Sunsets and Serendipity–West Virginia

It happened again.

A chance encounter with a fellow sunset-photographer reminded me of one of the reasons I love West Virginia.

Robbie and I had gone to Pipestem, WV for a birthday celebration weekend.  Saturday afternoon brought downpours, lightning, thunder—and while it did shorten our fishing excursion at the lake, it didn’t lessen our enjoyment.  As a matter of fact, it added to it.  There’s something about thunderstorms and cabins in the woods….

As the rain turned into a drizzle and the sun began pushing her way through the retreating storm clouds, the quickly changing light told us there’s a beautiful sunset to be seen, so we drove to the nearest overlook behind McKeever Lodge.   Another lady stood there, phone in the air, taking photos of the continually changing scene.  Seeing us drive in like an Andretti, she turned & said with a laugh, “You better hurry up, it’s changing so much.”

I took my place beside her and began capturing the breathtaking scene that changed from fog to fog and mountain to sun to bursts of orange and red to fog and mountain and sun and….

It was like a sky kaleidoscope.

Sunset Fog
The breathtaking view on a March evening in Pipestem, WV

After about three minutes of silence and reverent appreciation of the scene that lay before us, my photog partner turned & said “I live just down the road.”  She gave us her general area, to which Robbie told her that his cousins live there, too, and told her their names.

“Oh, yes!  I go to church with them!”  We all laughed and agreed what a small world it is.   Robbie told her his full name and said, “Tell them you met me.”  The lady—even more surprised—said, “I used to work with a man with the same name!”

The world just got even smaller.  She worked with my father-in-law 30+ years ago.

In true, West Virginia fashion, we quickly added one another on social media and are now friends. 

I love my home state—and this is one of the many reasons.  We instantly connect with and are drawn to other West Virginians.  No matter how long you’ve been transplanted somewhere else.

Rewind to Friday

We arrived on Friday before check-in time, so we drove to every overlook to take photos.  We drove through the campground where I used to stay with my parents & brother in the 70’s & 80’s when we borrowed Pop-Aw’s camper.  I pointed out “our spot”, showed Robbie the stretch of pavement where I skated in the rain and finally learned how to turn a bike around while riding it (turning terrified me), the place where—at about four years old–I stepped in a pile of horse poo while wearing flip-flops, and how the smell of toast and the sound of crows always remind me of camping in Pipestem.

I showed him the shelter where we had a huge family picnic one year.  Adjacent to the overlook where I captured the sunset photos, this shelter had giant rocks in the woods that we kids (a slew of us cousins) played on.  When you’re five years old and you’re standing on a giant rock, you feel you can conquer the world.  The smell of charcoal and moss, the sound of a radio playing AM Gold (think Captain & Tennille, Maxine Nightingale, England Dan & John Ford Coley), skinned knees, bottles of pop (glass bottles at that!) and terrycloth tank tops…. all made for a perfect day at Pipestem with family and friends.

The shelter to the right, the “giant” rocks in the center and to the left. Hard to believe it was 45 years ago that I played in those woods.

Back to 2021……

Check-in time arrived.   Even though the young lady who checked us in was wearing a mask, I could see she smiled warmly the whole time.  Her eyes crinkled.  She had that West Virginia accent that has become even more obvious to me the longer I’ve lived away.  “If y’all need anything at all, just dial zero from the phone in the cabin and that will connect you with us.  We want y’all to have a wonderful stay with us here at Pipestem.”

Welcome to The Neighborhood

We drove the quarter mile to the cabin.  Robbie had never stayed at or seen the inside of these cabins, (I have quite a few times), so I was eager for him to see it.  When we walked in, he immediately felt at home and was ready to build a roaring fire in the stone fireplace.

It was 72 degrees outside, so I asked him to wait until it was actually cool. He was somewhat disappointed, but agreed.

We had 2 bedrooms, living room, full kitchen, bathroom, deck that overlooked the woods, and my favorite…crank out windows.  I immediately cranked every. single. one. out so we could hear the outside and feel the mountain breezes. 

