Words From The Mountains

The Glory of Wooden Spoons & Zeetburger

2011-03-31T13:46:00.002-04:00

As a child, I spent a lot of time around food. I like food for many reasons - its nourishment, its comfort, and lately I've found that I enjoy the making of food. This may be surprising to some people who know me, but if you know my family background you can definitely say I "got it honest".

My mother spent a LOT of time in the kitchen when I was growing up. The family was quite large - with my parents helping to raise my father's 5 siblings, visiting cousins, neighbors, and sometimes near strangers. This was no small feat, feeding a giant family and the others, and thank goodness for gardens that put out enough for all. My mother's record was one Thanksgiving in the 80s, when she had 32 people eating. And this was no grand affair, except in volume. There were people eating in every nook and cranny of my grandparents' small house, from the kitchen table, the living room, and even some sitting on the floor. I can never remember there ever being enough seats for everyone in that house, no matter what time of year.

My mother learned her cooking skills from her grandmother, Grandma 'Bithey. Her real name was Tabitha but I only knew her as that. Visiting her in Springfield, WV (near Romney) was a great treat. She always had homemade bread and pies, and when she knew we were coming she would make cooked carrots for my brother (his favorite) and pumpkin pie for me. I still love pumpkin pie. Her kitchen was mid-century as it could be, with watertank green walls, metal cabinets, and white enamel sink.

On my father's side, he would always wake up on Sundays (about the only day he didn't work) and make coco wheat for he and I. My brother didn't like it much. He can cook, but the kitchen is Mom's area. He does, however, run a mean barbeque in the summer. My sister-in-law can't wait to get his grilled corn-on-the-cob.

My Dad's grandma, known as Granny, could make a meal out of an empty cupboard. I always remember there being gravy on her table, in a little pan in the middle on a trivet. Her house always smelled like Spic-n-Span, and she was probably the nicest person I've ever known in my life.

My Dad's mother, Grandma Henry, was also a mean cook. I was only 5 when she passed away, but her cooking lives on in family memory - her former cooking utensils are now prized family heirlooms.

There are others in my family who are some mean cooks - my Aunt Zeet (she's my Dad's sister Tamela) - makes a dish we call Zeetburger. It's similar to Manwich, but is sweet instead of sour. I'm not sure where the name Zeet ever came from, but that's what my brother and I have called her since we were wee little. I was on the phone with Aunt Zeet and got the recipe for Zeetburger. It's actually quite good.

Zeetburger Recipe:

Medium-sized chopped onion

One pound of hamburger

One cup of ketchup

1/2 cup of water

Squirt of mustard

2 and a half tablespoons of sugar

One tablespoon of chili powder

Salt & Pepper to taste

First, brown the onion in oil, then put in the hamburger to brown it. Once it's browned, drain it off. Add the ketchup, water, mustard, sugar, chili powder, and salt&pepper. Mix well. Cover and let simmer on low for 30 minutes. Serve between hamburger buns, or in the traditional style between two pieces of white bread. (You may need a fork and plate, as it is sometimes difficult to eat Zeetburger in the traditional sandwich manner).

I have learned that my strengths in the kitchen relate to baking. Apparently, I work magic with desserts - pumpkin pie, for example. Also fruit breads - banana, pumpkin, apple & cranberry. Chocolate cake. Cookies (best so far have been my chocolate chip and gingerbread ones). And I make a mean cup of hot coco. Of course, I've been told that my French Toast is to die for –

So, what am I doing to increase my kitchen prowess? I'm going back to basics. Fresh ingredients when I can get them (farm raised eggs, fresh pumpkin, and such). And, I've found that I like to use wooden spoons. Especially old wooden spoons.

They're not expensive, you can find thousands in antique stores, and they feel good in the hand. I've only got four that I use regularly:
All but one of the spoons I use is handcarved. The large one is a gift from my Mom, who bought it off eBay years ago. It's story is that it is from the 1860s and came from North Carolina. The small one with the hole in it is my only machine-made one. I bought it from a supermarket in Budapest when I was there last year. It's a good brownie maker- the hole lets the thick batter stir easier.

The large wooden one and the small wooden one I've picked up from antique malls in West Virginia, and I used the small one last night to make my mother's "Favorite Cookie Recipe". I need to work on that one - they are still edible but came out more like brownies than cookies. Of course, good food takes time. The way I see it, my family's been at it for generations.

Storytelling Retreat in Sistersville, WV

2011-03-13T19:29:00.004-04:00

So, I've always been a sucker for Victorian architecture - give me stained glass windows, handcarved wood furniture, conical towers with witch-cap roofs, lead glass chandeliers, and gargoyles. For me, this is true comfort - a place with a history and a life all it's own. These places are where stories are born.

The Wells Inn, in Sistersville, WV is such a place. Built in the late 1800s, this hotel has seen the best of the Ohio River's wealth walk through its doors - and this past weekend it saw 13 storytellers become the latest in a long line of groups to spend time at the grand old dame of the river.

The hotel has seen some rough times of late, and is currently being renovated completely. Evidence of the renovations can be seen all through the place - but honestly it was not as inconvenient as you might think.

In the lobby of the hotel, there's a clock. A black walnut monstrosity that was crackled with age - apparently deeded to the property, and the clock can never leave the building. A veritable icon of time itself, the clock watched us all enter the hotel as it had watched thousands of others - with complacent acceptance and (every now and then) a chime of welcome.

In the dining room, which was under construction (all meals were served in the Black Gold Room next door) there were gold-leafed tin ceilings, with embossed panels featuring goddesses and griffins - a seeming motif in the hotel's decor.

Who is this? If you think it's Ephraim Wells, the hotel's builder, then you're incorrect. This is one of the hotel's former owners, but no one remembers which one. As with everything else in the hotel, it will take some research to find out the origin of this piece.

This is the bar in the basement of the hotel - and this is where some of the paranormal activity allegedly takes place. That's right - the hotel is supposed to be haunted. What better reason to spend the night? I spent some time in the bar, but aside from drawing a few connections with the set of The Shining, I didn't see or hear any ghosts. However, that's not a statement that could be made about the rest of the building.

The third floor hallway is the most paranormally active part of the hotel - and this is where our room was - the second one down on the right. The most reportedly haunted room (as we were told) was the room at the far end of the hall.

All talk of spooks aside, the spirit of the place is being returned to its heavenly heights. As you can see from this nearly completed room, the leaded-glass doors on the cabinets are still intact, and the woodwork is amazing. The chandelier is original. In short, the room was fab. We had one of our storytelling sessions in this room, and I frankly couldn't stop looking at the architecture.

All of our meals we ate together - 13 storytellers in a haunted hotel, on a stormy, rainy weekend. Sounds like the setting of a horror tale in its own, doesn't it? In actuality, this was one of the best weekends I'd had in a long time. I love my storytellers - because no matter how bad life gets, or how lonely you are, there's very little that can't be helped by a warm fire, good food, and an evening with good friends!

And some nice architecture helps too!

The Rescue of Franklin Cat

2011-02-03T14:24:00.005-05:00

When I was in college, my friend Laura told me that my life was "the best soap opera she'd ever seen". Granted, that remark was made in regards to a different period of my life, but it seems that the drama of life does follow me in (sometimes) inconvenient ways.

Take for example, the latest bit - Franklin, my cute little marble tabby cat, decided to take a walk one evening. When he didn't come in (and the temperatures started to drop), I went looking for him and eventually found him here:

Yes, there he is, 60 feet up in a white oak tree. Up until this happened, I liked this tree - revered it for its ancientness and historical memory. At this point, however, I began cursing its existence.

Franklin was evidently spooked by the herd of South Park deer, and ran up the tree to get away from them. However, he would not come down. Not for food, not because he was cold, not for Julius, not for anyone or anything. The first night I called the fire department (cliche', I know, but they did show up and tried to help). Unfortunately, the tree was too far back off the street for them to get the ladder truck up to the top of it, and they said if he was still there in the morning to call them and they would come back and try again.

That night I watched in grief as the temperatures dropped down to ten degrees, and kept getting up every few minutes to check on him to see if he had come down. I hardly slept, and to quote Mammy in Gone with the Wind, I was "prostrate with grief".

The next morning I called the fire station at sunrise - and although they were not too sure about what they could do, the firemen showed up to help. Once again, an unsuccessful attempt ensued, this time with duct tape, several lengths of bamboo, and a snare-like apparatus on the end of it.

Nada - so day two ensued, and I made hundreds of phone calls to rescue centers, the police, the power company, the animal shelters, the city offices, veterinarians, etc. I think everyone in three states heard about Franklin's predicament, and thanks to Facebook even more people were trying to help.
Finally, a tree trimming service called one of their climbers and he showed up to help. He brought ropes and clamps and such (and sheer bravery). By this time the story had made it onto the news services, and that's WBOY's Mike Krafcik filming the climber getting ready to go after Franklin. The Dominion Post also sent a reporter and photographer - it was quite the show when it all came together.

This is Mike the tree climber going up the tree to where Franklin is - clear at the TOP, and it's freezing outside. The wind was blowing and it was snowing, so this was all very stressful and intense.

Do you see those two little glowing eyes at the top? That's Franklin. He's sitting in the very top of the tree, where it was nearly impossible to reach him. He's back home safe and sound, though, thanks to everyone who tried and came through.

It was a real show of humanity, really. I learned just how many good people there are out there who are willing to help out when the chips are down. And some people were just mean - saying it was only a cat - but he is MY CAT. As he was being rescued, and even after, there were still people who had seen it posted Facebook stopping by the house to make sure Franklin was okay.

And no one is more relieved than myself.

Franklin is now grounded, until the big oak tree gets fitted with cat-proofing. I'm not going to get him declawed, that's just cruel. And the idea is to put something like metal flashing around the tree trunk so his claws can't get a hold. Keep your fingers (and paws) crossed that this will work.

If you want to see the news video or read the article, you can find them at WBOY's website. There is also a Facebook group that will update you on the progress of the catproofing and Franklin.

Yard Sale, Anyone?

2011-02-02T19:55:00.008-05:00

Since it's so cold outside, I thought I'd ask the question:

What do you do on a perfectly sunny, autumn day?

I don't know about you, but I had a hankerin' to have a yard sale back in September. After dragging out all the leftovers, the unusables, the unmentionables, and gifts from well-meaning friends with poor taste, the Saturday came for it to all go on the tables in the yard. For better or worse, some friends and I thought this would be a good way to do two things - get rid of unwanted clutter in our houses, and make a little cash.

And we sold everything we thought someone would want. Drawers from the old kitchen counter that had fallen apart, knick knacks galore, books, tables, and even a pair of crutches!

The tarp was on the ground at perfect child-friendly level (but funny enough most of the buyers were adults, who actually haggled over the 25 cent price tag). The clothing and textiles hanging on the clothesline were a big hit, with one woman buying over half of them and then exclaiming she'd spent too much (I think her total was a little over $20). Of course there was everything hanging there from sweaters, tablecloths, and curtains.

The furniture didn't do so well, but someone did eventually buy some of the endtables. The bed is a 3/4 bed, and the dining table was a Craigslist find we later replaced with a mahogany one that came from a friend.

A lot of the chairs sold at $5 a piece. The white parsons chairs went first, and the shield back too. The white one, which was the only antique among the bunch, did not sell and I kept it.

This is about half-way through the sale. These toys were pilfered and filtered by collector's hands, all thinking they'd found a prize.

Of course the real prize was this lamp that a friend brought to sell - and we all waited to see who would buy it. Usually, in my experience, weird things sell to very interesting people. Unfortunately, this lamp went unsold and we were thwarted in our quest to meet an interesting person.

However, it was a good time - and we did meet some nice people and made a little cash. And what didn't sell we put into a local consignment shop. So far, I've made more on the consignment shop than I did at the yard sale, but I still enjoyed it. Yard sales are not an easy thing to set up - and they don't pay well (unless you're one of those fancy ones on tv that somehow manage to make $3000 in one day).

Now when I look outside and see all the messy snow, the wind, and the cold rain - I keep thinking about the warm days when I can actually get out and do things like have yard sales (or better yet, go to someone else's). Because no matter what, it's sure to be an adventure...

A Wintry Day in '75

2011-01-25T21:09:00.009-05:00

It was a cold winter day in 1975. My mother had been doing laundry all day, even though she was due to give birth at any moment. It was December 6, and later that evening my future parents found themselves on a one-hour drive to Davis Memorial Hospital - the closest hospital to their house in Riverton - and it was snowing. Not just "oh isn't it pretty" snowglobe snow, but blinding blizzard-like snow. And of course, the windshield wipers on the car had broken, so my father was driving the car with his head out the driver's side window all the way to Elkins.

Later that evening, around 7:35pm, I was born - I came into the world screaming and I haven't shut up since. Here's a picture of me, several months later of course.

For 18 months, it was only my father, mother, and myself (along with Babe, the world's best milk cow - that baby fat on me is pure butter!) Then in June of '77, my parents brought this home:

Yep, that's my baby brother Matthew. At the time my mother went into labor with Matthew, my father was trying to pull Babe (the cow) out of the garden. Mom and I were standing in the door and Mom was yelling at Dad to let the cow alone, and get in the car (expletives deleted). Dad said, "At least its not snowing".

On the way there, it started pouring the rain. And the windshield wipers broke - again. So there they went, one hour over the mountains to Davis Memorial - with my father's head out the driver's side window.

Over the years, my Dad has said he should have known that the weather was a sign that the two of us would be trouble. Well, we aren't mean, just maybe a little ornery.

