposed to the curious eye. I know it was a little saggy here and there and some beams that might not have been trustworthy--or maybe one of those companies that take down old barns to sell their wood to city folks for paneling made an offer that was too good to refuse?

I know wood buildings can't last forever. This one, with its faded Mail Pouch sign and rustic gate, was a sight for eyes jaded by more modern metal buildings. As more old barns get left behind--roofs blowing off, doors gapping open, weeds growing up around them--I feel like holding my breath, knowing that an era is passing and most of us are too busy to see it. The big wood barns that held tons of hay in their mows, housed cattle, pigs and horses at night, those barns are becoming a thing of the past, at least in this part of America. They are being replaced by round bales in the fields and metal equipment sheds. The death of small dairies hastened their demise; the milkhouses stand empty with broken windows or have been converted to other uses. A time is passing, and we are the witnesses.

So mourn with me for a little bit for the loss of this one barn. The owner I am sure was glad to see it go--he cleaned up the site very nicely as I saw yesterday when I passed by. Now I have one less landmark on my journeys into central West Virginia, one less reminder of how life was once on these quiet farms. I may well be the only one, but I will miss it.

The Road to New Milton and Back Again

I said, "Stop! That's a cool house. I want to take a picture!"

He said, "There's a sign that says winery. Want to go?"

So we turned onto this one-lane road, seeking a winery that had no name. Here's what we found (besides Dale, the man I wrote about yesterday):

The home of the national marble champion, Ralphie Dillon. This young man lives off the beaten path, but found his way to Pittsburgh to become this year's champion shooter.

Beautiful still waters and crumbling old buildings provided food for thought. Who lived there? Why did they leave?

The road wound around curves, rocks and hills,

by an abandoned one-room schoolhouse,

and picturesque barns,

and more old ruins so hidden in the trees they looked like ghosts of the past.

But some older dwellings, like this one, were still being maintained and loved.

The detailed, tight dovetailing is one reason the cabin has lasted so well and so long,

but unless someone comes along soon to love it, this little place will soon be a memory.

At last, after abut eight ambling miles, we found the winery:

Notice the sign. Saturday and Sunday. We were there on Friday. How sad is that. Cascarelli's, you need to put a sign with your hours at the end of the road. Not nice to potential customers to have them drive 20 minutes or more out of their way to discover your hours.

But on the other hand, we would not have met Dale or had an interesting drive down yet another one-lane road in West Virginia that, like so many others, offered much for reflection. Will we go back? Maybe, although this is definitely off the usual route and not a place we are likely to go for any other reason. But if you'd like to know more about the winery, here's their contact information (note that it says call ahead!):

Cascarelli’s Old Country Wine
John R. Cascarelli
Rt. 3, Box 55A
Salem, WV 26426
304-782-2768
Hours:
Please call ahead.

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.

More Photos of Peniel Road

I promised to post a few more photos from our drive through Peniel Road last weekend. The computer has been so balky this week (gotta love that saltellite!) that I have been able to post very few photos, but today the powers that be are being gracious, so here are the prmised pics:

An old homestead showed signs of continued care, even if no one lives here.

Ah! The sign on the building told me whose place this was--Elmer the maple syrup man! This must be his sugar shack. As far as I know, he is the only person in our county who still makes maple syrup. I was fortunate enough to be given a small amount of Elmer's syrup by my son a few years ago, and it was delicious. When I first moved to Jackson County, I tried my hand at tapping trees for a few years. But though I trekked to my trees to collect sap every day and boiled it down carefully, I never got more than a few ounces for all my work. Elmer, it seems, has the secret knowledge I lacked.

An icy waterfall to the side of the road attested to the day's temperatures.

Old barns graced a meadow and hillside near the end of the road.

And finally, where Peniel Road exits onto US Rte 33. The yellow building on the right is the general store at Peniel, which proudly proclaims itself as "the best little general store in Peniel." Of course, it's the only general store in Peniel...