Our abode for the weekend
One of the roads in our neighborhood
Our retro living room

I unpacked refrigerated items and began preparing for 4 guests that evening. After that, we took a walk through our weekend neighborhood.  The cabin-dwellers to the left of us were unpacking their truck and threw up their hand and shouted a hearty “Hello!”  We returned the greeting, to which they replied, “No better place to welcome in Spring, is there?  Isn’t this wonderful?”  Of course, we agreed.  I looked at their tags—Ohio.  Welcome to West Virginia, I thought.

Fast-forward 7 hours.  We sat on the deck in the darkness, bellies full from a great dinner and roasted marshmallows, and listened to the night sounds.  At that moment in time, there was no place I would rather have been.

Saturday morning was sunny.  We loaded up the fishing poles and made the hike down to the lake.  West Virginia Gold Rush was happening, so I was eager to slay some trout.  I was prepared to be exhausted and sore from all the fish I would be reeling in, but I knew it was a small price to pay if I’m going to be a master fisherwoman.  Plus, I had Super Duper and Power Bait.  It was ON. (You can learn more about WV Gold Rush here.)

I just knew I’d catch Walter!
The walk down to the lake was much easier than the walk back.
Lake fishing

An hour later, not even a nibble. (In my defense, they hadn’t stocked that lake yet.)  Didn’t matter though.  I still spent an hour on the lake.  In West Virginia.  With my husband.

And I even bought the sweatshirt.

The clouds gathered and we knew rain was coming.  We rode the back way to Hinton (I do NOT recommend it for those not familiar with driving narrow, curvy, partially washed out, on the side of a mountain roads).  Hinton is adorable.  I want to make another trip just to walk the sidewalks, get photos of the old architecture and brick streets, and eat at one of the locally owned restaurants there.  But I digress…

After Hinton, to Athens we went—Moe’s specifically—I needed a pizza pie.

On the way back to Pipestem, hot pie on my lap, the rain poured down.  I was eager to get back, listen to the rain in the woods, and Robbie would finally get to build that fire.

Husband was most proud of his fire

The next 4 hours saw pizza, a roaring fire replete with the crackle and pop and hiss, 4 games of poker, one game of Spades, and a fox sighting by Robbie (I always miss the wildlife!).  We decided to head to The Black Bear Café, where we had more pizza (those who know me are not surprised) and wings.  But first, the serendipitous trip to photograph God’s artwork with the gorge, the mountains, the sun, and the fog.

That night, we climbed into bed at 10:30.  We knew more storms were coming in, and eagerly anticipated hearing the rumble of the thunder and the pattering of the rain on the roof. The storms didn’t disappoint.  At 3:30 a.m., we were awakened when the thunder shook the cabin.  While frightening to some, to me it was a melodic mountain lullaby. What a glorious ending to a magnificent weekend.

West Virginia will always have my heart.  It was there where my roots were formed, roots that stretch deep into the coal-seamed dirt, the roots that developed our hill-folk accents, attachment to pots of pinto beans & cornbread, and instant familial connection to anyone else who calls her home.  Just like the lady we met at sunset.

Pipestem entrance
Coffee and West Virginia
One of the awesome overlooks
The most comfortable bed you’ll ever sleep on
Until we meet again…Wild…Wonderful…Almost Heaven…
West Virginia.

Interested in more?  You can read author Phylenia French’s Pipestem perspective here.

Canine Connections–Cuddles and Chessney

The Pug on my lap snored.  Seventeen pounds of pugloaf created a numbness in my feet, and even though the wait to see the vet for her urinary tract infection was long, I loved seeing all the other wonderful pets coming in and out.  The sassy Schnauzer to my left was summoned back about twenty minutes after I’d sat down.  During our wait, I made friends with the silky white gal, and her mom showed me photos of her sister (another Schnauzer) and two brothers (Boston Terriers).  The lady to the right of me held her tiny Yorkie who was in for a steroid shot.  She laughed as she told about all the boys in her family—sons and grandsons—and even the handsome fella on her lap was a boy.  “Is yours a girl?”  She asked.  “Yes, and a diva at that!” I answered.  We both laughed.  Chessney kept snoring. 