Like this scene here - where I'm helping make the cookies...

And Matthew is helping to eat them.

Easter 1978

Of course you can see we always get along - as brothers do.

Matthew's wedding, 2003

My Mom always said she wanted a houseful of children, but she only had the two of us. So how did I end up with such a large family? That is another story, for another day.

Welcome to Germany Valley

2011-01-24T22:18:00.014-05:00

Welcome to Germany Valley. My valley - where my life's blood runs deep like caverns through the hillsides, and memories run long like rivers cutting through eons old stone.

Where the ghosts of the past still linger with the living -

And the fallow fields and ancient orchards remind us of those who have gone before.

It is a place where television cannot replace the views outside the windows, or compete with a walk in the summer sun.

Where a handful of raspberries is the nectar of the gods-

And it is a place where country cats test their cunning, and silver-leaf describes the poplar in the yard.

Here you can still see why Batts and Fallam described the mountains as "giant waves of land shrouded in mist, as if the ocean were frozen in place."

It's not hard to believe they thought there were lakes under the fog.

This is where the homesteads of ancestors still stand, revered, as holy places.

Where ancient institutions of learning still exist, and now hold countless moments of epiphany.

This is a place where amber waves truly wave -

Here the trees frame the mountains, as they create grand views.

And where ancestors repose on hilltops, so they will be closer to the creator.

Where the best seat in the house faces west towards Spruce Knob,

And spread between the mountains lie family farms, maintained for generations.

The valley is ringed with limestone cliffs, where eagles fly on the wind.

And the fencerow's milkweed ladies go dancing in the breeze.

This is where fall colors are for more than just the trees -

Where entertainment has no limit except your own curiosity-

And where things you've only seen in paintings come to life.

Where history is carved in stone, and in blood.

And where lilacs bloom to remind us that life is perennial.

It's where good lives are remembered and celebrated, and tokens of love are shared.

In this valley, beauty exists in the simplest of things, and in the tiniest of moments

Welcome to my valley.

Blennerhassett Island

2010-08-03T09:46:00.006-04:00

In the middle of the Ohio River, on the border of West Virginia and Ohio, there is an island. It's had many names over the years - Backus Island, Eden, and others in languages long forgotten. It's been the home of people probably since time began, and one visit will tell you why.

Today it's known as Blennerhassett Island, from the surname of Harman and Margaret Blennerhassett, who were its most famous residents. They built their home here in 1798, which you can still see today.

Actually this palladium-style mansion is a reconstructed one, built on the original site of the Blennerhassett Mansion. It follows the same footprint, contains the same details and furniture, and tells one heck of a good story!

Harman was an Irish aristocrat who sold off his family's lands in Ireland and came to America. This was not only because he was fleeing the Irish Rebellion (of which he was a supporter), but also because he had married his niece, Margaret - not something that was looked kindly upon by the church or society.

They settled on the Island and built this home using their lavish amount of money - decorated it in a grand style and were a great boon to the local economy through its creation. They lived many happy years there, until 1806, when their lives were invaded by Aaron Burr. His plot to create a new country in the West was treasonous, and President Thomas Jefferson had both men arrested. Margaret and her two children also left the island and went to New Orleans, where they met back up with Harman when he was released from jail.

Financially ruined, the Blennerhassetts never returned to their home, which was seized by the sheriff of Wood County, VA (now West Virginia) and all its contents auctioned off to pay the family's debts. This auction proved a boon for later historians and archaelogists, as the furniture, books, and family belongings survived the fire that destroyed the mansion in 1811.

Sadly, Harman and Margaret moved back to Ireland and lived with his sister in poverty until Harman's death 1831 on the Isle of Guernsey. Margaret moved to New York City where she lived with her son until her death in 1842 during a cholera outbreak in the city. She had asked the US Government for retribution for the loss of her house and land. It was granted, but Margaret died before receiving any compensation.

Margaret and her son Harman Jr are today buried on the island behind the mansion. They were moved there from NYC following the house's restoration. And on cool, clear nights they say Margaret still roams the island she loved so dearly...

This is the left wing of the house - it contains the kitchen, which is outfitted with period antiques. Some of them, like the family's sugar chest, are from the Blennerhassett family.

The middle of the mansion contains three parlors, the entrance foyer, and the dining room on the first floor. The second floor contains the nursery, the library, the ballroom/game room, and the bedrooms. All are outfitted with period furniture, paintings, and books - many belonged to the Blennerhassett family.

This is the right wing of the mansion, which contained Harman's library of scientific and medical tomes as well as other books and instruments. It also housed the wine cellar in the basement. It was in this area that the fire started in 1811, when hemp that was stored there caught fire and spread to the rest of the house. It was not until 1984 that the foundation of the house was found again, since flooding along the Ohio River buried the ruins in mud and debris for many years. After reconstruction, the house is now open for tours and is really inexpensive. A boat ride to the island is only $8, and the house tour is even less. This has to be one of the best values in the entire state!

There are also several other things to see in Parkersburg, one of my favorites being the Blennerhassett Museum that houses other Blennerhassett antiques, a HUGE collection of WV Native American relics, and WV historical items. This is part of the Stahl collection of Native American items in the museum's basement. It's a copper necklace that was found on Blennerhassett Island.

The museum also has a large collection of oil paintings and portraits of famous WV people, authors, and notables. The painting below is of Margaret Blennerhassett herself - not only was she Harman's wife, she is also West Virginia's first published poet. Her poetry is truly West Virginian in nature, and speaks fondly of the island and the area that she so loved along the Ohio. It is still in print, so I suggest it to anyone who is in need of a WV literary fix.

The book below allegedly belonged to Margaret Blennerhassett, and is written in her own hand on birch bark. This book only measures about three inches square, but it was to me the most impressive item in the entire museum. It contains two of her poems.

There is a large selection of furniture in the museum, as well as antique wedding gowns, porcelain dolls, antique vehicles, a moonshine still, and tons of riverboat memorabilia. By far one of the more impressive museums in West Virginia. It also houses a few ghosts, I'm told.

This is the left of the Victorian parlor display.

This is the middle of the Victorian parlor display.

This is the right of the Victorian parlor display.

Other museums in town showcase other things - there is an Oil and Gas Museum just down the street from this one, which I also visited. It is much more rustic in nature, but wildcatting for oil wasn't a pretty process. There is also the Trans-Allegheny Bookstore, which is a stop all its own.

I greatly recommend a trip to Parkersburg and to Blennerhassett Island State Park. If you haven't been, then you don't know what fun you are missing!

Thousand Word Thursday

2010-07-29T09:03:00.004-04:00

Random photographs of life -

Each is worth a thousand words -

My Appalachia by Muriel Miller Dressler

2010-07-28T08:19:00.008-04:00

Growing up in West Virginia (or anywhere in this country) - you really don't get a sense that Appalachia is a good place to live. The media, our teachers, and society in general has a tendency to try and force us to conform, to lose our accents, and give up our traditions as if they were bad habits.

I have to admit that I was once in that same frame of mind. For a brief moment of my life, I was confused and searching for my identity. I was able to glean bits and pieces from other places, but it wasn't until I returned to West Virginia and starting reading about Appalachian history and literature that I gained my true sense of place.

It had been there all along, just below the surface. Of course looking back now, it makes sense that my identity was there. Where else would it be? Certainly not in the halls of a preppy private college in Virginia. I suppose for a while I ignored it, running away from what I thought was a bad thing (as I was influenced to believe) - I was running away from what I was looking for.

But I'm finally in a good place with my heritage, thought it took me a many good year to get there. I suppose you could still find fault with this place, just as you can with any place. However I happen to like my home in the mountains.

One of my favorite poems about Appalachia is by Muriel Miller Dressler, a woman from St. Albans, WV. She originally published this in 1977, and I have an original copy signed by the author. It's one of my prized possessions. The imagery in the poem is hypnotic and intoxicating - as well as brutally honest.

Enjoy!

Appalachia

By Muriel Miller Dressler

I am Appalachia. In my veins

Runs fierce mountain pride; the hill-fed streams

Of passion; and, stranger, you don’t know me!

You’ve analyzed my every move–you still

Go away shaking your head. I remain

Enigmatic. How can you find rapport with me–

You, who never stood in the bowels of hell,

Never felt a mountain shake and open its jaws

To partake of human sacrifice?

You, who never stood on a high mountain

Watching the sun unwind its spiral rays:

Who never searched the glens for wild flowers,

Never picked mayapples or black walnuts; never ran

Wildly through the woods in pure delight,

Nor dangled your feet in a lazy creek?

You, who never danced to wild sweet notes,

Outpouring of nimble-fingered fiddlers;

Who never just “sat a spell,” on a porch,

Chewing and whittling; or hearing in pastime

The deep-throated bay of chasing hounds

And hunters shouting with joy, “He’s treed!”

You, who never once carried a coffin

To a family plot high up on a ridge

Because mountain folk know it’s best to lie

Where breezes from the hills whisper, “You’re home”;

You, who never saw from the valley that graves on a hill

Bring easement of pain to those below?

I tell you, stranger, hill folk know

What life is all about; they don’t need pills

To tranquilize the sorrow and joy of living.

I am Appalachia: and, stranger,

Though you’ve studied me, you still don’t know.

This poem is still in print in the collection: Wild Sweet Notes: Fifty Years of West Virginia Poetry 1950-1999 published by Publishers Place, Inc., 2000.

The Ghost Cow of Woodburn Hall

2010-07-22T08:56:00.005-04:00

West Virginia University was founded in 1867 - four years after West Virginia became a state after splitting off from Virginia during the Civil War. Part of the first curriculum were studies in agriculture and livestock, and that is where this story begins. . .

The second building to be built on the WVU campus was the one above - Woodburn Hall. The first was Martin Hall, which stands to it's left in the above picture. Woodburn Hall has several stories - and a clock tower that is at the center of one of them.

In the early years of the school, some of the students from the agriculture department decided to pull a prank on the campus, which has lived on (a la FDR) in infamy -

As the story goes, some of the students from the agriculture department stole a cow from the WVU farm, and led the poor thing up into the top of the Woodburn Hall bell tower. Now it is a well-known fact that cows will climb stairs, but will not climb back down them.

Once the cow was in the bell tower, it proceeded to moo and beller like there was no tomorrow - and caused no end of bemusement to the campus's students, staff, and faculty. Not knowing what to do, they spent several hours trying to remove the unfortunate cow from the bell tower without success.

Finally, the decision was made to kill the poor animal, and it's carcass was divided up and brought down out of the bell tower in this manner.

It is unknown what became of the students who pulled this horrible prank - or what was done with the cow after its demise in the bell tower. However, many people who have visited Woodburn Hall have told stories about hearing the poor unfortunate cow's ghost in the bell tower, still mooing and bellering, trying to get out of a dire situation.

So the next time you visit West Virginia University, keep your eyes (and ears) open - you just might hear the sound of WVU's most vocal ghost - the Woodburn Hall Cow.

The Bull & The Potato Masher

2010-07-19T09:20:00.008-04:00

In the early 1980s, around 80-81, my family and I lived in a little house up Johnson Holler near Franklin, WV. It was the only time in my life I'd lived in the eastern side of Pendleton County. I had not yet started kindergarten, and was only around 4 years old.

The house we lived in was above the natural spring about a hundred feet, just past the fence and gate where the timber rattlers sat coiled on the rocks. They had bodies sometimes ten feet long and heads the size of a man's fist. The house had no running water, except when it rained, and then it came pouring through the kitchen ceiling. On drier days my mother and Aunt Tam, who lived with us, would carry water up the hill from the crick below the house.

There was a giant apple tree in the backyard that my brother and I played under with our dogs, Boney and her puppies. Mom said we often had more fleas than the dogs, but when you're 4 and 3 years old you don't notice. There was also an old cellar that I didn't like to go into because there were giant spiders and snakes inside it, and an outhouse no one would use because it was full of giant black centipedes.

It sounds rather hellish, and in some ways it was not ideal. Like most places though, we made it our home with creativity and talent - and one thing we did have was a beautiful garden. Rows and rows of corn, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers - all to be harvested in their time and canned for winter. The fence around the garden was as run down and old as the house, but my father and his brothers had fixed it up the best they could to keep the neighbor's cows out of it. It worked, mostly.

One specific memory I have is when my brother and I were playing under the front porch of the house (it was built high because of the slant of the hillside, so there was room under it for us to play in the dirt). We were having a high old time, when we suddenly heard my mother screaming and yelling cuss words like a drunken sailor. We ran around the corner of the house, and there was Mom running out into the garden. Apparently the neighbor's bull had broken through the fence and was eating the beans.

But there went my mother, potato masher in hand (she'd been making mashed potatoes for dinner) into the garden screaming and cussing that bull. Of course the bull didn't pay any attention to her yelling and cussin', but he sure did notice when Mom whacked him across the rear with that potato masher!

With a beller and a snort, that bull ran out of the garden, with Mom still chasing and cussin' him. It was a true David and Goliath moment. She'd saved the garden - and the fence was fixed later that evening where the bull had broken in. I asked why Aunt Tam didn't help Mom chase out the bull, and that was when I found out about my aunt's cow phobia. And still I ask, "Why would anyone be afraid of a cow?"

I'm not sure what happened to the original, but years ago I bought myself a similar potato masher that I keep in my home office/library. The picture above shows what it looked like. You might expect that to be in my kitchen, but I think it fits better among the books - because it too is carrying one heck of a good story!

