Last Week's Storytelling Trail

Last week was a week of storytelling variety. I told stories with another storyteller and a musician on a boat as it traveled the Ohio River--we swapped back and forth with songs and stories, spinning from each other as the boat carried us up the river and back again to the pretty little town of Pomeroy where the Steamboat Festival was being held.

I told stories in an assisted living facility where my uncle now lives, telling stories from my childhood and inviting the audience to share their stories too. A couple of them actually did so, and it was my pleasure to hear them.

I told ghost stories with a friend at a library to kick off a festival celebrating a strange paranormal occurrence in the town in the 1960's, the Mothman.

Jason Burns and I swapped back and forth; sometimes he would tell a story that reminded me of a story or a ballad, and then he'd follow me with a story that I had reminded him of. Although we both came with lists of what we planned to tell, we didn't quite follow those lists and instead let the stories roll naturally, one from another.

I told stories with a dulcimer playing friend for people learning arts and old-time crafts at Cedar Lakes in my town of Ripley. My friend Heidi Muller, one of the best dulcimer players in the country, played tunes and again we played off of each other, tying what we did next to what the other had just done. I love this way of storytelling because it's informal and spontaneous.

Finally, on Saturday night I told stories for people coming to learn self-sufficiency and homesteading skills.

For each of these groups the stories were different. On the sternwheeler cruise, I told stories from the early days of steamboat travel on the river.

For the seniors at the assisted living facility, I told personal stories ffrom my growing up years. I have no photos from there or from Cedar Lakes because I forgot to ask someone to take them.


At the Chickens in the Road Retreat, I tried to introduce the camp attendees to life in these mountains and to the richness of the culture that surrounded them, using stories, ballads and conversation. The night was beautiful, with the storytelling beginning just as the sun went down. The only photos I have, unfortunately, are of that gorgeous sunset because once again I was busy telling stories and did not think to ask someone to take photos (can you tell that Larry was not with me for these trips?).

It was a perfect ending to a week of stories. I feel so blessed to be able to live this life, and to share stories with so many people in so many different places.


Copyright 2012 Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Coal Country

This is Sonny. He's one cool guy. I'll tell you more about him later on in this post.


Monday Larry and I decided to take off to Beckley to visit the exhibition coal mine. I've always wanted to go but we never seemed to have the time. This time we made the time.All the visitors had left or were leaving that morning so we headed out in the pouring rain for a road trip. Instead of taking the usual route down the West Virginia turnpike, we opted for the back way. It took a lot longer but it was a lot more interesting.

We went through the small coal town of Whitesville in Boone county, where it seems the recent coal boom has not yet impacted the dying local economy. While other places seem to be making progress, Whitesville appeared to still be struggling. Maybe it was the rain that made it look so deserted.

Further along the road we passed this tribute to the miners lost in the Upper Big Branch explosion, and we realized we would be passing right by that mine. It was a sober thought, and yet it felt right to be thinking about them and offering a prayer on their behalf on Labor Day. The mine is still shut down but a man at a convenience store told us that mining was doing better than ever in the area and some mines could not find enough miners to fill the open jobs. Further on we passed the entrance to the UBB mine.

A row of coal company houses reminded us of the past of this region, when most miners did not own their own homes but lived in company provided housing on company land, and shopped at the company store. Times have changed a great deal since those days, but many coal camp houses remain. This photo is terrible--the rain was intense as we drove along this portion of the route. Similar houses lined the road on either side. Larry remembered growing up in a house that was not quite as nice as these--their house was one board thick (Jenny Linn style) and a mighty cold place in the winter. These houses seemed to have had some improvements over the years.

An abandoned church made me think again of the UBB miners. Surely for that community it was their faith that helped them through those dark days. I would not be surprised if this church's congregation had simply built a new church elsewhere. I don't know about you, but I find the sight of an abandoned church oddly disturbing.

The exhibition mine was worth the trip. Visitors are taken right into an old mine that ceased operation in 1910. The City of Beckley worked to make the mine safe, making the ceilings higher, putting in lights and digging the tunnels wide enough to run the tours. Our tour guide was Sonny, an 80-year-old retired miner who moved like a young man and had a depth of knowledge that came from years and years in the mines. He patiently answered all of our questions, even showing us how to light a carbide lamp and explaining the old-time equipment we were seeing along the way. He turned the lights off once to show us how dark it typically is in a mine. Let me tell you, it's dark! The miner usually has only his own headlamp to show him the way.