The bell on the door jingled and I turned to see who would be joining us in the crowded waiting room.

A beautiful old gal with a rust-colored coat and eyes wide from cataracts waddled in behind a tall lady and in front of a woman carrying a baby in a carrier—her entourage had obviously accompanied her.  She panted and appeared to check out everyone in the waiting room—perhaps searching faces to see if she recognized anyone.  Perhaps curious about the furballs on laps or lying on the floor by their owners’ feet.

Her name was Cuddles.  I heard the Tall Lady tell the receptionist in the back that she’d not been to this vet in a while, and her address had probably changed from the one they had on file.  The receptionist called out the one on file.  “No, that’s my old one…” she said, then proceeded to give her the new one.

Cuddles walked as far as her lead would allow on the other side of the room.  Sniffing.  Greeting.  Slowly exploring her environment. I heard the receptionist ask, “Do you want her ashes?” 

My throat constricted.  Don’t look at Cuddles!  Don’t get attached to her!  Look away!  Don’t let that first tear fall!  I felt sucked into a vortex, stuck between wanting to offer condolences and support and wanting to run around back where I saw goats in a pin and bawl like a baby–no one would see me there.

I didn’t hear the Tall Lady’s answer.

The woman with the baby looked around the Tall Lady’s shoulder and said, “I will be in there with her.”

The receptionist comes over with a paper to sign, and it was then that the Tall Lady let the tears flow.  I heard hushed communication between the worker and her, an “I’m sorry” and an “I know it’s hard,”—I was thankful for the obvious compassion.

The Tall Lady sits beside me and takes the baby in the carrier onto her lap, and hands the lead to who I learned is her daughter.  She immediately goes into “Mimi” mode and her tears are turned to smiles.  The infant with the giant blue eyes was her grandbaby—full of smiles and the cutest dimples you ever saw.  The Yorkie Mom and I focused on the baby and spoke of her sweetness.  To be honest, I was thankful for the distraction. We asked the baby’s age.  Her name.  How many grandbabies the Tall Lady has. 

Cuddles was on the other side, still checking out the other patients.  Two snapped at her.  Everyone laughed because both irritable pooches were fewer than 10 pounds.  One reprimanded their tiny pooch, “She [referring to Cuddles] will eat you alive!”

I was doing okay redirecting my thoughts.  Not ruminating on what was to come for the sweet old girl.  Then here she came, waddling over between the Tall Lady and me.  She approached the still-sleeping Pug, and the Tall Lady said, “Cuddles, she’ll snap at you, too!”  I laughed.  “She doesn’t know how to do that—no worries—she will love Cuddles.”  More laughter.

Chessney awakened from the touch of Cuddles’ nose to hers.  Her snoring stopped.  She just sat still…barely touching noses with her new acquaintance.  Cuddles panting paused, they locked eyes, and I reached down to stroke her soft, fluffy head.  “You’re a sweet girl, yes, you are,” I said.  The Tall Lady told us she had been such a wonderful companion, and she’d just reached that point….kidney failure, unreliable legs….

She wiped her tears.  I stifled mine.

I ran the back of my hand against Cuddles’ muzzle.  Chessney leaned in and touched noses with her one more time and lingered just a second longer, right before a lady came out of the door and called Chessney’s name.  I stood, shook my feet a bit to get the feeling back in them, and headed to the exam room, petting Cuddles one more time as I went….

I don’t pretend to know what dogs think.  I choose to believe they know things on a level that we don’t–I’ll believe that until the day I take my last breath.  And if there was any doubt about it before, this interaction in the waiting room made me believe it even more.