The New Kitchen

2010-07-18T13:16:00.009-04:00

The last time I posted photos of the kitchen, it started out looking like this, and then turned yellow. However that was the mini-makeover I gave it to make it functional, and in the last few months it has turned into what it was meant to be. A beautiful kitchen!

This is how it was - a white box with cabinets up WAY too high on the wall, a non-functional pass through (except for the cats - they loved being able to jump across the sink). The cabinets were also worn out - the sink cabinet came out in pieces - and not because it was ripped out menacingly. It was that bad! Also, notice the WHITE laminate floor which showed every speck of dirt, the ugly bathroom tile sheet glued to the wall, and the cherry on the cake was the institutional drop ceiling complete with flourescent light fixture.

So we ripped it all out - everything left the room except the stove! Even the refrigerator was in the dining room for a while. A lot of mess and a lot of work - but totally worth it. Above you can see the paint color that was chosen originally. It was a disaster - it was supposed to be a Tuscan terra cotta, and it turned out to be more of an NBA basketball. Live and learn - I got a better color later.

Remember the passthrough? These are photos of it's demise. It got framed out and drywalled. Please keep in mind that we are doing this ourselves - there was no contractor on this job!

We had thought about saving the sink, but as you can see in the bottom left of this photo it was a lost cause - the drywall dust and gunk got all over it, and I was not going to clean that off. Everything has a lifespan and this thing was done.

You can also see where we ripped out the old chimney (not functional). All that got drywalled as well.

Above is the lovely sink, which gives you an idea of how much crud was floating through the house. It was a chore simply keeping the dust down.

Here Julius is inspecting the new hickory cabinets, as well as the hole in the flooring where the sink cabinet used to be. Neither he nor Franklin were very happy about the renovation.

Here's the hole in the ceiling where the chimney was - and the steel framework is still up from the drop ceiling. Nasty stuff -

When the drop ceiling was removed, it looked like a scene out of 2012 - this faultline in the kitchen ceiling was always there - under the drop ceiling.

This is the new ceiling - white painted beadboard and 1x2's framing it out. Nice, eh?

The new light fixtures were a good choice. They're copper and brought much needed light into the space.

This is the new sink, cabinets, and backsplash. The dishwasher is also new, and I have a garbage disposal again! Two of the greatest inventions ever!

Notice the new oak hardwood floors, paint color, and cabinetry. This all cost a small fortune, but was totally worth it. I plan on making flour sack curtains for the window, but they have not been made yet.

The part of the wall that was covered with the old bathroom tile board was so damaged from the glue that we had to put up white beadboard around the bottom half of part of the kitchen. It fits in rather well, I think.

The chain on the far wall is the weight for the skeleton clock that is hanging up high on the wall. Recently the copper pot on the floor was moved a bit to the right and the cat's bowls are there, but other than that it looks the same.

Now if I can only keep it this clean!

Microfiction Tuesday

2010-07-13T09:42:00.005-04:00

I'm trying my first microfiction today - some people blog this on Mondays because it's "Microfiction Mondays" - but I think its okay to do a "Microfiction Tuesday". I got the idea from Granny Sue, and she got it from Stony River. So here's the idea: You take a picture (this one from Stony River's blog) and you write a story about it using 140 words or less. Here goes:

"Wow!" thought Jane (clutching her now too-large dress), "That weight loss drink works fast!"

Manic Monday - Summertime Memories

2010-07-12T11:15:00.012-04:00

Here are some photos of the summer so far, since it's flying by so fast - and like a Monday it will be Autumn before you know it! These are all things that I've done/seen so far this summer but have not had time to write about.

Julius, a.k.a. Helper Kitty, laying on some 2x6's on the front porch. He likes to help build around the house.

The gatehouse of Berkeley Castle in Berkeley Springs, WV.

South Mill Creek Lake in Grant County near Dorcas, WV.

Franklin, who has done something - but I'm afraid to ask what.

My great-grandparent's cellar (now in ruins, and has been since the 1985 flood).

A buckeye blooming in Berkeley Springs, WV.

Patio Project

2010-07-09T08:52:00.008-04:00

Hello again! It's the height of summer and the July heat is baking the world to a crisp! At least, it is here in Morgantown. My garden has been getting regular waterings, but the cucumbers have fried on the vine - its that hot!

Prior to this heatwave, I did manage to get a few projects done outside - and this is one of them! I had wanted a patio with a firepit in the backyard since I bought the house, and now I have one!

The bricks for the firepit came from the old chimney that I tore out of the kitchen - it was only a shaft of brick in the wall, not decorative or functional. The rocks for the wall came from a friend's property near town, and the pea gravel came from Lowe's. The big concrete slabs were already there, just overgrown with grass and covered in black gunk - it may have been mildew. But now its been weeded and power washed.

We've already had the inagural marshmallow roast and bonfire, and it works great. I even got patio furniture - something I've NEVER had in my life - and a grill. The green plastic chairs functioned well for a while, but now they are starting to crack and sag, so I replaced them with chairs I found for $20 and a table that was given to me by a friend. I painted it all to match, and you can't tell it's not a set.

However, until this heat and humidity subside, the backyard activities are on hold except for watering plants and short trips. This heat is insane!

A Great Light has gone out...

2010-06-28T21:06:00.013-04:00

The event that has brought me to write this evening is the passing of one of the great men of my lifetime. A lifelong academic, finances did not allow for this child of a West Virginia coal town to attend college. However, he rose above that and educated himself, reading everything he could - Cicero, world history, law, and the Bible - so well read in fact that he once quoted the entire detailed timeline of British monarchs to an English ambassador who had doubted an American's knowledge of the subject.

Some people will only know that he was once member of the Ku Klux Klan, briefly, but left the organization and regretted the decision for the rest of his life - calling it, "a horrible, horrible mistake". In his way, I quote Shakespeare - "the evil of men live after them - the good is often buried with their bones".

I will remember this man as a true champion of the people, as a scholar of the U.S. Constitution, and as a true Appalachian who never forgot where he came from. A child of the Great Depression, he married his wife Erma in 1937 (who passed away in March 2006) and they remained happily together for the rest of their lives.

He held more leadership positions in the U.S. Senate than any other member of Congress, and was the longest serving member, at 57 years. He was a prolific author, writing an autobiography as well as "Losing America" - a response to the arrogance of the G.W. Bush presidency. Never one to back down, he took on what he saw as unconstitutional bills and laws, which gave him the reputation as a champion for the underdog.

For example, in response to a question of gays in the military, he quoted academic works on the positive roles of homosexuals in ancient Rome - which caused some of his constituents to get angry red faces - but reportedly nearly caused Senator Ted Kennedy to have a giggling fit at the sheer strength of the argument.

While I never met him, I have seen his statue, which stands in the West Virginia Capital building.

He certainly did his best to "drag the state of West Virginia into the future kicking and screaming" - and while some things he did were unpopular, you have to admire his tenacity, his spunk, his intellect, and his ability to get things done. He didn't only give lipservice - he gave results. And that, my friends, is rare in anyone - and moreso in a politician. He could also play a mean fiddle, and did so on many occasions - most famously on Hee Haw when he performed "Will the Circle be Unbroken".

I like to think of him in my mother's words - as "the state Byrd". Well the skies in West Virginia are dark tonight, the fiddles are silent, and the future of our fair state is uncertain. All that remains is a thank you, Senator Byrd, and a solitary fiddle tune being carried on the wind ...

Senator Robert C. Byrd (Nov. 20, 1917 -June 28, 2010)

The Farm of My Childhood

2010-03-01T20:34:00.014-05:00

Growing up in West Virginia, I've seen my share of snow. Some of that snow fell in skiffs that my mother referred to laughingly as "Mother Nature shakin' her feather tick", and others have come down in storms that make the latest February in Morgantown a paradise on Earth. I was actually born in the midst of a December snowstorm, and the windshield wipers on the car were broken - so my father drove 65 miles to the closest hospital, which was Davis Memorial in Elkins. However, one of the most violent snowstorms in my memory occured a few days before Christmas in 1984 - when we still lived on the farm in Germany Valley.

I didn't realize it then - and who does realize much when they're 8? However, the few years we spent on the farm formed a lot of who was to become later. My ties to my family history (my Granny grew up just down the road in a log cabin), my interests in ghosts (the house was haunted by 2), and other aspects of my life came to be during that time.

To my knowledge, there are (sadly) no photos of the farm during the time we lived there. I don't know why - I can only guess that we were too busy livin' to record our lives. However recently we have made several trips back to the old farm, which is now in derelict shape but still recognizable. And even though it is worn and I have grown, there is still a strong familiarity with the place. It still remembers me, and the things I love.

In the above photo, it doesn't look like much. The house is run down, the gardens are overgrown, the henhouse has collapsed, the road is gone, and the pond has vanished back into the holler. But when we lived there, the house was painted bright white, the roof was silver, and the gardens were always full of plants. The hills held flocks of sheep, a herd of beef cattle, and the occasional mountain lion - one of which was coal black.

The henhouse was full of chickens, geese, turkeys, guineas - and whatever other bird we brought back from the stock sale in Moorefield. On the back of the henhouse was the pigpen, where we had pigs. It's completely gone now. Above the tree to the left, a black willow, we had a dam built and it held back the mountain stream to make a small pond. There the ducks nested with the other waterfowl, sometimes preferring to roost in the black willow than in the henhouse.

This photo above captures a little of the beauty of the place. There was a giant sycamore to the right of the photo as well. It was torn up in the tornado that also blew down the barn in the north field. You can still see a bit of the fence that once surrounded the yard, which I remember being strewn with flowers my mother had planted, and at the one end was the swingset that took my uncles two days to put together - with several parts left over.

One of the ghosts, the Purple Lady, as we called her - spent many days watching out the upstairs window to the right. She once held a conversation with my aunt, and she was never terrifying. To the contrary, she was like a member of the family - and I will say you could never ask for a better burglar alarm than a ghost in the house to protect you. Another ghost, Capt. Daugherty (US Civil War Captain- he had a peg leg) would walk the stairs every night and often during the day, depending on his temperament.

The porchswing hung on the far right side of the porch, and it was there we were sitting when we heard my brother screaming for help. The bull that he had taunted for months had finally cornered him - in the henhouse. The bull didn't try to attack him, but it wouldn't let him leave the building until my father went and shooed the bull away.

It was in this once grand henhouse that my brother was trapped by the bull. You would not know it to look at it now, but many mornings we gathered eggs by the bucketfuls from this building!

This is the back porch of the house - and the door led into the kitchen. There was a pump there once, but it never worked even when we lived there. We had water, gravity fed from the spring up on the mountain. When we lived there this porch was a favorite place for our passel of 17 cats, the geneaology of them all we knew clear down from their grandmother Charlotte. Charlotte's daughter, Sylvester, had four daughters - Mouse, Rat, Calico, and Sylvester Jr. They in turn had kittens whose names I've forgotten, but in all there were 17!

This wide overgrown space is the former garden. The fence line to the left was the upper fence, and there is a lower fence just out of the frame. From one end to the other there was corn, potatoes, rhubarb, tomatoes, beans, and whatever else we could plant. Many days we would have gone hungry if it weren't for the "garden suppers" as Mom called them. It was at one end of this garden, near the kitchen door, that we had a Christmas dinner on the picnic table - it was 73 degrees outside! Of course that was a novelty for us, so we got to rampaging around the yard and too many of us stood on the picnic table and it collapsed.

The hill above the garden is not only a field for the sheep and cows, but there is a small cemetery on the top of the hill. Dad built a fence around it while we lived there, and it is still there today, although you can barely see the stones it surrounds. That is also the hill we went sledding on - using the hood of a truck. There was a guide wire at the bottom of the hill that we all ducked to miss - except my aunt Patsy. When we said "duck!" she stuck her head up and said "what?" and was knocked off the sled, but unharmed.

We had a lot of fun on the farm. It was a tough travel in and out, which was a half mile on a dirt road, and was even worse in winter. The worst winter, as I said, was in 84. We walked out, unknowingly, in the middle of a blizzard. About half way out we were nearly frozen, and abandoned the Christmas gifts at the side of the road to make it out on foot to the car parked at the main road. Once we children were all safe in the vehicle, our parents warmed back up - left us in the care of our aunt Tamela, and went back to get the gifts. They found all of them, despite the wind having blown them around except for one. It was later found in the spring lying under a small cedar tree. Late Christmas? I think so.

After that horrifying experience, my father moved us off the farm in the autumn of 85 and up onto the mountain where they live now. It was a good move since it made it easier to get out in winter, but it took us away from the farm, the animals, the gardens - and the ghosts. Or so we thought. In a small way all these things still exist in my world.

I have two cats - Franklin and Julius. My house is full of family mementos - including the horseshoe from over the kitchen door of the farmhouse (I took it on one of my recent trips back as a souvenir). And ghosts? Well, those who know me know there are still ghosts in my life.

Although It's been a great while (has it been 25 years?) since we left the farm, I will never forget it. It helped to make me who I am - and I hope it did a good job.

A Question at Dinner

2010-02-23T10:38:00.003-05:00

Sitting in a restaurant last night, there was an interesting conversation. John, Arlie, and I were discussing the US Civil War. Arlie is a true millenial - meaning the generation that grew up with electronics, the internet, and have no aspiration to research anything because they can "google" it.

Here's how the conversation went:

John: "So how long was the Civil War?"
Arlie: "Um... ten years?"
Me: "No, it only lasted four."
Me: "Who was president during the civil war?"
Arlie: "Abraham Lincoln"
John: "Well at least you know that."