We saw old coal mining tools similar to those in our collection being shown on the tour. The breast auger, carbide lamp, safety lamp, pick, shovel, lunch bucket and other items are all things we've collected over the years and I take many of them with me when I'm telling stories. I learned some new things that will be added into my storytelling.

After the tour we talked with Sonny for a little while. He showed us how to find the value of the scrip we have and talked about the coal miners' baseball teams, the interactions between black and white miners and life in the coal camps in general. I felt privileged to sit there and listen to his stories. He and Larry had some things in common there, as well as both being former Marines.

Many buildings from a typical coal camp have been moved into the park and restored for tours. We slogged through the continuing rain to tour the Superintendent's house, the miner's house, a bachelor's shanty, the schoolhouse that had been the school for the colored children, and the church. Of course, all the buildings looked much better than the way they might have looked in a camp with daily use and the coal trains and trucks coming and going and leaving behind the gray coal dust! That's true of any historic restoration project though. The guides were friendly and helpful and full of information. It was an advantage to be there on such a nasty day because we got some one-on-one time with the guides that would not have happened on a normal holiday weekend.

There was much to think about on the trip home. The rain continued to come down in torrents, but we weren't in the mood for fast travel anyway. Our minds were still back in the mine.

I will post photos from inside the mine tomorrow.

Saturday Tourists: Cupcakes, Antiques, Picnic and Ghosts

After considering many possibilities, we decided that what we wanted to do yesterday was to go to Marietta, Ohio and take the ghost tour around this historic town. It was a good decision, and since we left early we had several adventures along the way.


We headed north on old US 21 towards Ravenswood, intending to stop at the riverside park for a picnic lunch. Instead we made a detour to the covered bridge at Sarvis Fork.

 Picture taking time:

Then we saw that the Silverton Fire Department was having an ice cream social, so of course we stopped. Homemade ice cream, music and meeting with some old friends made for a pleasant and unexpected treat. I can attest to the great ice cream--chocolate was awesome.

No one was really hungry for lunch so we stopped at the River's Bend Antique Mall in Ravenswood and browsed. Grace and I had a great time; Larry and Clayton humored us (and I took this bad photo. Geez. You'd think I'd remember to check the camera settings). I like this store because it has such spacious aisles, no danger of knocking things over. Some antique places are so full I'm afraid to even look. This one has breathing room.

I was impressed with this HUGE barrel--it was a shipping barrel for wool and it is without a doubt the biggest barrel I've ever seen.

I found something I'd been searching for--a glass washboard. I have a small one but this one is the standard size, and the price was excellent. While paying for my washboard I got into conversation with the lady who works there. She is also one of 13 children, was raised near Ravenswood and remembers her mother washing all day on a washboard. We talked a long time, and I will be back to see her. She has many stories to tell.

We left Ravenswood and went in search of Alligator Jack's, a big flea market on the Ohio side of the river. We found it all right---and this place was guy heaven. Guns, knives, weapons of all sorts; food and snacks; movies. For us women there were vintage items, beads, books and all sorts of things to look at. Including this little lady:

Gwen is 14 years old and was shy at first, but soon showed her feathers. She was a real delight, and I appreciated her owner's graciousness in talking to us about her pet.

It was time to find somewhere to eat! We drove on towards Marietta to have lunch in the park I wrote about last week, on the shores of the Muskingum River.

The park is a lovely place, the only downside being that there are no picnic tables. We improvised and had a nice picnic--we'd packed ham and turkey sandwich fixings, pickles, tomatoes, cucumbers, chips, cookies and drinks so we were all set. We decided that since we had some time, we should venture up to Beverly, Ohio to see the site of the explosion of the Buckeye Belle and the gravesite for the 13 unidentified people who were among the victims of that disaster. Imagine that many people dying and no one knowing who they were. Back then a person could pay cash for their fare and no one would even know they were on the boat.

The grave was not difficult to find; I knew that it was near the back fence of a cemetery in town and after asking a young guy where the "old" cemetery might be, we drove straight to the site and found the stone marker. We stood and talked quietly, feeling the past creeping around us like the evening shadows.

As we drove back to Beverly we saw this little brick schoolhouse, which is the oldest brick schoolhouse in Ohio--the Round Bottom School (ahem).

 
A cemetery beside the school drew my attention (surprised?) and this stone in particular caught my eye. Story indeed--surely there are many stories that could be found about those sleeping in this peaceful spot.

At last it was time for the ghost walk. More in my next post!