Cuddles and Chessney connected on a canine level, and I was privy to see it, to be a part of it.  I was able to be a part of Cuddles’ life—albeit in a tiny way—prior to her transition.  I was able to show her love, and admiration, and bring her comfort through the stroking of her mane and the sharing of my flat-faced diva.  Where I at first was terrified of connecting with Cuddles because of the sadness I would feel and the empathy that washed over me for her family, I’m so thankful that she chose to introduce herself to Chessney, and give me the honor of meeting her, too.

Rest well, sweet Cuddles, until your family sees you again…..

I think God will have prepared everything for our perfect happiness. If it takes my dog being there in Heaven, I believe he’ll be there. Rev. Billy Graham

Sunshine & Music

Her swing is the daily coveted spot, and come spring, I check the forecast nightly to see when she’ll be able to assume her position and do some composing on her keyboard.

Yesterday was the day.

Finally Outside

Though it was warm, I still dressed the Queen in pants and a long-sleeved shirt.  She didn’t mind.  Her excitement built as I tied her shoes.  “Swing!” she signed.  “Yes, you get to swing!” I signed & said back.

She squealed and flapped those arms as fast as they could go, so much that I had to tell her to calm down so I could walk her outside.  Once on the porch, she turned, backed up, sat on the swing and immediately signed “music”.  I already had her pink, sparkly keyboard tucked under my arm—Omma was one step ahead of her.

The Perfect Tune

Without missing a beat, she pushed off and began swinging—high—higher—higher—and turned her keyboard vertical so the speaker would be right against her ear.  Her thumb pushed the melody button madly, each tune playing only a note or two until she pressed for the next one.  “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” began playing.

Success—it played in its entirety.

From age 6 to about 10, she had a small “jam box” (my 80’s friends know what I’m talking about) with Elmo’s face on it.  It, too, played a variety of songs.  Eleven to be exact.  But her favorite was “Frere Jacques”.  Each quick-press of her thumb created a cacophony of sounds until “Frere Jacques” began playing.  For some reason that tune pleased her more than the others.  And now, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” has the same effect.  For added enjoyment, I’ll sing along…and sway…and provide an over-the-top theatrical performance as the melody plays in her ear.  It elicits grins and laughter, and often a nodding of her head which is my cue to do it again.

So I do. 

(Thank goodness she’s over the “I’m a Little Teapot” song for now).

Lost in her Music

As she played, I sat on the step and trimmed the woody stems from the lavender bushes.  Occasionally, she’d say, “Omma!” and want me to turn to look at her.  She would have her keyboard on her lap to free both of her hands, her right arm would be in the air above her head, her left hand strumming against her right arm, playing her air-guitar accompaniment in her best Eddie Van Halen-esque fashion.  Funny how, instead of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”, I heard “Eruption” as she played.

Her music.  Her swing.  Her audience of one.  They bring her joy.  And I’m privileged to be witness to it.  And part of it.

As expected, she wanted to come off the porch and into the direct sun.  She signed “stand up” then “go”, and I knew where she was headed—the sidewalk.  She sat on the warm concrete, keyboard on her lap, and began playing.  Delight seemed to overtake her as she realized she created a sharp, dark shadow.   She turned—positioned herself for the best shadow effect–and began conducting her orchestra. 

Discovering her shadow

Arms outstretched, overhead, down low, flap up, flap down, raise the roof.  When she realized she couldn’t see her hand-clapping shadows, she turned 45 degrees so she could.  And resumed.  She even incorporated her legs now.  Up, down, up down, then clap clap clap.  Her music had long since stopped, but the melody in her head continued.  The sunshine, the warmth, the reply from her shadows, all brought contentment and joy.  And not just to her.

Conducting the orchestra

The Overflow

I never tire of these scenes.  This tiny, 90lb, 5-feet-tall young lady lives life largely.  She lives it with reckless abandon to the joy that bubbles in her soul.  That effervescence elicits the same response from me.  It reminds me to stop.  Enjoy.  Notice.  And sing another round.

Take me out to the sunshine

Take me out to the yard

Bring me my keyboard and watch me play

I don’t care if we stay here all day…

Omma is thankful to have such a sweet reminder in her life.

 

You can read more about Britni here.