Then the waitress comes by, herself the ripe old age of 23. John quizzed her too.
John: "Do you know how many years the Civil War lasted?"
Waitress: "Um... I dunno. 7?"
John: "Actually it lasted four years from 1861 to 1865"
Waitress: "Really? I had no idea I'm a communications/journalism major so I don't do much in the way of history"

A little later the waitress returns from the kitchen with something, and said:
Waitress: "I asked the people in the kitchen how long the civil war lasted. None of them knew but the one guy pulled out his phone and said he could 'look it up'."

Sigh. What are they teaching in schools these days? How to Google questions on your iPhone? I would give the benefit of the doubt if I didn't have this conversation daily with different students on different subjects. I once had a conversation with a student and told them that I wanted to visit Italy. His reply was, "Is there anything to see in Italy?"

The Ice Age Has Begun - one more time

2010-02-12T08:55:00.014-05:00

Howling dogs, advancing glaciers, creaking wood - snowdrifts forming around everything, and great trees bend under the weight of snow. Overly bundled people saunter out into the cold, struggling against the elements that have bound them to their homes. A new ice age? Nope.

In WV, we call this February.

The snowstorm retreats southward, and the city tries to dig out. This picture was taken by my friend Jose'. It's a street on the other side of town from mine.

Franklin, Julius, and I decided to take a walk in the snow (18 inches of it). It was very cold, and we weren't out long, but it was a nice break after being stuck in the house for two days. The above picture is of me and Franklin in front of the pine tree in the backyard, what you can see of it. It is nearly buried in the snow.

Julius is the more adventurous of the two cats. Above he's bounding through the snow around the car. He eventually got stuck under it, so I had to dig him out.

And he spent the rest of the evening napping in the living room. He'd had enough of the snow.

Ah, Sanford St. Can't see it? It's that flat space between the telephone pole on the left and the parked car on the right. The city hasn't plowed the streets yet, so the neighbors all got out our snowshovels and cleared our own street, and put down salt. By the end we had the clearest street in Morgantown.

Here's the giant white oak in the backyard. It's beautiful anytime of year, but simply enchanting with all this snow.

Here is a further view of the oak tree.

Strange how the snow "grew around the clothesline, even. Just odd. This is really wet, heavy, sticky snow. It has partially melted and refroze, so it is now partly turned into tiny 5 inch thick glaciers in various places around.

Where is the sun? I will take spring and summer any day now. I know that freezes are good for planting, gardening, and insect abation, but dangit I am DONE with winter!

Thinking of Granny Sue

2010-02-03T22:37:00.003-05:00

It is with a sadness in my heart that I write this tonight. One of my best friends, a great storyteller, Susanna "Granny Sue" Holstein has experienced an unparalleled tragedy in her life. While travelling home from Iowa, her son Jon passed away in an automobile accident.

Words cannot express how greatly saddened I am for my friend and her wonderful family. She is a wonderful woman, a great West Virginian, and is one of the strongest, nicest people I have ever met. I have faith that she and her family will pull through, although it is certainly a pain that no one should ever have to bear.

If you would like to leave Granny Sue a message, you can do so on her blog:
http://grannysu.blogspot.com

Love and Peace to all.

The Key West Bedroom

2010-01-31T20:48:00.011-05:00

Hello, it's Franklin Cat again. Today I am coming to you from one of my favorite places. It is the Key West bedroom in my house. This white bedspread is one of the first places I slept when I was a kitten, and I still love it.

Below is a picture of what the room looked like when we started. White box, light fixture of depression, and industrial ceiling tile. Not to mention dark pine wood floors that had seen better days. Oh, and that carpet? Nasty. Just nasty.

Above is how the room looked when the renovation began. The ceiling tile is gone, and the ceiling is now blue.

The closet needed help. There was only one long pole in it for hanging clothes, and the doors were "ugh" brown.

Despite all these challenges, it all worked out. You can see below - paint, crown molding, new light fixture, and flooring really helped. We used Key West as the inspiration for this room. Can you see it?

The closet doors are painted as well, the money tree in the corner is very tropical, and the bookcase pays homage to Key West's literary figures, like Ernest Hemingway.

There will be a picture above the bookcase eventually. It will be of the Key West Lighthouse.

Below is the headboard we made out of old closet doors and some trim from Lowe's. The shell on top and the leaves are painted to match the wall colors.

The only missing element so far is the picture/s for this wall. They're going to be photographs of Key West that we took on our vacation, but they've not been framed yet.

I hope you've enjoyed the tour of the Key West bedroom. It's been a long, difficult renovation but I think it's been worth it.

The Upstairs Hallway: The Return of the Mahogany Dresser

2010-01-24T18:29:00.013-05:00

Hello, my name is Franklin. Welcome to my home - would you like a tour of the recently renovated upstairs hallway? Of course. My associate Julius is now napping, but I will take the time to show you around.

This is the upstairs hallway. I don't have any pictures of it when we first moved in. Just picture a boring white box with ugly popcorn ceiling, no border or crown molding, and just blah... The vanity is now serving as the linen chest, where we keep the towels and wash cloths. It's made of mahogany, and is in the Eastlake style with some other elements. This belonged to great-grandma Mary Burns, who was known to us as "Granny". It was made by William B. Moses and Sons, of Washington, D.C. The company was founded in 1863, and went out of business in 1935.

The kerosene lamp on top belonged to her as well, and has a Currier & Ives scene on it. It is made of milk glass.

Below you can see the molding, which replaced some really cheap trim that was here before. The mirror was an antique store find, and the door will be refinished to match the door frame. It's too cold outside to do it now.

These pictures are actually watercolors by a Pittsburgh artist, Mary Lois Verrilla. She is famous for designing alot of Christmas seal greeting cards. I honestly bought these for $1.50 at a junk store in Rio, WV. I didn't know who she was, I simply liked the scenes that were painted. The top one is my favorite. And the frames? I got them at the Dollar Tree.

Here is a close up of the border and the light fixture. There is a tiny strip of quarter-round at the top and a rope-like piece at the bottom. I didn't realize that the border was a scene of NY harbor until it was up on the wall. You can see the Statue of Liberty in it. The light fixtures (there are two of these) were in the house when we bought it. There is a bit of paint on this one, but it will be removed soon.

Below you can see the top of the window and more of the border & trim. The window blind was on sale at Lowe's for $23, and pretty easy to install. The wall color is called Pear (a light brown) and the ceiling is Parchment (light yellow).

Here you can see the window and my home office door. It will also be refinished in the warmer months. It was painted when we moved in.

And with each new photo of the house, you can usually find an orb. Maybe it's Granny? - or maybe just dust. At the far end you can see one of the doors that was refinished last summer. It's the door to the Franklin Bedroom.

Well, that's the tour. I hope you return next time. I'll show you around the Key West Bedroom, which is also finished. It's got some cool stuff in it too, but I'll save that for next posting. See you later!

Granny's Eastlake Dresser & Orange Julius

2010-01-16T21:40:00.006-05:00

Today has been a long day. I woke up with both cats on the bed - yes, there is now a second cat. His name is Julius, and he is an orange and white tabby. Get it, Orange Julius? Here he is playing with his favorite toy, known as Gray Mousey.

This morning I spent cleaning up the house. We have just finished the second bedroom, and have the master closet back. Prior to that all of our clothes were in the dining room- so either you took them upstairs with you, or you walked downstairs to get them after a shower. Not very convenient! Anyway, that is all done with now, as the bedroom is back together except for some furniture pieces that have yet to be found and purchased in the antique store they now reside in.

My office and the Franklin Bedroom were also reclaimed. The bed and the desks are back in order, and with the exception of a few books everything is back in its place. Even the carpet got a good vacuuming, and at one point I found enough cat hair in the corner to create a new cat.

Not one, but two trips to Lowe's later (I forgot the foam insulation for around the window in the stairwell) - and we were on our way to making the upstairs hallway the next project. That involves very little in comparison to the last few projects. It's a much smaller area for one, and all it needs is new molding around the doors, paint on the walls and ceiling, and some window trimming and dressing. Oh, and before all that, there's spackling to be done. The hardwood floor is already down in the hallway, thank goodness. The walls will be a parchment white, with a light yellow ceiling. I know - a departure from my usual colors. However, I've got a great wide border, about 12 inches wide, of a New England harbor scene that will go around the top of it, sandwiched between molding. It will look great when it's done.

One of the best parts about this project is that when it is finished it will be home to my great-granny's Eastlake dresser, which is made of mahogany. I plan to use it as a linen chest, since it will be located just outside my rather small bathroom. We ordered new hardware for it, since the old hardware was missing all but three pulls - and found some fantastic gold pulls for it at Lowe's through special order. They're on it now, and for the first time in over three years, that dresser is back together again.

I don't have any pictures of any of this yet, but when it is all done and finished I will post them here for you to see. Thanks for reading, and if you need me - I'll probably be at Lowe's!

Sheridan Le Fanu

2010-01-13T21:41:00.007-05:00

I read a lot of books. I mean alot of books. And many of those have to do with ghosts, monsters, and the supernatural. Not all of them are about Appalachian or West Virginia's ghosts, and I have found that there are many of the ghost/monster genre that I enjoy.

Lately I've been reading the works of Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873). I found a copy of this on sale in the book outlet in Flatwoods, WV in the outlet mall there. In addition to this book, I also bought one about John Henry which I have yet to read, but it is on the list. With the onset of this hellish winter, I'm certain I will have more time to read. This work, entitled Madam Crowl's Ghost & Other Stories, is the book I speak of.

The collection's namesake, Madam Crowl's Ghost, is a rather disturbing tale about a young English servant girl who goes to wait on a wealthy old dowager lady who lives in a large country house in England. When Madam Crowl (the wealthy dowager) passes on, she returns to reveal a ghastly secret about her former home.

Other stories, such as The White Cat of Drumgunniol, is reminiscent of the "black dog" stories told throughout Appalachia. It is the tale of a white cat that is like a banshee, appearing to those who are about to die. This type of story shows there is still a connection between the old and new worlds- through stories!

Speaking of connections, the last part of the book tells the ghost stories that surround the Bailey family of Ireland. That family name is a common one in West Virginia. The stories of the Bailey's involve a wizard, a sunken castle, a banshee, and other ghostly/supernatural entities - even a redcap!

Sheridan Le Fanu was a contemporary of the literary ghost/monster story greats of English literature. His works influenced many other authors of his age, including Bram Stoker and Edgar Allen Poe. Although he is lesser well known, his works are nonetheless great in my opinion as an aficionado of ghost/monster tales.

So if you are looking for a good book to read by the fire this winter, and you don't mind a slight scare, pick up this book. I took a chance and discovered an author who really can spin a yarn.

Storied Visits: The Hand of Glory

2009-08-23T11:47:00.013-04:00

This entry is taking a step away from the renovation on the house to tell you about one of my passions. That is, ghost stories. Ghost stories, which I have collected from my home state, WV - reflect so much about our culture and history that I insist they must be protected from dying out. In essence, they must be saved from being lost to time and neglect.

Also, one of my favorite times in history, the Victorian era, had a wonderful storytelling tradition. Some of this has passed on to us today, but there are few who recognize or who can say they have been part of a "storytelling visit". In the Victorian era, named for England's Queen Victoria (1819-1901, pictured below), was a time of great invention and exploration. Not only did it give the world some fabulous furniture and decoration, but also embodies a magical and mystical quality that few eras achieved (in my opinion).

During this time, some of my favorite things occured: West Virginia became a state in 1863. Alice in Wonderland (my favorite book - below) was written in 1865, among others.

But I want to focus on one particular - the visits that friends and acquaintances would make to each other's homes (sometimes grandiose two week or more visits). During these, they would have contests during which they would come up with stories - either originals or personalized versions of common tales. At the end of the visit, they would then vote and give a prize to the person who told the best story. This is similar to our modern storytelling festivals, but not as impersonal. These groups were often ten or less people, as compared to today's hundreds.

One of the most famous stories to come out of these "story visits" is Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. She was married to Percy Shelley (of Ode on a Grecian Urn fame) and was spending time with him and some other literary friends, one of whom was none other than Lord Byron. They decided among themselves to write ghost stories for one another, and make a contest of it.

Mary (above), of course, felt completely out of her league, but one night she had a dream about a man who was creating a monster out of cadavers - and it scared her so much that she just knew it would terrify others. So she wrote the story, won the contest, and gave the world one of the greatest monster stories ever told.

More of these "story visits" are recorded in ghost story collections, such as The Ghost Book of Charles Lindley, Viscount Halifax and The Ingoldsby Legends (1889). The Ghost Book is still in print - and The Ingoldsby Legends is now available online in pdf format.

The Jackdaw of Rheims and The Hand of Glory are two of the best-known of the Ingoldsby Legends. This collection of humourous and macabre stories in prose and verse was published in three series between 1840 and 1847 with splendid illustrations by Cruikshank and other artists.

The best of them are very superior light verse, marked by verbal cleverness, wit, elaborate rhymes and bi-lingual puns. They were very popular in the 19th Century and remained so until relatively recently, but are now out of print. Almost all the popular writers of the time were influenced by it and many refer to it explicitly or quote from it. Even Walt Disney used The Lay of St. Dunstan. However, it is now dificult to obtain in print and deserves to be better known. I bought mine at a used book sale years ago, and it is a rather neat original text with the first owner's name written on the front cover in fountain pen dated Jan. 27, 1891.

Those of you familiar with the Harry Potter series of books will recognize the mention of the Hand of Glory - which is a magical item featured in one of the books. This is where it originally came from - well, at least where it was first written down. And more observant readers of the series might note one of the illustrators of the original text - Cruikshank - as the namesake of Hermione's cat in the same series.