A New Passion

I know, like I need something else to keep me busy. This passion is one of research and history, however, and it's something I've wanted to delve into for some time. It got kindled into flame this weekend at the Inland Waterways Festival at Marietta, Ohio.

First, I have to admit that I am embarrassed. You know how much I love to visit historic places. Well, Marietta Ohio is only an hour or so from my house, and I have never explored there. Oh, I've been through the town several times, and about 30 years or so ago we took our boys there to take the cruise on the Valley Gem (or was there another boat there at that time?). But I have never taken the time to really appreciate the history that is practically on my doorstep. Shame on me.

Marietta was the jumping-off point for settlers heading into the Northwest Territories. The first governor of the territories was actually sworn into office in Marietta, on the banks of the Muskingum River. This early town provided supplies for the pioneers and witnessed many a flatboat traveling south from Pittsburgh to wherever the settlers thought was a likely place to start a home. It saw Indian troubles, English troubles, Aaron Burr's quest for empire--and before all of those, George Washington himself sent settlers to establish a town on the site of the current city. These monuments are in a park very near to the museum.

And then there is the river--the Ohio River and her mighty past of flatboats, keelboats, steamboats, and now the diesel tugs that push loaded barges up and down the river. Until this weekend, I did not know the difference between a flatboat and a keelboat and did not have any idea of the importance and impact of the Ohio on the development of the United States. The river was a major highway, the way to get to New Orleans from points east, by overland travel to Pittsburgh, then down the Ohio to the Mississippi and on to New Orleans. Thousands of vessels made the journey, and it is still a major route for industrial shipping on the big barges.

The Inland Waterways Festival held at the Ohio River Museum this past weekend celebrated the river and its history, and explored the river ecology too. Displays of Ohio River fish--caught the day before and put into a display tank--were a revelation of the rich aquatic life that teems beneath the river's surface. I had no inkling there were so many kinds of fish in the river! I suppose I am naive, but I am not a fisherman and I figured it was the usual bass, catfish and sunfish mixture. There are those, and many more, as you can see in the photos.

There is a flatboat on site too; it is slated for renovation in the coming year so that people can tour it and educational programs can be offered. (These were taken before the festival opened. There were a lot of people there both days).

A steam tug is available for tours; I was able to do part of the tour between my sets and found it fascinating. Larry took the whole tour and counted it as one of the best parts of the festival. He also got to take a ride on a steam launch--that looked like so much fun! I missed that too but in my long dress it would have been a challenge.The Valley Gem sternwheeler is onsite at the museum as well and does regular excursions.

Inside the museum there are excellent exhibits that explore the history of rivercraft and river life, including a large photo exhibit of the devastating flood of 1884. Oddly, that flood was caused by the far-off eruption of Krakatoa. The eruption was so massive that it caused extreme weather changes resulting in the heavy rains that caused the river to rise to 58 feet at Marietta, destroying many buildings and taking many lives. There is also a wonderful old dugout canoe that is quite long; it was used as a ferry! Imagine riding in a canoe as transport across the wide Ohio. Ships' wheels, calliopes, examples of the silver used in the dining rooms, signage, and many other items were on display in the well-maintained Ohio River Museum.

Besides history and ecology, the festival offered entertainment. Mark Twain was there, portrayed by my friend Stephen Hollen, and riverboat music was played by  man and wife whose names I cannot now recall. They were excellent, and her washtub bass (actually a 5-gallon bucket, but who's counting?) was a fun addition. A couple who build flatboats were there in a living history exhibit and gave a fascinating presentation on flatboat life. A presentation on the NEW ORLEANS (yep, it's supposed to be all caps), the first steamboat to travel from Pittsburgh to New Orleans, was the first time I'd heard about that ship and its importance to history. Living history presenters were there to represent the captain of that ship, Nicholas Roosevelt (great-uncle to Teddy Roosevelt) and his wife, who went on that voyage in 1811and gave birth to a son along the way.

And I was there to tell stories. I researched some new tales for this festival and mixed them with stories already in my repertoire to provide a lively mix of two intriguing steamboat stories from the area, some tall tales, a few ghost stories from communities along the river, and a few ballads. And now I want to learn more, to dig in deeper and find more stories about this beautiful river that I have long admired but from a distance only. I think I'll be returning to the festival next year to tell more stories, and I will be ready. Already three books are making their way to me via eBay. It's my new passion: the beautiful Ohio.

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.