Here is the Hand of Glory, taken from the text, which you can find in full version here. It was originally told, my book says, by the nurse in residence at Tappington Hall when the "story visit" was taking place. Below is only the first few stanzas:

THE HAND OF GLORY: THE NURSE'S STORY

On the lone bleak moor,

At the midnight hour,

Beneath the Gallows Tree,

Hand in hand

The Murderers stand

By one, by two, by three!

And the Moon that night

With a grey, cold light

Each baleful object tips;

One half of her form

Is seen through the storm,

The other half 's hid in Eclipse!

And the cold Wind howls,

And the Thunder growls,

And the Lightning is broad and bright;

And altogether

It 's very bad weather,

And an unpleasant sort of a night!

'Now mount who list,

And close by the wrist

Sever me quickly the Dead Man's fist!

Now climb who dare

Where he swings in air,

And pluck me five locks of the Dead Man's hair!'

To read the full text (it's lengthy, but reads quickly and is worth it!)

So if you're looking for a way to lighten up your autumn, why not schedule a "story visit" - maybe not for a week or two, but a few days or hours? I think it's an idea well worth revisiting....

The Franklin Bedroom

2009-08-16T13:19:00.019-04:00

I know that some of you think that I've been the victim of some sort of crime, but I've only spent the last few months renovating the house - which has taken up a lot of my time and energy. In addition, I took a summer class and worked full time. You can imagine that there was a lot more than blogging that fell by the wayside.

However, life has calmed to a stillness this last week, so I will update you on the second bedroom renovation. Here is the room before I started - white walls, the light fixture of depression, ugly white drop ceiling from a 1980s office, and a floor that was old fifty years ago. I'm serious when I say that it was missing chunks of wood in places. Whoever thought that soft pine would make a good floor??

Here is the room after demolition began - the light fixture, drop ceiling, and closet (which wasn't even deep enough for an entire hanger) disappeared. I did leave the chimney and refinished the door.

The previous owners had outfitted the closet with shelves - that was all it was big enough for. And those shelves were made of MDF (multi-density fiberboard) which had warped and broken over the years. NOT that they were put up correctly in the first place -

The walls of this house of course lacked any sort of insulation, so the holes you see were drilled in order to blow in insulation in the walls. That in itself was a hellish mess. But now it is done.

Did I mention that the walls are plaster and lathe, covered in drywall? Just finding a tool to cut through all that took an entire weekend.

Here is the other corner, with more holes. Once it was started, the cutting process went pretty well.

Here is the frame-out for the new closet. Notice how it sticks out from the chimney and actually has space in it for hanging things. What a novel concept.

Below you can see the thick plaster that was on the chimney. At first I was tempted to chisel it all off, but an initial test proved that the process would be long, messy, and difficult. Not to mention dangerous - I had a picture in my head of the entire chimney cracking and coming down around me. So I left the plaster on it, and drywalled around it.

And surprise, surprise, the ductwork was nonexistent to this room. This has occured in almost every room of the house. Whoever put in the ducts simply put a hole in the wall with a small duct line, just enough to cover what you could see, and then nothing - the hot or cold air was blowing up the walls of the house going nowhere! So, new ductwork had to be run from the basement to the second floor room.

As you can see, however, the work was all worth it. This is the new hardwood floor - white oak, grown, milled, and sold in WV -and sitting on top of it is the antique cherry wood library table that I bought off of Craigslist for $60.

The color is not nearly as blue as this - it is "Forget Me Not" from Olympic. Note the new crown molding. The corners are my favorite part of the room - that and there is no more drop ceiling or light of depression!

And if you look in the middle of the bed, you can see the room's namesake. He moved in as soon as the renovation was completed, and has staked his claim. It's fitting, since this was the first room he went to when we brought him home, so we let him stay.

Here is another corner of the room. The dresser is an antique oak piece. Above it hangs a picture of Chessie, the railroad cat.

Here you can see the closet, finished, with its white molding and new doors. Franklin is also peeking out of the bottom left corner of the picture.

Here is the new corner where the door is. Note the covered chimney, crown molding, and refinished door. I was able to find a skeleton key to fit it (after shaving the key a bit). And note also, throughout the entire photo essay, that Franklin did not move off the bed.

This is a better view of the chimney corner. Note the crown molding - my favorite part, and the light blue on the ceiling.

I hope you've enjoyed this entry into my latest renovation. I truly hope that my next entry will not take as long to blog, but you never know what life will toss at you. I've learned to roll with it. It's frustrating at times, when I can't do all that I want to do, but I suppose that's how it is.

Until next time, keep imagining and creating your world to suit you!

The Wine Cellars in Dunbar, WV

2009-06-24T09:13:00.007-04:00

Last summer, I spent a weekend with my brother Matthew and sister-in-law Shirley in Charleston, WV. While there, we went on the search for many of the local places I had heard contained ghosts or unexplained phenomena.

One of the places we sought out was the Wine Cellars Park in Dunbar, WV. I had heard a faint whisper of a ghost story from that area, so we went to check it out. First of all, this is not an easy park to find. Maybe with a GPS it would have been easier, but we were following Yahoo! Maps directions. After a while, we found the park, situated up a holler across from the city of Dunbar- you literally had to drive under the interstate to get there. We found the sign:

But it took us a while to realize that the actual Wine Cellars are on the opposite side of the road from the sign. We walked way up into the park looking for them, but it wasn't until we turned around that we noticed the giant stone wine cellars.

It didn't look too spooky at first. Mind you, I'm always skeptical about places being haunted - but the closer you get to the Wine Cellars, the more you realize how much the atmosphere changes.

The wine cellars were built, as far as I could gather from the few resources I could find, prior to the US Civil War. I'm not sure about the history of them - so please if you know anything at all fill me in. From what I understand they were used as jails or camps during the war, then abandoned years later after the wine production stopped.

Whatever the history, the mood of the cellars is nearly like that of a cemetery at midnight - and we were there at about 2pm in the middle of a hot summer day. My brother was the first to pick up on the "vibe" from the far left cellar, which is where it got interesting.

A running thing we do is to stand in doorways or entrances of places we've heard are haunted, then ask the ghost to stand between us. I'm on the left, Matthew is on the right. If you look closely at this picture, the white fog between us had to come from somewhere. It was clear as a bell in the cellar.

More and more misty photos showed up on the digital camera the longer we were there. In the far left cellar, especially, was a lot of activity. At one point I was in the doorway, and I noticed a tiny orb of light floating in the air, rotating in place just beyond my right index finger. As I reached out for it, my brother and Shirley let out a gasp - apparently they had thought I was reaching for a black shadowy figure in the mist. But what they saw as a black figure, I saw as a floating orb of light. We've still yet to figure that one out.

Whatever the case may be, we left the Wine Cellar Park and its environs with the feeling that there is definitely something dwelling within. I have my own ideas of what it might be- and I'm happy to say that I have experienced another bit of West Virginia's Spectral Heritage. For more information on the program, visit http://www.wvspectralheritage.com/

The Ghosts of Seneca Caverns

2009-06-03T08:51:00.013-04:00

As I said in the previous post, my very first job was as a tour guide at Seneca Caverns in Riverton, WV. This was back in the 1990s, when the economy wasn't shot.

Anyway, during my time at the caverns, which lasted several years (I worked there all through college as well) I learned many things. I memorized the tour (which I can still recite to this day). I learned how to recognize different types of minerals simply from their color, how to deal with the public, and more importantly - how to deal with spirits.

Now you may think I am making this all up - and you have a right to be skeptical. But I am telling you that this is all based on real experiences my fellow guides and I had while working at the caverns. Now Seneca Caverns was discovered by Europeans in the late 1600s, but before that it was home to the Seneca tribe. The most famous story is that of Princess Snowbird and her love story (see previous blog entry). The Seneca, it was stated, lived in the giant cavern during the winter months, and in the warmer months they would move out into the surrounding Germany Valley to hunt.

This is Candy Mountain, a flowstone formation at the front entrance to the Council Room.

During those long winters, the shaman of the tribe would use a deeper part of the cave, now called the Council Room, as a place to hold rituals and spiritual ceremonies. To this day, the walls of the Council Room are smoked black by the fires that lit those thousands of council meetings. After the Seneca left the region, the cave was abandoned. Over the years local citizens used its 54 degree temperatured rooms as a natural refrigerator, and during the Civil War it held supplies used by both sides. It gained public prominence when it was opened to the public in the late 1920s as a tourist attraction.

Knowing the history of the cave, it is not surprising that it would have some type of spiritual activity. And during my time as a guide, I and others witnessed some pretty strange things.The most strange thing that happened was when I was giving a tour of the caverns. At one point in the tour, the tourists descend into the area known as the Devil's Kitchen and then come back out into the Council Room. I was leading the group out of the kitchen when I saw two small spheres of light zip from one side of the Council Room to the other. A young woman, who was right behind me, gasped and I knew she had seen it too. As the rest of the group came up out of the kitchen, the light spheres zipped back across the Council Room to the other side. We waited for a bit after that, but nothing else happened. It was then that the tourists became VERY interested in the ghost stories I had about the cave.

This is "Niagara Falls Frozen Over" at the far end of the Council Room। The green spots are actually algae that grows as a result of the lights.

Another story involves a rather strange phenomenon - it's what we tour guides referred to as "the ghost tour". What happened on many occassions was that one or two of us would be in the cavern, and we would hear a tour approaching. This sometimes happened when maintenance was required on the lighting or stairs, so it was pretty common to just stand aside and let the tour go by. I remember one time another man and I were working on the drainage system by Mirror Lake, and we heard a tour coming up on us. So we prepared to stand under the stairs and wait for the tour to pass by. Well the voices got louder and louder, as if a tour was coming down the long tunnel known as "The State Penitentiary" because of all the columns that look like bars. Just when it sounded like the tour was going to appear, it stopped.

The other man looked at me and said, "Well I think we've done enough today." and we left by the back of the caverns. Other times the ghost tour would come, and it always happened when there were only one or two people in the cavern. Often we would go through at the end of the day to pick up trash and sweep the gravel off the stairs, and on many occasions strange things happened.

At one point, I was sweeping the stairs by the Council Room and the Devil's Kitchen when I heard footsteps behind me in the gravel. I turned around, but no one was there. Knowing what it was, I just started to hum to myself. The longer I was there, the more I felt like I was being watched. And the footsteps started again. So I gave the steps a swipe and a promise and took off through the Council Room to the end of the caverns.

Another tour guide who also had this same experience came up with a brilliant plan to counteract this ghost. She told me that it happened to her every time she swept the stairs at the end of the day. So she got an idea to follow the final tour through the caverns. She would stay one room behind each tour, but followed closely behind it. In this way, she was able to avoid the "man at the top of the stairs" in the Council Room.

The Iceberg - the last large formation in the caverns.

Now some people have thought that it was just our minds playing tricks on us, and that the ghost tour was simply an echo of another tour in the cave, but it happened when there were no other people or tours in the caverns. And there were multiple witnesses, so it was obviously not someone's imagination gone awry. I've said it before and I'll say it now: Seneca Caverns has ghosts!

The Legend of Princess Snowbird

2009-05-29T08:54:00.010-04:00

As some of you may know, my very first job ever was as a tour guide at Seneca Caverns in Riverton, WV. Since those days, the caverns have gone through some changes, and no one I knew then even works there anymore. It wasn't the best job in the entire world, but I think it had something to do with my interest in becoming a storyteller.

Every day, I had at least five different audiences (my record was 8), who were interested in different things. They were from all walks of life, all regions of the world, and many different religions - which often made for some creative thinking about how to best describe the age of the cave, and what it was that I was supposed to call the "Devil's Kitchen" - the lowest point in the cave. But I digress - the Seneca Caverns were the winter home of the Seneca natives, who lived in the area of West Virginia where I grew up. Some people have studied them and claim they were not Seneca, but Delaware, but I'll call them the Seneca for the sake of the story.

The average temperature of WV hovers around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, and that is about what the cave stayed at. You can imagine that during the long, cold winter of -9 or so below, 55 would feel pretty darn good if you built a fire. Which they did, in the "Council Room" of Chief Bald Eagle.

However, the best story from the Seneca natives comes from Seneca Rocks, WV. If you don't know, Seneca Rocks is 900 feet of vertical stone in Seneca Rocks. It was a landmark used by humans since antiquity, and there are artifacts there to prove it. During WWII, it was used as a training ground by US troops going to Europe. Today, there is a visitor's center and you can visit mostly anytime during the tourist season. The rocks are open year-round, and there is a walking trail to the top.

However, Princess Snowbird needed no trail. It was told that she was one of the first natives to actually climb the face of the rocks with her bare hands - and that accomplishment, along with her legendary beauty, made her a most desirable bride. But Princess Snowbird was not an easy catch, as the story tells:

The Betrothal of Snow Bird, Princess of the Seneca Indians

The only daughter of chief Bald Eagle and his wife, White Rock, was a daughter - Princess Snow Bird. As a young girl, she played at the base of these towering rocks, often gazing at their topmost peaks and longing to be able to climb to the tallest of them. As a young woman, she became the most beautiful of all the maidens of the Senecas. Her rank and beauty brought many men from her tribe and neighboring tribes courting her for a bride.

The rivalry caused her to face the serious problem of choosing a mate. When the day arrived to choose a husband, seven young warriors, all suitors for the hand of the Seneca princess, assembled in an open space and arranged themselves in a semi-circle facing the mighty rocks. The faint-hearted had dropped from the contest, not daring to face the ordeal to which they were sure they would be subjected.

Silence reigned on all sides. This rush of expectancy was on all until the beautiful Princess Snow Bird clad in the royal garb of her tribe, moved swiftly and gracefully into the circle and faced her prospective partners. She lifted her hand and silence fell upon the assembled.

"Ever since I was a little girl, I have watched yonder rocks push their rugged summits into the heavens and many times I have longed to be able to climb to their topmost crags. There have I spent the happiest, the most enjoyable days of my life. Of all the Seneca Indians, I am the only one who has accomplished the feat. One day, about a moon past, I decided upon a contest, a trial of bravery and endurance. You will soon engage in this contest, and to the successful one of you, I will give my hand, my heart, and my life."

Princess Snow Bird set out on the journey, followed by the seven braves. Upward they climbed, the sure-footed maiden always leading.

As the climb became more and more difficult, three of the seven turned back, dispirited and disappointed. Another followed to the fifth pinnacle and then wearied of the struggle and gave up. A fifth man crumpled in a heap near the same pinnacle and was rescued from death by the fourth, who led him back to safety. The two that remained followed closely in the footsteps of the maiden.

Finally, with renewed determination, they set out on the last and most dangerous stretch of the journey, the princess - as always - in the lead. At last she reached the summit and turned to look for her most persistent suitor. He was only a few feet below her. In this moment of waiting, his foot slipped on the ledge of rock.

The maiden hesitated for a fraction of a second. Was he not the bravest and strongest of the Senecas? Where would she ever find his equal? So with the alertness and strength of her young arms, she caught the falling brave and drew him to safety and to herself. Long they sat together talking of their future, and then as darkness approached, the two lovers descended by the trail at the rear of the gigantic rocks.

Later, they stood before Chief Bald Eagle and White Rock. The great chief conferred upon his newfound son-in-law the authority to become his successor as chief of the tribe. He, along with Princess Snowbird, were set to live a long and prosperous life together as leaders of their tribe.

I cannot remember - although I once knew - the name of Princess Snowbird's husband. It was part of the "spiel" on the tour of the caverns. Perhaps I will remember it sometime and post it here.

The future of the Senecas was not to be, however. Shortly after the betrothal of Princess Snowbird, European settlers began moving into the area. Skirmishes with the Europeans left the tribe decimated and scattered - Princess Snowbird and others moved further west to join up with other tribes that had joined the Iroquois confederacy. Her father, Chief Bald Eagle, was killed in battle. I do not know what became of Snowbird's mother or husband, and I leave that to your thoughts.

It is interesting to me, that this story still remains in my mind. As one of the first stories I ever heard, it set me on a lifetime of gathering stories and learning about places. I know the story is a bit hokey, and has no doubt been twisted over the centuries into what it is today - but it's still a great story. It is amazing to me as well, that the main character - a woman - is made to be so powerful. This is one part that makes me believe that it is a true tale - in part because it reflects the power with which Native Americans imbued the women. Europeans, as a patriarchal society, did not necessarily view women in this light.

So the next time you are in Pendleton County, and you see Seneca Rocks, remember the story of Princess Snowbird. She was one powerful lady!

The Red-Headed Man

2009-05-26T21:17:00.005-04:00

This post involves a story that was passed on to me by Kurt McCoy, whom some of you may know wrote that great book "White Things: West Virginia's White Monsters" which is available on eBay for a paltry $10. I suggest you pick up a copy. It is a very good read!

This story is one that comes close to home for me, quite literally. Kurt is another WV ghost/monster story collector, and came across this story while working on his current book about WV's water monsters (apparently there are more than the Ogua).

The Red-Headed Man is a story set in the colonial days of WV, way back when it was still known as western Virginia. This story takes place at Fort Cobun, which was located near Dorsey's Knob in Morgantown - which I can see from my backyard. That is why I say it is close to home for me.

Fort Cobun was built in 1770, near Dorsey's Knob (above), and I'm sure that it's foundations lie somewhere beneath the old Morgantown Mall or the Giant Eagle. So much for saving history. Sometime, I'm not sure when, as I have not researched this story thoroughly, the fort was attacked and overrun by a Native American raiding party.

During this raid, many settlers were killed or kidnapped. One of those was to become known as "The Red-Headed Man". I've not found his name, if in fact it was ever known, but he was a soldier. He was kidnapped by the natives and carried to an area near the base of Dorsey's Knob. There, the natives tied him to an "X"-like cross they had staked into the ground. While tied up, the natives also scalped him - and did not stop at the top of his head. Instead, they scalped him down to his neck, and he subsequently bled to death from the wounds.

Since that time, there have been sightings of the "Red-headed Man" near Dorsey's Knob in Morgantown, which is now a local park area. Many people have told stories about being parked up at Dorsey's Knob, which has a reputation for a makeout spot, and encountering the specter. He is clothed in his colonial uniform, and his head is blood-red, with his veiny flesh still unhealed even in death. It is said that the "Red-headed Man" grabs unsuspecting people by the scalp and face, attempting to replace his lost skin with theirs.

There is protection against the "Red-headed Man" however - many visitors, even to this day, carry a small, handmade cross (basically two sticks tied with twine) on their windshields. Apparently, the "Red-headed Man" still fears the apparatus to which he was tied and tortured on - even in a miniature version.

I think of this story every time I look out across the yard, and I wonder if the "Red-headed Man" is still out there, or if somehow he has finally gone to rest.

Way of the Willow

2009-05-24T22:50:00.008-04:00

This post was inspired by my recent thoughts about trees. There's a saying in my family which I doubt that anyone outside the family knows about.

Every now and then, you'll hear someone in the family say, "It's went the way of the willow" or in vernacular, "It's went the way of the willer". Now most of you have some clue to what that means, but not where it comes from. I'm sure you've caught on to the meaning, that whatever it was is not around anymore - it's gone the way of the willer.

Well, here's the story: When I was about 11 or 12 years old, my family was living in Monkeytown, right up that holler road that's pictured on the sidebar here. Our house was on the same side of the crick as Granny's, where she lived with her youngest son - our great-uncle Dagwood. Between our two houses stood a giant old weeping willow tree, that was planted next to the old spring. The spring had by this time gone out of use, but the water from it still seeped up out of the ground all the time and the willow tree of course loved it. It was a huge old tree - not as big as the white oak in my picture, but it was at least forty feet tall, with weeping branches that dragged the ground in the summer. It was one of the most beautiful trees I'd ever seen - and weeping willows are one of my favorite trees.

Well, anyway, one summer I remember reading in my bedroom during an evening rainstorm. For a while we were on the porches talking and watching it rain, but the thunder and lightning kicked in and we ran inside. I remember Granny had been sitting on her porch too - the yard between our houses was only about a hundred feet or so, with the willow in the middle over the old spring.

Well as I was reading, there was a huge crash, the power went out, and everyone was yelling and running - the old willow had fallen.

A gust of wind had caught it's upper branches, and the soggy ground had given way. It fell straight down between the houses, missing them both. Of course it clipped the power lines in half, and it took a while before power came back to the holler.

It didn't matter really, because we were all mourning the loss of the willow. It was like losing a family member - someone who had always been there, standing guard over us all.

A surprise was beneath the willow, however. When it fell, the tree revealed a giant stone - so large that Granny said it was the base of the mountain and could never be moved. That proved true a few years later when we flattened out part of the yard with a bulldozer - and two dozers, one on each side of the rock, couldn't get it to budge. So my mother named the rock "Old Abe" after Abe Lincoln - since it was so steady and hardheaded.

So the willow is gone now, but Abe is still there, holding up the mountain. Years later, my family replanted a weeping willow in the same place as the other one. It was done not only to replace the missing tree, but to deal with some rather unruly "neighbors". That's another story altogether. Here is the replacement tree, and Old Abe. There's a rail fence there now, too.

Now you'll know, if you hear one of my family say "It's gone the way of the willer", the story behind it. Of course, like all sayings there are now other versions. "It's gone the way of the wizard" - as in the Wizard of Oz, and "the way of the weasel", which is my brother's favorite. His hobbies include studying ferrets and weasels - the mustelid family.

Naming the Tree

2009-05-03T21:29:00.000-04:00

Here's something maybe some of you can help me with. There is a giant old white oak tree in the backyard - it's on the corner of several property lines with myself and three neighbors, so it's really unknown who's tree it is. I've taken Franklin for walks around this giant - it's over fifty feet tall (much taller before it's top broke out).

Ravens love to nest in its branches, and I'm sure it is over 300 - maybe 350 years old. One of the neighbors said she had always liked this tree, and it had been there since she was a child. That was over fifty years ago, she said. Once it even self-combusted, and the inside ignited. The fire department came and put out the tree, but no one would allow them to cut it down. Everyone likes this old tree, and since it is so far from anyone's home, there is no danger of it falling on anything.

In the top of the tree there is a huge hole, like a single eye, and I like to think of this tree as having a real soul - a real personality. I do believe in tree and plant spirits - it's part of my culture. This tree is one of the oldest spirits I've come across - and it's hard to believe I discovered it in the midst of Morgantown.

The thing I am requesting your help with is naming this tree. I think it is a shame that the tree doesn't have a name - of course, I've thought of the usual:

"Albus, The White Oak" and "Cyclops"

But I'm hoping that one of you can help me come up with something maybe a bit more creative and original.

I guess "Ravenscroft" isn't too far off either. Any ideas?

Down the Staircase

2009-05-03T21:15:00.000-04:00

Hello everyone - its me, tardy again with another post. I honestly have a very good reason this time. Actually, two very good ones. On last Sunday night, I had a fall down my staircase (never wear socks on hardwood floors). I was able to catch myself about the 6th step, but I bounced quite hard until then. I have bruises still (one quite large purple one you know where). I also knocked my right elbow pretty hard and scraped the backs of both my calves, so I was in pretty bad shape afterwards. All of that is feeling better except for my rear.

If that weren't enough, I also caught the worst end of the winter cold you can imagine - it was so bad that I was laid up all week, unable to go to work or do anything around the house. I even thought maybe it was swine flu, but my doctor told me it was only a severe cold. On top of that, my allergies are killing me - ai yi yi!

It's been raining here off and on for the last couple of days, so maybe the best way for me to spend it was in bed or laid out on the couch. Franklin has been, I must say, quite the nursemaid. He's always there to warm up a cold lap or nap along beside me. I've never woken up this last week and him not be there next to me.

Now if I could train him to cook and clean...

I will be up and running again soon. I hope to put up a really good post I've been writing in my head for over a week now. It's about this place:

My name is Franklin

2009-04-20T21:24:00.000-04:00

Hello, my name is Benjamin Franklin Cat. Everyone calls me Franklin. I'm named after a signer of the US Constitution. Welcome to my home!

This is my home. One of my favorite spots is here, in the bay window of the living room. I like to watch the birds fly by, and the cars that pass the house. There are other cats in the neighborhood, too, but not all of them have nice houses like this to live in. I think that is sad. Every home should have a cat, and vice versa.

I am quite flexible,and sometimes wake up in the oddest positions. I really like this red chair - it is rare that anyone else gets to sit in it, because I spend a lot of my time here as well.

This is my baby photo. I was only 12 weeks old here. Jason and John brought me home from the veterinarian in Point Marion, where I was a rescued kitten. I really like this bedspread too - it's vintage chenille and feels really soft!

Grandma Burns doesn't have the same taste in bedding, but the sheets on her bed are a good place for a cool catnap on a hot, late-summer's evening. That and the flowers really bring out the green in my eyes.

Of course I have to say that grandma is very good to me. I like to lay in her lap and eat kitty treats. I go to visit her sometimes - and visit with my other relatives.

Of course I do my share of activities as well. I'm a very active kitty-

But my favorite activity is napping - pretty much anywhere I can find a spot.

I travel well - compact model!

Jason and John take me lots of places with them. I like to travel in cars - and often I'm not in my cat carrier. I know, I know. Bad Cat. I like to be out so I can see what's passing by. I guess it's the WV in me.

Here I am resting atop the haul we bought at Rio Mall in Rio, WV. That's Grandpop in front, driving. It was a really nice trip.
I think when I grow up I want to be a model. John has already noticed my propensity to "work" the camera. Hear that Whiskas???

I can do action shots too - here I'm punting a Fisher Price Apple!

So if you need more love, action, and purring in your life- or a good subject for a photoshoot- try a cat like me! There are many cats and other animals at your local rescue agencies that need homes. So if you have room in your home and your heart, consider adopting a critter. They'll love you for it!

Bye till next time!

WV Storytelling Institute

2009-04-14T21:45:00.000-04:00

I'll say it again and again... I absolutely LOVE anything with storytelling - and this year's WV Storytelling Institute at Fairmont State University did not disappoint! The weather was a bit rainy the first day, but on Saturday the sun came out and so did the stories!

This year I was lucky enough to take along not only my fellow storyteller John Mullins, but also my good friend Arlie Chipps. John came on Friday and Arlie on Saturday. I was able to see some of my great storytelling friends, some of whom I had not seen for years. Here are some of the great photos!

This is myself and Judy Byers, founder of the Folklife Institute at Fairmont State University. You may have already read some of Judy's works, or heard her wonderful storytelling, which she learned from a long family tradition. You may also know of a woman named Dr. Ruth Ann Musick, who collected WV ghost stories from around the state, from citizens who had kept them through oral tradition for hundreds of years. Judy grew up knowing Dr. Musick, as her family was one of the many whose stories were collected. You can still read those ghost tales in Musick's still published books, such as Coffin Hollow, The Telltale Lilac Bush, and my personal favorite The Green Hills of Magic. As you may already know, Dr. Musick was my inspiration for my current WV Spectral Heritage Project, which is an ongoing research project I'm doing to collect all the WV ghost and monster stories that I can.