Little Buck Run and The German Settlement

A roadside sign and a turn off the highways can lead to some interesting discoveries. We were driving home on WV Rte 18 on Thursday, having decided to take a different way home. I don't know about you, but I get tired of the same old roads and like to find new ways and places. These routes invariably take longer, not just because the roads are narrower and don't go directly to where we want to go, but also because there are new things to see along the way---and sometimes, a side road calling out for investigation.

On Thursday we noticed this historical marker on the side of the road.

We could only make out the name so I pulled out my much battered copy of West Virginia Historical Markers and looked up the name we'd seen on the sign: Joseph Diss Debar. Who was he? we wondered. The name was slightly familiar. I found the listing: creator of the West Virginia State Seal, and he had lived in the tiny community of Leopold that we had just past through. By this time we were a few miles down the road, but Larry obligingly turned around, and we went back to read the sign. Just before the sign was a beautiful old farmstead, and that lured us up Little Buck Run where we found the log barn, old schoolhouse and other homestead pictured yesterday.

I was very curious about the "Saint Clara community" mentioned on the sign. What was that? Back home, I started looking online and found out more:

The Saint Clara community was part of a larger effort to settle Swiss and German immigrants in the state. As this article in Wonderful West Virginia magazine explains, Mr. James Swan bought huge tracts of land in what is now West Virginia for pennies on the acre. He planned to parcel it out and make a fortune but his plans did not work out as planned and he actually died a poor man. A land agency obtained his holdings and hired agents to find people to buy the land. Joseph Diss Debar was one of those agents. In Comstock's West Virginia Heritage Encyclopedia, Boyd Stutler's article on Debar hailed Debar as "the first prophet of West Virginia."

Debar was born in the Alsace province of France, and sailed to America in 1842 on the same ship that brought Charles Dickens to America for a literary tour. Debar met Dickens on the ship; one incident noted by Comstock said that Debar got into a game of blackjack on board and lost almost everything, but then had a run of luck and was able to get over half of his money back. Dickens was watching and signaled to Debar to leave the game at the point, which Debar did, so he retained at least some of his money. Debar became and remained a fan of Dickens for the rest of his life.


In America, the colorful Debar was known for his large mustache and energetic, creative nature. He worked hard to get settlers to come to western Virginia, writing letters and advertisements about the many advantages and resources of the land. He married Clara Levassor in Parkersburg, but she died soon after giving birth to a son. Her parents moved back to their home in Cincinnati, taking the baby with them. Debar moved to his lands in Doddridge county and later married again, and he and his second wife had several children.

It was during this time that Debar envisioned and developed the Saint Clara community. Named for his first wife, the community drew Swiss and German people who were interested in a farming life. The community was prosperous and Debar became its first postmaster. He lived on his farm here until 1866, when he moved to Parkersburg. The Lutheran church was established there in 1852 (and is still there today) and got its first minister in 1867.A soldier who had been in France in the first World War told the church about a bronze sculpture he had seen and the church managed to raise the funds to have the statue brought to Doddridge county in 1921. The statue is still there, and that is what we missed seeing on Thursday. Just a few more miles up the road...so, another road trip will have to be made. This is something I just need to see for myself.

Mr. Debar became interested in politics and was elected to the state legislature the year after West Virginia officially became a state. He was appointed Commissioner of Immigration and continued his efforts to attract immigrants to West Virginia, and even sent, at his own expense, a display of the state's mineral and natural resources to the world fair held in France in 1867. He was asked to design the state's seal and his design was adopted by the legislature and is still in use today.

Eventually Debar moved to Philadelphia but he kept an interest in West Virginia until his death at 85 years of age. According to one of Comstock's sources, at the time of his death, Debar was placing advertisements for his services as a medium who could contact the dead. He was apparently a colorful character right to the end.

Interestingly, a reader of this blog sent me a link to an application for National Historic Register status for one of the homesteads in the area (thanks, Bob!). I am not sure if it is one of the ones we photographed on our trip, so I'll be checking on that when we return too. The application includes a lot of historic information about the area and about the history of this particular piece of property. There is a listing also for Krenn School on Little Buck Run, but I do not know where that is. More investigation!

Little Buck Run, Doddridge County

 A road sign drew us up a tiny hollow yesterday as we took the long way home from Doddridge County, WV. Such side trips usually yield jewels, and this one was no exception. Old homesteads, quiet rural scenes that seemed in some cases to be from 100 years ago were our gift this day.