Here's where our adventure began on Friday. That's John leaning against the wall, and he's chatting with fellow Fayette countian (is that a word?) and storyteller Karen Vuranch. Karen does a lot of storytelling not only in WV, but around the world. Her talent has taken her from WV to China, and she even performed at the White House! For that momentous occasion, she has earned the nickname in the guild as "The First Lady of WV Storytelling".

Others in the photo are JoAnn Dadisman and June Riffle, who are sitting down. June is the one reading the booklet. And in the far back, you can see that the Braxton County Monster has made an appearance!

Arlie always knows a good photo opportunity! Here he is posing with none other than the Braxton County Monster! If you don't know the story behind this fellow (or miss), then google it. The story is quite a mystery even today! Arlie Chipps is a fellow artist from Morgantown, and had a ball hanging out with "those fabulous people" - meaning the storytellers.

Here I am with JoAnn Dadisman, the lady who is single-handedly responsible for getting me back to the mountain state-of-mind I have now. After that unfortunate stint in a VA private college, I was a little down on WV. But thanks to her class at WVU, I found my way back. She's a mean storyteller too, and performs with June Riffle as The Mountain Echoes. Oh, and there's a certain monster looming in the background.

Here JoAnn and Karen are intensely discussing something. It may be guild matters, or a story they are researching, or how they really wish I would put down the camera. (If I had, I may know what they were talking about). Of course, everyone wants to speak with the "First Lady", and I'm not above taking the chance for a photo op. This was actually the first time I had seen Karen in two years, so it was a happy reunion.

I love Karen's style and her storytelling! Her History Alive! performances include characters like Mother Jones, Clara Barton, Eleanor Roosevelt, and a female pirate I can't remember the name of. She also does Coal Camp Memories, in which she plays one woman with three different ages, and Pot Luck - which is a performance with two other storytellers. It is all about food, and it made me hungry!

Now some of you have probably never been to see a storyteller - and I suggest it highly. No movie, no tv show is going to compare. Pot Luck (above) is a rollercoaster of emotions- I laughed, I cried, and all over again. Pot Luck, like I said, is all about how food affects us. One of the songs in the stories (there are many), is titled, "Funeral Food" and is about how food is comforting. Another song is about Chocolate! My favorite part! It's about how chocolate is comforting for a person suffering heartache. I left the show craving macaroni and cheese, coffe, and chocolate muffins - so maybe if you are on a diet you should avoid seeing it. For everyone else, dive in! This performance is also available now on CD (maybe DVD too) - and it's something everyone can enjoy.

After some great performances, there's more chatter and comaraderie in the halls of the conference center. Here Judy Byers (smiling), Gail Herman (blonde hair), Connie Regan Blake (salmon blouse), and Katie Ross hang out between sessions.

Another amazing storyteller is Ilene Evans, from Thomas, WV. Her performances include not only storytelling, but singing, dancing, and History Alive! performances. She recreates characters like Harriet Tubman and Memphis Tennessee Garrison. Here she and Otto Ross discuss over some wonderful antique furniture that would look really nice in my house.

Did you actually think the next generation of storytellers was missing? Absolutely not! Here is some of Fairmont State University's Raconteurs (I hope I spelled that right) - which is essentially their student storytelling guild. They had set up tables advertising their guild and selling small items as fundraisers for their group. Here are a couple photos:

All the items you see here were handmade by the students to be sold as a fundraiser. They were all VERY impressive and somewhat innovative. I especially like the corner bookmarks they crafted from basic office envelopes, and of course the doll, which looked like something out of Fraggle Rock, or maybe more like a young Phyllis Diller:

Of course, what kind of friend and fellow blogger would I be if I did not mention the fantastic, wonderful, enlightening, and engaging session on blogging that was given by the incomparable Susanna "Granny Sue" Holstein?

Here you can see Arlie is hanging on her every word. It was really a great session, and I learned alot. If you've not seen GSue's blog, I suggest it highly. I've not gotten to the point of updating mine as often as she does hers, and I'm wondering what the secret is. Hmmmm... maybe I could turn off the tv?

Well, the crowd came and went, and the sun set on another wonderful storytelling institute at Fairmont State University. If you get the chance, come to next year's institute. I'm not sure of the dates yet, but it is usually around the first of April. If you can't come to the institute, then attend a local storyteller in your area. Storytellers can change your life! I know.

And if you want to challenge for yourself, then go find a story of your own. Investigate a lead, learn about a historical character you've only heard about or seen the Hollywood version of. Research your family tree. Talk to a grandparent and learn about their childhood. What did they do when they were bored? What did they like to eat? What was their favorite thing to do after school?

You never know what you will learn. And WRITE IT DOWN. So many things are lost to time because no one ever writes things down. For example, on my way back from the institute, I saw this sign:

It's about David Morgan, an early settler of WV who saved his family from a Native American attack because he had a "strange dream" about it happening. Precognition? ESP? whatever the case, it's weird enough for me to want to investigate it. Who knows how big or weird this story truly is. Whatever the case, I can't wait to start researching!

Until next post, I urge you all to seek out a story on your own! It is quite exciting!

Away for the Weekend

2009-04-10T12:36:00.000-04:00

I want to apologize to all my readers for being away for so long. Work has worn me down, in addition to working on the house, the art show, and other projects. Even with exercise and multivitamins it also seems that I have come down with something - god knows what this time.

It has been really, really stressful lately and I've simply not had the time to write a good post - I could write a lot of crappy ones, but I don't like to do that. As I write this, I'm reminded that laundry needs done and I need to pack before I head back to Pendleton County for the Easter holiday, which I will spend with my parents, brother and his wife. Not to mention Uncle Fudgey.

Next week will hopefully find me healthier and in better sorts, when I am not so rushed, stressed,and I can think.

Fall 2007

Ladies & Gentlemen... I give you - my kitchen!

2009-03-31T20:44:00.000-04:00

Ever since I gave Granny Sue the option of picking the next room in the house that I wrote about, I have been looking for time to photograph it - right after I cleaned it. I'm not a neat freak by any means, but living in a construction zone can make any room in the house less than picture-perfect. So I broke down and finally have photographed the kitchen for posterity, at 1:30am on Sunday morning. What was I doing up at that hour? That's what I'm wondering as well.

I'll start off by introducing you to your tour guide, Franklin, who will from now on be giving the tours of the house. He spends the most time of any of us in the house, so he knows the most about it. Here he is, showing off the tacky white laminate floor that the previous owners felt would look great. Someone should have told them white shows dirt. All the dirt-

Eventually I will replace this floor, but for now it stays. Franklin doesn't seem to mind it.

This is the door to the basement, dressed in dried herbs and an old flour sack. The shelf on the wall is the spice rack - which has been hanging in that same spot since we moved in. It always seemed at home there, and is very easy to use. The dishwasher is mobile, and I wheel it over to the sink to hook it up when I need to use it. I have a valance for the kitchen window, but have to get a curtain rod for it.

The watermelon sack holds plastic bags for reuse later, and the flyswatter has yet to be used. With warmer weather, I'm sure the flies will be aplenty.

Here is the corner across from the basement door. The window and dishwasher sit next to the stove. This corner is a bit of a hodgepodge, since the countertop is a makeshift one. The stove is gas. As you can see there is a bit of a country vibe to the room, that's intentional. Alot of the stuff in here is heirlooms or stuff I've bought traveling in WV.

The washboard on the wall belonged to my great-grandmother Mary, who my brother has written about extensively on his blog. On top of the cabinet you can also see her cream pitcher, its brown and white - the one on the far right. The blue and white cow (on top the cabinet) belonged to my grandmother Virginia "Bunny" - who was the subject of my first post here. Also, just over the door on the right you can see part of the horseshoe that hung over the kitchen door of the farmhouse I grew up in located in Germany Valley.

The big white floor cabinet came with the house, and serves as what little counterspace I have. It came from IKEA I was told, and I think it is ugly as sin. Talk about an elephant in the room. But for now it stays-

I don't like the idea of an open kitchen, especially one opened to a traffic flow that leads from the back porch through the house. I keep thinking about all that dirt running through the kitchen. Let me know if I sound crazy. I've always liked the idea of having rooms - I'm not one for open living, for some reason.

Here you get a better view of the horseshoe and part of the dining room. It's yet to be painted. The archway now houses John's lantern collection - they seem to fit the space. It has to do with the railroad, I'm sure.

The other side of the counter in the dining room is currently also housing the plants during the winter. Some of the other objects in this picture are my favorite mug (red one, on the counter), the five lanterns, a white Nefertiti bust (with its back to you), and a gray castle I'm working on for the yard this spring. See anything you want to ask about? Everyone says I've got the weirdest things around my house - like those Ravenhearst games. It's probably true. But all of them have a story.

Here we have come full circle - the refrigerator, complete with magnetic towel rack, photos on the fridge door, magnets, and Granny's kraut crock on top (full of clothespins). If you look in the entry way through the door you will see signs of ongoing renovation, as well as an ionic column. Franklin likes to call it his pedestal. What's in the glass on the sink? Cherry 7-Up. That's Franklin's little blue cat cubby in the hall.

Well I hope you have all enjoyed the tour of my kitchen. Which room will I do next? I don't know - any suggestions?

I will leave you with this piece of advice. No matter how cute they look, never turn your back on a cat.

If they're anything like Franklin they'll go right for your toes!

Springtime Plantin'!

2009-03-27T21:25:00.000-04:00

The tulips are budding, the daffodils are out, and the spring rains have settled in for - about the next two months. What better way to celebrate the end of a horrid, long cold February than with a trip to your local nursery? Here in Morgantown there are the usual places such as Lowe's, but I prefer and honest-to-goodness greenhouse nursery like Shield's Nursery near Clay Battelle & Core, WV. It's right on the WV/PA line, and I'm still not sure which state it's in.

Every spring (and honestly, throughout the summer), I find myself being drawn there - not only for the great deals on plants, but because of the atmosphere. The simplistic decoration, the use of recycled materials, and the laid-back appearance of the place gives me a feeling of peace and contentment that I hope to be able to build in my own yard. There's also an overwhelming sense of abundance, as if you could walk around the place all day long and not see everything there. It's a Disneyland for gardeners and plant lovers!

Here are some of my favorite shots from the greenhouse. I was concerned at first about taking photos, but the owner of the place laughed at me with her thick Romanian accent and says, "Take all the pictures you want. I don't know why though - there is nothing here to take photos of." I sensed that somewhere beneath that sentence there was thick sarcasm. Judge for yourself:
An aged lion spouts water beneath a trellis on top of a pedestal of railroad ties. Note the baskets of flowers hanging from the trellis. Very nice!

This is the entrance to one of the eight or so greenhouses. No surface is devoid of plant life - sometimes not even the walking path!

This old tree stump was inside the one greenhouse, planted with moss and succulents, and surrounded by annuals. Beautiful! I think some of the success of this nursery is their ability to make everything look like it "just happened" that way.

This gazebo is right in the middle of one of the greenhouses - little respites like this are everywhere. And in case you're wondering, that's juniper growing across the arch in the background!

See? Of course, these are not all the common, garden-variety WV plants. There are some exotic things here, too.
Such as this papyrus - anyone feel like making paper like the ancient Egyptians? And speak of exotic, the grounds of the nursery is also home to 6 or so of these:

I have to say, I love peacocks. They're beautiful birds, and I love their call. I kept waiting for the one above to spread out his tail, but he only did it once when my digital camera was OFF, of course. I will make another trip soon to see if I can get a better picture of his tail feathers.

There was also a large flock of peahens around the greenhouses. They really are beautiful birds!

Yet I digress - here are more photos of the nursery:

Thinking of creating a water garden? You can get your plants here:

Complete with tadpoles:

Of course, there are also the shade plants and the wine shoppe, which sells local wines, crafts, and pottery:

Here are some shots from inside the wine shoppe and craft store:

And now, back out to the nursery - these are some really neat shots I found around the place. Amazingly, there are a lot of customers all the time, but it is so big and full of vignettes that it feels intimate - like you have the whole place to yourself.

Wisteria over the doorway - very romantic.

Can you grown oranges in your garden? This was simply amazing!

Here are some more shots to get you in the mood for spring -

A bright red azalea! And below, some flowers I cannot identify. Any ideas?

Well, the peacock says it's time to go. Until next time, keep thoughts of spring on your mind - because if you aren't careful winter might come back!

WV Storytelling Institute

2009-03-24T09:58:00.000-04:00

I know, I know - write about the kitchen. I promise - but I wanted to get out information about the latest storytelling event (arguably the largest) in West Virginia. A lot of my fellow tellers will be there, and West Virginia's Spectral Heritage will have our display there as well!

The West Virginia Storytelling Institute will take place on April 3-4, 2009. This is a Friday and Saturday, and is the second time this event has taken place at Fairmont State University.

This is the Falcon Center, the student union at Fairmont State University. It's a new building, and impressive. The university is hosting the second annual WV Storytelling Institute here. There will be storytelling, sessions on how to storytell various styles, and music! Lots of storytellers use music in their storytelling (something I've yet to do). One of my favorite balladeers, Susanna "Granny Sue" Holstein, will be there again this year. Here she is presenting a workshop on ballads last year:

Of course, my favorite things about the storytelling institute are getting to see a lot of my friends that I normally only see once in a great while - and some that I last saw at the institute! Sad, I know, but thankfully a few of us have discovered Facebook, which helps us keep in touch better. Still, face-to-face is much more preferable. Here are Jo Ann Dadisman (of the Mountain Echoes), Granny Sue, and Ilene Evans. All are primo, excellent, one-of-a-kind storytellers!

Here are some other photos:

Here Ilene is in costume, when she portrays Harriet Tubman (and does a great job with it!). I'm not sure what made us laugh, but with us it could have been anything.

And who says no one is interested in Appalachian culture? It seems to me that we drew one heck of a crowd! Of course, with a great book such as this one, how could we not?

This book is our latest guild publication, titled From Our Mountains: A Collection of Stories from the West Virginia Storytelling Guild. It's a great read! And it puts its best foot forward - after all, my story is the first one! (I'm not saying anything about the stories being in order by author's last name). This book is still in print, and still for sale through any storyteller. You can get yours by contacting me, or any other storyteller from the WV Storytelling Guild.

The schedule starts on Friday, the 3rd of April starts at 9am and runs through 9pm (or later). Saturday is much the same, with various tellers, events, and presentations throughout the days. You can find more information on the guild site, as well.

While you're at Fairmont State University, you may want to check out the Dr. Ruth Ann Musick library.

If the name sounds familiar, Dr. Musick was the lady who collected WV's ghost stories long before I was born, and is my inspiration for the WV Spectral Heritage Project. Her works include: The Telltale Lilac Bush, Coffin Hollow, and The Green Hills of Magic. Here are some photos from the inside of the library:

There is a large tile mural in the library depicting various scenes from Dr. Musick's books. This particular scene is of the coffin rider ghosts, a common theme in WV ghost stories.

This scene is from The Telltale Lilac Bush - a story about a husband who murdered his wife and buried her in the yard, but the lilac bush gives up his secret. I recommend these tales to anyone who loves a good ghost story!

This is several scenes of the tile mural, but the one in the middle depicts the "ghost light" spirit of a man killed by a train while walking the tracks at night. His ghost still lights his way on the tracks where he died.

If you want to know more about WV ghosts, read Dr. Musick's books, or go the West Virginia Spectral Heritage Project. I will work on getting the kitchen posted on here, but until then I hope you can forgive me and my spring fever!

Not My Fight? I Don't Think So...

2009-03-20T09:03:00.000-04:00

Well Susanna, I am working on getting that post together about my kitchen. I will warn y'all firstoff - it is not a pretty room. Functional, but not pretty. That post is a'comin' either later this evening or tomorrow, whenever life settles down enough. Last evening I went shopping for things I could not put off buying until later, and by the time I got home I was too pooped to type.

Today I thought I'd update everyone on my most recent endeavor. My sister-in-law, Shirley, wrote a book called Bringing Down the Mountains, and is now working on her second endeavor - this time with the Sierra Club- on a book about mountain top removal. If you don't know about this current disaster state in West Virginia and most of Appalachia, then I suggest you educate yourself. Here you can get a good idea of what happens when a mountaintop is removed.

A Mountain top removal site - very moonscapish, eh? This was once verdant, green mountains!

For this second project, Shirl asked me to either draw her a picture or write a short piece for the book, and I came up with the idea for a poem. Since no one in my family (excepting those in Shirley's) have ever been employed by coal companies, it took me a while to find an angle from which to come at the subject. I knew what I wanted to say, but I did not want to come off sounding like an outsider talking about what I did not understand. This is something I constantly rail against myself - the last thing Appalachian culture needs is more local color writers!

I think I came up with a good poem, and I hope that it inspires others to not only realize the problems of mountain top removal, but also that we ALL have a part in it. Here is the poem I wrote for the book:

Not My Fight

I know nothing about coal mining,
Or the miner’s poor soul.
A coal company’s decisions don’t affect me
I’m told.—
There’s no coal to be mined
In the place where I dwell—
So I should ignore that
You’re turning heaven into hell.

Up here in Pendleton,
There’s no coal in sight—
No mines in these mountains
And green valleys so wide.
No tipples on the clifftops
Where the eagles fly high—
And you tell me there’s no part
For me in this fight.

On my family’s homeplace,
We’ve lived three hundred years.
All full of loving, laughter and tears—
Yet our sorrows are eclipsed
By the tragedies of coal,
Where fortunes in business
Are bought with the soul.

Words cannot render
The beauty I see
When I sit on my front porch
And look around me.
My mountains are safe now,
But how long will it be
Before some bought politician
Sells off my heritage?

My home in the mountains
Is worth more than gold.
There’s no advantage for me
To do as you’ve told.
There’s no way I’m buying
What you’re trying to sell—
I hope your profits will save you,
When you’re burning in Hell.

I hope you enjoyed that - and be sure to pick up a copy of Shirley's Bringing Down the Mountains. I will also let you all know when her next book comes out. Until then, I will keep everyone updated on my house renovation... next up - the kitchen!

Relics of the Past, or Lives Lived Well

2009-03-16T21:22:00.000-04:00

During one of my forays into the yard, I have found things. Relics of lives past, memories forgotten, and mementos that I don't really understand. However, I do like to think that within my yard (and my house) there have been many happy memories made. It is a happy place, despite its current under-construction condition. Even the lady who sold it to me said she was really sad to sell it, but her life led her south to Alabama. I've given her an open invitation to visit anytime, and I don't doubt that someday she will come knocking on the door. She is still here, in essence - immortalized (along with her cat, Twiner) in the names and pawprints on the concrete floor of the basement.

Here are some other things I've found around the house. These came from the yard:

The Clam Shells

The story? I think something like this:

"Honey, what are we going to do with those clam shells we brought back from the beach?"

"I thought they would look nice out around the flowerbed, you know - with maybe some hens & chicks around them. Or maybe just put them around the rosebushes."

And that's where I found them.

The Silver Tablespoon

For some reason I hear this dialogue in Granny Sue's voice.

Mom: "Tommy, have you seen my good silver serving spoon?"

Tommy: "I think Aaron had it out in the yard by the Water Maple. He said something about digging a hole to China."

Mom: "That boy! Always messin' in something!"

The Zinc Can Lids

My parents star in this one.

Husband: "Are you sure you want to throw these out?"

Wife: "YES. They don't hold a seal anymore. See how the metal has worn out around the edges. The milk glass inserts are slipping out of the one. Everything has a lifespan, honey. Let it go!"

The Red Glass Slag with the Yellow Streaks

Mother: "Emmy goes everywhere with that piece of red glass her father brought her home from the glass factory. Carries it around everywhere, and calls it her Princess Ruby."

Aunt: "Ah, to be that young again and full of imagination. And energy! If they could bottle that, they could make a million!"

Mother: "And she does have an imagination!"

The Broken Gas Line

Father: "We were lucky. The fire was only small, but it did a number on the boiler. I'll have to replace it."

Neighbor: "Lucky for you that your house was saved. It could have burned down your whole house - good thing you thought quick and turned off the gas."

Father: "Yes, the fireman called it a "flash burn"*. It did a number on the basement ceiling, though."

*There actually is a flash burn on the basement ceiling, from where the former boiler exploded. It could have happened...*

The Green Croquet Ball

During a summer family evening, full of lightning bugs, the smell of lilacs, and laughter:

"Anyone seen the green croquet ball*?"

"Nope. We've looked everywhere and no one found it."

"Oh well, it will turn up eventually!"

*(I found it in the hostas by the back porch.)

The Blue and White China Bits

Great-granddaughter: "I hate that I broke grandma's china bowl. My stupid, slippery hands! She'd be so mad at me if she knew I broke it!"

Mother: "I don't think she'd be mad at you, honey. She used her dishes - and she'd be happy to have you use them. She never did put things up to collect dust. 'Use yer dishes' she always said! So no, I don't think she'd be mad at you."

Great-granddaughter: "Still... I hate that I broke it..."

The Clock Weight

Grandson: "Grandpa's clock is off. I've got to go get a new weight for it, I think."

Mother: "Well, are you sure you know what you're doing? You might make it worse."

Grandson: "How? It don't keep good time now. What could I mess up? Maybe make it go back in time?"

Mother: *laughing* "Maybe! Crazy as he was, his clock might actually do that!"

Grandson: *laughing* "Yeah. I think I'll get a new weight for it."

Now it's your turn. Everyone out there - write a story about this. I'm not sure what it is, but it is solid iron, about 3 inches square, and was lying by the back porch near the drainspout. Best story gets to pick which room of the house I write about next!

Good luck, and have fun with it!

My House

2009-03-12T23:03:00.000-04:00

Today I would like to start out by introducing everyone to my new house. Well, it’s new to me. Built 88 years ago, this house is a real gem in the rough. Unfortunate renovations over the years have remodeled the house into a strange mish-mosh of drop ceilings, ugly light fixtures, and demolitions that removed some of the original woodwork.

On the upside, the original fireplace & mantle, staircase, and other woodwork (such as wide window sills) are still intact. The original light fixture from the dining room is in the attic – a real gem in art deco metal and carnival glass shades. And although it’s not original, one of the previous owners did put some pretty sweet blue and white tile in the entry foyer. I wish they had done something similar in the kitchen, where they put ugly modern wide-plank white laminate flooring in.

Here are some pictures of the place:

This is the staircase, which we have begun to refinish. It was in the midst of being redone when we bought the place - in fact there were lots of unfinished projects in the house. It was like the owners just gave up. I hope I don't get that way. Below is a picture of the foyer - notice the tile. Oh, and the crutches aren't mine. They were the previous' owners.

Below is the living room, with its big bay window. I inherited the rug and the chair too, which I kept. I'm using the chair in my new home office, and the rug hasn't moved since we moved in. Notice the ugly drop ceiling and fan. It will disappear eventually - I want the house to go back to its historically accurate roots. Well, with a few new conveniences.

Below is a closeup of the fireplace mantle, which has been stripped back to reveal the golden oak beneath the three or so layers of varnish.

This is the bathroom, which was formerly a hallway leading to the attic. The house originally had an outhouse:

This is the new home office, painted guacamole green. The floors are white oak hardwood, not laminate, grown, milled, and sold right here in WV!

The other bedrooms are finished, but look stark and bare by comparison. I'm now working on number 2 of three. Rather bleak looking, eh?
I also relish in the idea of having a real garden for the first time in years, since the yard is gigantic (for Morgantown - 2 city lots). It also has old growth trees!

Thanks for taking the time to check out my house. Look for updates on how the construction is going. One thing's for sure - it's going to be a long adventure!

The Purple Irises, or More Than Zinnias

2009-03-11T23:14:00.002-04:00

So many stories in my family’s history involve flowers. Peony, lilac, roses, and daisies immediately come to mind as characters in some of them. This particular story begins with a bed of zinnias, planted neatly inside an old tire in the front yard of my grandparents’ home near Riverton. My grandmother – her name was Virginia- was only able to keep zinnias alive, because they are hardy, tough flowers that grow anywhere - and they could survive her ten children, their pets, wild animals that ate the roots and bulbs, and sundry unruly neighbors who had turned her yard into a hardscrabble dirt path.

The years passed, and nothing but the zinnias bloomed. For a while it seemed that the world had turned against her. One of her sons, Joe, was accidentally shot and killed by his uncle in 1965. Then later, her kitchen wood stove exploded, burning her arm and badly injuring two of her children – my Aunt Donna and Uncle Tom. Her husband was often away, working in Baltimore or wherever the road led him, while she kept the family alive and happy in the holler.

Grandma was especially happy when I was born. I was the first grandson, and her favorite grandchild. I was so spoiled I wouldn’t sleep at night without being able to fall asleep in my Grandmother’s arms. I can still remember her long, auburn hair and her ever-present apron.

Soon my parents, Jake and Linda, had moved with my brother Matthew and I to Johnson Holler near Franklin. Our home was only ten miles from Grandma’s house, so we still visited pretty regularly. I was only five years old then, but I still remember my father coming home early from work one day in tears. My grandmother had died of a heart attack on the sofa. She was forty-three.

It wasn’t long after the funeral that somehow a wayward bulb found its way into the family cemetery and took root. None of us ever knew who had planted it, but it soon became a family legend. Before long, a bed of dark purple irises (that always smelled like grapes) spread its way out from Grandma’s grave and covered the cemetery. It makes me believe that my Grandma finally got her wish. She had something more than zinnias.

All these years later, I still hold the memory of my Grandmother to heart, and have always marveled at the masses of purple irises that now grow in the family cemetery on North Mountain. Over the years those flowers have spread down the mountainside into the holler, and now grow all through the old family homeplace. When my parents asked me what I wanted them to bring for my new home I bought in Morgantown, on the top of my list were some of those purple iris bulbs – so that I will always remember the magic there is in life, and that if you truly want something bad enough, it will come to you.

I Love you Grandma.

Welcome to Words From the Mountains!

2009-03-11T22:59:00.000-04:00

First I would like to say "Howdy!" to all of you who stuck by me when I had the blog at Tripod. Now that I'm at blogspot, I hope to be able to update my blog more readily and easily, as well as to update everyone on the progression of my work with West Virginia's ghosts and monsters. In addition, I'll be filling everyone in on the renovation of my new house, which is new only to me - it's 88 years old this year!

So in the coming days, I hope to be creating a great blog about my life in West Virginia - and tell a tale or two along the way. In addition to everything else that I do, I'm also a storyteller, and I specialize in ghosts and monster tales from West Virginia. You can out more about that here: http://www.wvspectralheritage.com/