 This lovely, well-kept and obviously at one time a working homestead provided its own food and fuel, and most likely a good income as well in its heyday. I especially liked the picket fence--in older times, farmers fenced a small yard which was maintained with mowing, flowers, etc, and the rest was farm. It minimized upkeep on the grounds and maximized the usefulness of surrounding land for farming use.

 Log barns were not usually notched as carefully as log homes. You can see the notching on this barn, while sturdy, was not done with that same attention and care that the dovetailed corners of log homes I've pictured in other posts. Still, it's sturdy and serves its purpose, just as it did when it was built, probably 100 years or more ago.

 I learned after we got home that this part of Doddridge county was settled by German immigrants, and that was not surprising in view of the neatly kept homes we saw in the area. The farms were immaculate, and over all, a deep country quiet. This little place looks like it may have been a school at one time.

This is just one of the homeplaces we saw. All the outbuildings attest to this having been one busy working farm that was probably self-sufficient too. 

More about the area in my next post. As for yesterday's storytelling? That's yet another post. It was a very good day.

Mingo Flats

The name of the road attracted us:"Mingo Flats Road." Why was it called that, and where did it lead? A little further along US Route 219 we discovered that the road came again to the highway, apparently making a loop. We turned left, to see what might be seen.

Beautiful scenery abounded and there were so many places to take photos we would never have made it to the inn where we were staying if I was driving. "Stop!" I'd say. "Back up!" Larry obliged over and over, but finally even I had to admit that we needed to move along.

I looked up the history of this place when we got home to see where it might have got its name. It had apparently been the site of a large Native American village at one time; later settlers believed the natives to be Mingos (a tribe, described as people who had been cast off by the Iroquois) based on local legend and passed-down stories. Even in 1920 there was great dispute over what tribe might have encamped there. We were told by present-day residents that it was a "winter camp" but that seems unlikely to me. Pocahontas County in winter is a snowbound place, and I can't see why Indians would have camped there when they could have been comfortable in a more southern location. According to online documents the Indians grew "winter corn" here so perhaps that is where my informants got the idea of it being a winter camp.

Today there is a small community still located at Mingo Flats; the turn-of-the-century and older buildings are mostly well-maintained. This view looks over what used to be the general store and post office. Hidden in the trees near the center of the photo is the old two-story schoolhouse.

This is a closer view of the store, which appears to be vacant but still cared for.

As we wound up the road past the cluster of buildings, we were startled to see a beautiful stone sculpture of an Indian standing sentinel beside the road.

About 100 or more years ago, this was the Huttonsville to Marlinton Pike, a main thoroughfare through the mountains. Today it is a one-lane country road meandering in the hills alongside of US 219 in Pocahontas County, West Virginia. How did the statue come to be in this place?

I looked online when we returned home and discovered that descendants of the early pioneers wanted to honor the place where the ancient Indian village had stood. Remains of the village were visible to the first settlers, although clearly abandoned for many years. According to some reports, there were burial mounds in the area. An online full-text copy of "Monument to, and history of the Mingo Indians; facts and traditions about this tribe, their wars, chiefs, camps, villages and trails. Monument dedicated to their memory near the village of Mingo, in Tygarts River Valley of West Virginia" provides the background on the statue, the arguments for and against its erection, and even some of the speeches given on the date of its dedication (September 25, 1920--we took these photos almost 90 years to the day later).

We spent a good bit of time in the small park around the statue. It's restful and quiet, a place to contemplate the history of the land the statue overlooks. Today you might never think of the past as you drive down the smooth asphalt of Route 219, but this statue made us stop and look back to what once was.

We left and continued driving along the quiet road, through deep woods turning to fall colors. Then we encountered this:

Another statue? This one was actually erected before the Mingo monument, and was placed in honor of the Confederate soldiers from the area who died in a battle on Valley Mountain under the command of General Robert E. Lee. The monument, according to an article on the Smithsonian Institution's website, "was originally unveiled July 23, 1913 on Valley Mountain, near Mingo, in the proximity of where General Robert E. Lee's army was encamped for 30 days during the Civil War."

Who was the sculpture of these two statues? Was it the same person, or two different artists? Why were the people of this particular community driven to erect monuments to the past? To these questions I have not yet searched for answers, and the young soldier below isn't telling. Perhaps someone reading this knows, or perhaps I will discover what I want to know in archives somewhere.

For those who wander up Mingo Flats Road, the efforts of its past residents have provided a surprising trip into history and an opportunity for many generations after them to stop a moment and reflect on those whose feet traveled the ground beneath us.